No One’s Mother

The campfire glow dances with the shadows of the tall pines surrounding us. The fire’s crackle and snap are accompanied by the soft chatter of my family as we sit in a tight circle just outside the cabin. It’s much too cold in there, so the warmth of the fire keeps us hostage outside. My eyes gaze at each orange face in front of me, observing how every slight movement distorts their features. Eight floating faces covered in flesh that morphs restlessly.

This family trip to the mountain is a drag. I put on my happy face for my parents because they’ve been begging all of us to make this happen for months. They sit across from me, talking quietly as they hold each other under a blanket and I feel guilty for having to fake my joy.  My brother-in-law is stoking the fire, making sure to keep it alive. My brother is holding his daughter in his lap, giggling with their inside jokes as his wife takes a picture of their candid moment of bliss. My sister is holding her baby in her arms like she is the most precious thing in the universe and I stare for a minute. She can’t be more than 4 or 5 months old but I can never really tell with babies.

 My mind wanders off to the day that I too become a mother. The shape of a baby forms in my brain and I wonder if it would like me at all. I’ve never been very maternal. My other niece hardly speaks to me though I don’t really blame her. We have nothing to talk about. She’s 8 so anything she tells me doesn’t mean much. She goes on about the kids in her class and how much she loves long division. Riveting stuff – but not really my vibe. And I’m sure she gets bored with me when I tell her about my life.

 My sister comes up to me and asks if I can hold the baby for a bit while she braves the cold to use the bathroom. I nod and take the girl into my hands and place her on my lap. The little girl is adorable and plump. She has dark tight curls and pale skin tinted with a soft pink. I am happy to take her off my sister’s hands and pretend that I am a mother for ten minutes.

 She squirms around in my arms and I struggle to get her into a comfortable position on my lap. Perhaps she can feel the difference in my breast size as she leans on me. My small chest cannot possibly be as comfortable as the plumper, fuller set that my sister boasts. She probably thinks I smell different than her mom or maybe she can sense something in me that just isn’t right.

I hold her tightly as my mind leaves me for a bit. Deeply hypnotized by the fire, I get lost in the flames as they dance around in my irises, inviting me to join it. The sharp flames pierce into my brain further and I start to wander what would happen if I just threw the sweet child into the fire. Would her skin melt right off her plump face, or would it bubble like the slobber in her mouth when she coos? I imagine the sharpness of her screams piercing my eardrums as she wails for mercy from the tortuous heat. An endless cry that will ring in the air long after the roar of the fire has quieted the child to sleep. The morphing faces around the flame would petrify with looks of horror and disgust as the body cooked before their eyes and the smell filled their nostrils. Would they all cover their ears or scratch their eyes out from the terror?

My senses run wild as my imagination gets the best of me. All of these images run through my brain as the girl continues to squirm frantically in my arms now. She begins a whimper that grows into a full-on cry and I feel my irritation with her rise. My grip on her tightens as my eyes fix on the flames.

My sister returns to the circle flustered, apologizing for taking so long.

“Awwww is my baby girl sad?” she says in a baby voice. “Sorry about that. That walk from the cabin was longer than I thought. Was she a handful?”

“No not at all. She’s the cutest little thing.”