April Exclusive - "Lief" - Part 3

I wake up in the dark. I wake up wet. I wake up alone.

I cry out. A high-pitched wail. It’s all that I’ve got.

In a matter of seconds, there’s the woman from last night. There’s my pretty nerd. Her face appears, looming over the crib. What’s her name? And how did I end up in here?

I continue to cry, it feels uncontrollable. I will never stop crying, there’s no way to fix this. She can smile, she can tell me she’s here, but there’s nothing she can do.

“Mommy’s here,” she says. “Don’t cry, Mommy’s right here, darling.”

Hey. That’s not her name. That’s not what we’re doing here.

“Mommy’s got you.” She picks me up and holds me against her chest. “Mommy’s got you, Ty.”

Oh. Oh God. She’s snapped, she’s lost her mind. Or this was her plan from the start. Because she’s a witch.

No. She was just as surprised this morning. It’s not her spell, but it’s got a hold of her all the same. I fell asleep and something shifted between us. She’s taken the lead and I’m supposed to catch-up.

No. I will pull her back. I will drag her in the opposite direction. Except I can’t speak. All I can do is wail.

I look up into her eyes as she pats my butt.

“Do you make a stinky?”

Of course I did. Don’t I always and forever?

“You need Mommy to make you smell all sweet again?”

There’s love in those eyes. And I think about that, I think about being her baby for real.

I cry all the harder.

“Sweet boy,” says the nerd (not my ‘mommy’, never that). She has the patience of a saint, she can handle my red-faced tantrum. She lies me down on the changing mat and smiles as I kick my legs.

“Sweet boy. Soon you’ll be all happy again, Mommy promises.”

I swallow. The next cry (bellow, roar) hitches in my throat. Hot tears leak from my eyes. Truth is, I do need her help. I can’t do a thing for myself.

I am stinky, I am a mess. I need her to clean me up. I need her to fix this.

She opens the snaps down at my crotch. When did she change me into the blue pajamas? When did that even happen? How long was I asleep for? My body tenses. Is this even the same day?

I sniffle. The nerd (she’s still pretty, she’s absolutely gorgeous) removes the dirty diaper and begins to clean me up. But it’s not the same as before. No apologies, no uncertainty. She looks like a pro, she looks though this is every damn day.

As she wipes my bottom, and as she uses a fresh wipe to clean my crotch, I try to look down at the next-to-nothing between my legs, and I have time to wonder about magic. Maybe the spell is short-term, and I could get bigger again, any second. Or maybe, I’m left growing up the usual way.

Or maybe, I’m stuck like this forever. We’ll stay in this house, repeating the same cycle of diaper changes and feeding and naps and diaper changes. It’s magic; maybe the groundhog will never see its shadow.

I look up at my wannabe-mommy, my magicked date, and I cannot explain. I can’t hope to persuade her that this is all wrong.

And so I’ll just keep crying. I’ll cry until she gets it.

She tapes me into a fresh diaper, and I open my mouth.

“Huh-huh-help!”

Oh. I blink in surprise at myself. I’ve got words after all.

I try again.

“Wait. Stop .Something…the, the bar. Remember? We have to go…”

Even better; the nerd understands.

“We have to go?” she asks, her tone so sweet that I want to kick my legs again. I want to side-swipe the smile off her face.

I stare right at her. “We have to go,” I say slowly, because she’s the idiot here, she’s the transfixed fool. “To the hospital.”

There. Get it?

She smiles, and then I hear the echo of the words in my head.

Shit.

Hos-pibble. I sound like a toddler. Because the spell…because the magic is in my head. Because I’m playing catch-up.

I try again.

“Hoss….pih…ball.” My face screws up. I wave my arms. “Gotta go!”

I don’t know magic. I don’t know a thing. All I know is that whatever happened to the nerd, it’ll happen to me as well. Now that I’m awake. Now that I’m paying attention. Because I can feel myself responding to the woman’s smiles and soft words. I can see her filling my entire universe until she’s all I’ll think about.

She picks me up and sits down on the nursery rocking chair. Bounces me lightly on her lap.

Is it story time? Is she going to recite another epic poem? This time, we’re not holding complimentary cocktails. This time there are no cauldrons. We’re past all of that now.

My body tenses. “Hosspiball,” I moan. “Doc-tuh.”

In a minor miracle, it turns out that she can translate my garbled attempts at speech.

She strokes my fuzzy hair. “Head still hurting, sweetie?”

Good question. Because actually, no. How about that? My headache is completely gone. There’s no more pressure between my temples. But that doesn’t feel like a relief.

It feels like magic.

