Story and artwork by Olivia Murphy-Major
It was settled. The babysitter would arrive the next day at seven o’clock, and Ines could have a night on her own, away from the baby, which she had not had since he was born. She hadn’t given it much thought before calling the sitter. The baby had cried and cried, Ines's ears rang, her breasts were sore, she was hungry, and since the baby thrashed about in her arms and would not latch, she decided it did not need anything from her and placed it gently in its crib. Ines sat on the carpet, her back against the sofa, and pressed the heels of her hands to her head. That was when it came to her, and never had it felt so dire as it did then, the idea of going away for a night brought her such relief that she stood and walked right over to the phone and dialed the girl's number. Ines had quizzed her about babies. What would you do if… and you must hold him and rock him, I'll show you when you get here how he likes to be swaddled… and heat the milk only slightly, test it, be sure it isn't too hot, and do not shush him, he will only cry louder. As Ines hung up the phone, the phone cord’s shadow swinging on the wall, she looked over and saw the baby’s pale head in its crib, his eyes closed in sleep, his lips parted slightly as he breathed.
The town they lived in was starved of snow. Ines and her baby lived in the farmhouse she grew up in, and for days she and the baby had watched the rain, smelled the softening ground outside. The tapping across the slate roof had a way of soothing the baby to sleep. When she fed the baby that night, the rain had stopped, and from the sofa she saw snow falling thickly from the sky. She was tired. Her eyes kept closing, her chin nodding down. She hummed to the baby to replace the sound of the rain and thought suddenly of the bedtime story her mother used to tell her. A girl, her mother used to say, just like you. Ines tried to remember. The girl woke up one night and was very hungry. She ate toast with jam and butter, she was not satisfied. She ate the jar of jam and the stick of butter. She ate the chicken in the fridge, the carrots and beets, and the jar of pickles. She could not stop until it was empty. The girl looked down and her feet were far away– she had begun to grow. She rushed outside, and in no time, she was taller than the house. She had to sleep beside it, careful not to roll this way or that. There were no blankets, so she had to rip up the grass in one big sheet and tuck her body beneath it, feeling the dirt and the tickle of small roots on her skin. The girl got so thirsty she went to the ocean that night and spooned up the seawater in her palms. She drank until it was gone.
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