Monday, September 27, 2010
Maryanne and Daniel
(The rules for a 3-word story are as follows: You must use one word (or variation thereof) in the first sentence, and the other two words in the first paragraph. The three words for this story were given to me by Lessia Bonn, and they are: hiccup, whimsical, delicious.)
Maryanne and Daniel
By
Maryanne placed the tiny, whimsical teapot on the table, put a hand to her lips and gave a discreet, elaborate, fake hiccup. “Oh my!” She said, “That was quite delicious, don’t you think?”
Montrose, of course, said nothing. Montrose never said anything. Montrose simply sat, staring blankly out of one eye, stuffing falling out of one ear. Now, if Montrose’s mouth had not been sewn shut, he might have had much to say. But it was, sewn shut that is, so Montrose simply sat and stared.
It was tea time at the Pennington house, which meant Maryanne had at least fifteen minutes to herself. She treasured the time her mother sent her away, with the words, “Go play with your dollies now,” and she could escape the squalling wretched infant that took up most of her mother’s time, and hers.
It’s not that she didn’t like the child. Of course she did. She loved the child. She was told often enough how much she loved the child. “Look at how Maryanne loves that child!” It was true that she watched the child all the time; was never more than a few feet away from it. “Look at how much Maryanne loves that child!” It was all she heard, day in and day out, from neighbors, friends, and family. The only person who never said that was her mother, because her mother knew better.
Maryanne had tried to kill the child when it was first brought home. Her mother walked in the door with this…this thing, red-faced, shrieking and stinking to high Heaven, and Maryanne had taken one look at it and said, “You’re not going to keep that, are you?”
Her mother had laughed. Her father had laughed. The child continued to shriek. And Maryanne made up her mind in that very instant that this child simply had to go. That evening, when she thought everyone was in bed, she crept into the child’s room and put a pillow over its face. Two steps behind her was her mother, who took the pillow off the intruder’s face, and sent Maryanne to bed.
She plotted her next move. She schemed. She waited. Locks were put on the child’s bedroom door, up high where Maryanne could not reach. She watched and she waited. She was never allowed to be alone with the child. But Maryanne was a patient girl, very patient.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. The child did not cry quite as much, but still took up an awful lot of Maryanne’s mother’s time. Maryanne was jealous. She wanted her mother all to herself again, and as long as this thing was in the house, that wasn’t going to happen. So, Maryanne bided her time, and waited.
The thing had a name, of course. Daniel. The squalling, red-faced interloper was called Daniel. And Maryanne hated him. Wanted him dead. Wanted her mother to herself again. Wanted things to be back the way they were before it came into the house.
Her chance finally came when the child was about four months old. It was starting to sit up, unaided. It was starting to roll over, and creep, and scoot about on its belly. Sometimes it was allowed to play on a blanket put on the living room floor.
The doorbell rang. Her mother glanced at Maryanne, thought for a second, then stepped away to answer the door.
Now! Maryanne thought, Now! Quickly, she rushed to where the child lay on the blanket and thought, Now! But how? She looked around for something to smother the child with, when she stopped. He…it…was looking at her. Daniel looked at her, blue eyes open and trusting. He smiled at her. He laughed. He giggled. He waved his little arms and cooed.
Maryanne sat down and looked at him. Really looked at him. She marveled at his little toes, his little fingers. Gently, she reached out, and Daniel grabbed her finger and held on tight. Maryanne smiled, then she laughed. Why, she thought, he’s not all that bad after all. She looked around for one of his toys, found a giraffe that rattled and shook it in front of his face. He laughed and reached for it.
Maryanne’s mother and grandmother came into the living room to find Maryanne shaking the giraffe and making faces at Daniel who was laughing and cooing and waving his little arms around.
“Just look at how Maryanne loves that child,” the grandmother exclaimed.
If Montrose’s mouth hadn’t been sewn shut, he would have smiled.
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