The spell is creating space in my mind, it’s making way for a new reality, where I’m a real baby and this woman is my mother. I am being bounced on her lap, so lightly, so distractingly. This is all one-way traffic that ends with me not at the UCHealth Emergency Care but back in the kitchen high-chair, with more organic mush.

I can feel the idea. I can feel the new facts. It’s not pushing at the door, it’s just there in my head. Waiting.

Waiting for me to let it come in. Waiting for a damn invitation.

Well, I’m not going to give it one. But wouldn’t the nerd have said the exact same thing, a few minutes ago?

“Stop bouncing,” I say. I beg. Stoh bow-sin.

The bouncing stops. For a moment, I can tell myself that I have some control.

And maybe I do. Because I know what reality is, I know better than the woman holding me.

“This isn’t real,” I say. Or words that a close enough. I look down at my fuzzy blue pajamas. There’s a dinosaur on the front this time, and I think of the digger I had before. And I spend a second thinking about which one I prefer, and then I toss the thought aside. Don’t worry about dinosaurs and diggers.

I bunch my fists. “This isn’t real,” I say again. “It’s...” How do I explain? How do I get her to understand about magic? My headache-free brain isn’t up to the job. If I talk about spells, I’ll just let it in, I know it.

I take a breath, grateful at least for the lack of bouncing, and say, “Please. It’s made-up.” I take another breath. This is better. We’re getting somewhere.

“I’m not a baby,” I say.

That’s even better.

There we go. There’s the headline.

“Made up,” the nerd says. Such a pretty nerd. I know, with her hands around my waist, the way she holds me securely, fingers lightly patting my belly, that she will never let me fall.

“Hmm,” she says. “Made-up, like the tooth fairy?”

I blink. I laugh. I really can’t help that. “Yeah,” I say. Because close enough.

“Made up…like the Easter bunny?” asks the nerd. And her fingers are doing more than patting now; they’re tickling.

I squeal in protest. It doesn’t sound like a protest.

“Yeh…yeah!” I shake my head at the spell, the magic that is waiting to take up residence in my empty head. My silly, empty head.

“I know,” says the nerd. “Mommy knows.” She turns me around and smiles. “You’re not a baby.” She beams at me. “You’re just a fuzzy blue bunny!”

Which is ridiculous. Which is the last thing we need.

Until she lifts me up so I’m standing, just about, with my legs bent, feet on her knees. She kisses my nose. “Bouncy, blue, bunny.”

The bouncing is a problem. The bouncing is delightful.

I go up and down, and I know I’m not a bunny, I know this is just a game. With bowed legs, I can feel myself letting go. My body relaxes, and my mind does as well.

“Sweet bunny,” Mommy says.

I giggle. Mommy’s playing a game.

“Lief,” she says. She cuddles me close, she kisses my face. “My dear. My beloved.”

There is a poem. There is an epic story. I look into Mommy’s eyes, and I know that I am brave, I will put an end to the nasty dragon.

I know that Mommy loves me. I am her lief boy.

She keeps on kissing me and I stare back at Mommy, my hand creeping to my mouth. Because I understand everything. I understand that Mommy loves her brave, darling boy. Because Mommy tells me. Mommy sings to me. Mommy tells me poems.

I stretch my arms and legs. I suck on my fingers.

Mommy nods. “Someone’s hungry.”

I stare at her. ‘Someone’ means me. It’s always me. Who else is there?

Mommy opens her dress, she shows me her boobies. Such big boobies.

“Mommy’s milk for you, my lief. Destiny always comes as it must, my beloved boy.”

Mommy is ready. Her boobies are ready. I stare at them, I see the leaky nipple.

I think of another world. I think of a ‘hospibble’. But that’s not real. That’s made-up.

I see the nipple. I turn my head, my mouth opens.

This is real. This is the most wonderful magic.

“Thirsty boy,” Mommy whispers. “My thirsty lief.” She offers her boobies to me. A decorated cup, it is engorged, I put my little hands on Mommy’s milky boobies, and then I suck on the nipple.

Mommy groans. “Oh,” she says. “Isn’t that better. Isn’t that lovely.”

Mommy cradles me and I drink. Mommy tells me a wonderful story where I am so brave, such a brave boy, and I feast.

My tummy fills up, my head fills up. It is a magical cocktail. I am Mommy’s brave boy, I cut off the head and this is my reward. I was hurt, because everyone gets hurt, but Mommy will fix me. She will fill me with milk and happy stories.

THE END

When dinner and drinks turns into waking up in a crib, he'll need to find an escape before his mind regresses to match his body. - Rick

Note: A classic tale idea, and everything, from Beowulf to Tipsy Cauldrons, came from my desire to use "lief", after this month's other tales, "Belief" And "Relief". Now, I can't promise similar results from a pop-up cocktail bar like that, but it's an intriguing idea...