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Don Quixote

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A Mother’s Love

            It was springtime, or nearly so. Small white crocuses were blooming outside the window in small snowflakes of white on a skirt of that new green, a sign of new life everywhere. The last traces of the winter snows were fast disappearing from the mountains just visible over the trees beyond her little clearing. Birds called out warnings and imprecations to each other as well as the reddish squirrel she decided to call Tony, after the Tritonia flower that was nearly the same shade as that rascal who was forever racing around the corner of a tree and thieving the bread crumbs she had scattered earlier that morning right from under the beaks from the fluttering feathered jewels.

Anna let out a sigh of contentment at the peace and solitude of her cottage in the woods. It was too good a day, she decided, to waste indoors. Too good a day to waste on her responsibilities. Her eyes swept her room, lingering on the signs that she had been slacking in her housekeeping. Shirts were strewn carelessly on the floor wherever she had undressed, a nearly empty coffee mug and a crumb-strewn plate sat on the nightstand next to her bed where she had indulged herself with a late night snack in bed. Mmm…homemade brownies, meltingly warm and oozing with the extra semi-sweet chocolate chips she had sprinkled on top as an afterthought. The sheets would certainly need to be washed as there were undoubtedly crumbs. On the other side of her bed was the baby’s crib. Anna walked slowly past the navy silk shirt she wore three days ago, and the jeans from yesterday. She ran her fingers through tousled hair and slid her feet into some wooly slippers and headed out of her room and through the kitchen. She hadn’t bothered to clean up last night’s brownie experiment, but she could get to that later. She swiped another brownie and a napkin and headed out the solid pine door to the great world outside.

The birds scattered the moment she opened the front door. Treading carefully to avoid stepping on the wildflowers, Anna walked over to the bench on the side of the old grey wishing well, leaning her touseled head against the smooth warmth of the sun-warmed stone. This had been her favorite spot as a child. The birds chirped overhead. She knew that a few minutes of inactivity on her part and the bright yellow birds would come swooping out of the trees like drops of sunshine and begin again their welcome to springtime.

A wail cut through her contentment and into her heart like the sound of her lover’s voice that night he had said goodbye, leaving her six moths pregnant. A fierce scowl furrowed her heavy black brows, and a little line creased her otherwise flawless forehead. She told herself to calm down and stop scowling. She didn’t want a face seamed with wrinkles, not at her age. She was only twenty-four. An image of her mother’s face, lined in a scowl as she pored through legal documents flashed through her head. She took after her mother. She had the same chocolate-brown hair, the same slanted nose, rosy lips just a shade on the thin side, perhaps from being pursed in anger. A cold anger that shut down reason, attacked with icy javelins. Anna sighed as she heard another cry from her infant. She reached into the pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out her cell-phone.

“Hartfield Law, Susan speaking.” Her mother sounded distracted, as was usual. She would have just gotten back from her lunch break and was now catching up on any messages she had missed. Another phone call right now would undoubtedly be unwelcome. Anna smiled.

“Hiya Mom. I can call back if you’re too busy…” For me she added silently as she waited for her mother to respond. There was a slight pause, confirming her suspicion that her mother really didn’t want to talk to her right now.

“I’ve got a few minutes before I meet with some clients, how can I help you Anna?” Susan asked politely.

“It’s about Daisy, actually. She doesn’t ever stop crying. I’m not even sure she sleeps. She’s like that creepy psycho kid in The Ring. She just never stops.”

“Well, have you tried talking to someone about it?”

“I’m asking you, mom. What should I do?”

“Well, I think you ought to get some professional help.”

“What, like a nanny? I guess I could do that. Some people actually like kids well enough to look after them even when they aren’t theirs. It takes all kinds right? Listen, I have to go shut that little monster up. I’ll see you next time you’re in the country. And thanks for letting me stay here for a while. I do appreciate it.” Anna hung up the phone, guilty for snapping at her mother who had been kind enough to suggest that she stay here at the family cottage while she recovered from her pregnancy. And while she learned how to deal with having to be responsible all the time.

Again an infant’s cry sounded, and Anna pressed her hands to her ears to block out that sound. It wasn’t a sound, really. Nothing that loud could come from something that small. It wasn’t her baby at all; it was a jet engine whirring up, or an air raid siren signaling the start of the third world war. “It’s okay baby, Mommy’s here.” Anger tinged the next heartfelt wail, and Anna looked one last time out her bedroom window at the birds oblivious to anything but the food before closing the warm wooden shutters and turning around. “I’m coming sweetheart, I’m coming.” Yet another sound she could no longer pretend was anything other than her miserable infant assaulted her eardrums. She made her way slowly around the corner of the bed and approached the cradle. “Hush now. Hush.” She paused a moment and looked at the open door of her bedroom. She could hear the birds outside, the rustling of leaves, and the happy chattering of squirrels. It would be so easy to just go away, leave the mess for another time. Another piercing shriek drowned out the melody of nature, and Anna gave in with poor grace. Fury in her every stride she stomped the last few steps to the cradle. “Will you just shut up?! For one minute?” Leaning over the edge of the cradle Anna glared at the empty blankets from which the disembodied wail seemed to originate. “Will you never shut up?”

To celebrate growing older, Regina Brett of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland ,

Ohio once wrote the 45 lessons life taught her.  It is the most-requested

32. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick.  Your friends

will.  Stay in touch.