< Apart From Love: Chapter 31 >

Around Me Around Him

Aunt Hadassa calls me to say that he’s called her, this time from New York, just to say hi and to let her know all’s well, he’s traveling around the country, having the time of his life. So I tell her like, Good for him, and I mean it, but I’m careful not to mention no doubts, because why should I make her worry. So the only one I ask is myself: Why do I still have that funny feeling, like he’s never left town? 

Like, a week ago I went shopping with her, and we stopped on Montana street, outside the window of a baby furniture store, because that cradle—the one with the arched canopy, with them cute ruffles over it—caught my eye, it was so adorable! And then, then I could swear I spotted familiar eyes glinting there, in the glass, which meant, someone I used to know was there, directly behind us, like, on the other side of the street.

I won’t have noticed that man at all, if not for the odd way the chin was wrapped with a scarf, over the nose and ears, which wasn’t even necessary, because there wasn’t no wind, and it was such a warm, sunny March day.

But it turned out that it wasn’t Ben, after all. I mean, the shoes wasn’t exactly right, and way he walked away was kinda different. And the hair was all wrong, it was much too long. And, he wasn’t even looking at me, the way I thought he was. Like, there wasn’t even a glance. I really don’t get it. I thought I had a sharp eye, but somehow I must have misread the reflection.

Enough, I told myself then, what’s the matter with you? You think someone—anyone—would bother taking another look at you now, waddling around with your belly coming forward like that, like a beach ball?

Then we went into the store, aunt Hadassa and me, and I think she could tell—in spite of me trying to smile—how tense I was. So she bought a little something for me—well, for the baby, really: A mobile, with plush toy animals dancing around it. For now, until I get a cradle for my baby, it’s hung up in the bedroom window, right in the center, where the blinds meet.

So at night, when I feel sad, or tired, or just sleepy, I pull out the little string to wind the thing up, which makes the animals go fly—fly like a dream—so slowly around your head.

And at the same time, it brings out a sweet lullaby, chiming, Twinkle, twinkle, little star... How I wonder what you are...

I stand here, by the window under the mobile. I touch the glass between one blind and another, and watch them animals, mirrored. They come in like ghosts, one after another, right up to the surface, swing around, and fly back out, into the dark. Then I gaze at them stars up there, so far beyond, and ask myself if they’re real—or am I, again, misreading some reflection.

But after a while, all of that don’t matter no more. What matters is only what’s here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled, and where he kicks, because he has to, because he don’t feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I bet he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music. It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it’s starting to sooth him. It’s so full of joy, of delight, even if it’s coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it’s floating inside, into his soft, tender ear.

I close my eyes and hold myself, wrapping my arms real soft—around me around him—and I rock ever so gently, back and forth, back and forth, with every note of this silvery marvel. You can barely hear me—but here I am, singing along. I’m whispering words into myself, into him.

And this is the moment when, like one, we’re happy.