Angie Kinghorn

Nothing but the best.


This is a short fiction piece for The Red Dress Club’s Red Writing Hood meme.  It clocks in right under the limit at 597 words.


The prompt:
Write a piece that begins with the line, “I could never have imagined” and ends with the line, “Then the whole world shifted.” We’re going to stick with the 600-word limit this week.


I could never have imagined the car.  So smart it rendered the driver superfluous.  Nothing but the best, of course.  
“New feature,” the salesman said, leaning over from the passenger seat during Luke’s test drive.  “You don’t need a key.  Just press the start button.”
I watched from the back, legs trapped by the caramel leather of the driver’s seat, aching when the curves of the road pressed into the curves of my calves.  Better to say nothing.  He needed the leg room.
The scratch wasn’t my fault.  It happened while I was in the grocery store.  Probably just a cart left in the parking lot.  It was so small I didn’t even notice it.
Until Luke did.
Once the baby came he consumed me.  Literally.  We decided on nursing before he was born, and Luke was determined that I continue.  They weren’t his cracked nipples, after all.  Nothing but the best for anything, but especially for Gray.  His son.  I don’t think he ever said “our.”
His son needed feeding as much as Luke needed sleep.  I spent nights staring at the ceiling from the glider in the nursery, watching the shadows from the mobile as Gray mangled my nipple.  “You’re obviously doing it wrong,” Luke said.  “The books say that if you’re doing it right it doesn’t hurt.”
Luke went golfing that day, despite the cold.  It wasn’t often his brother was in town.  He looked me over as I sat slumped over my coffee.  “For Christ’s sake, just put on some concealer or something before we get back,” he said.  “You look like hell.”  
Gray cried his way through the grocery store, straight through from produce to dairy, but that day the glares didn’t bother me.  If I blinked, my eyes might stay closed.   
If we could only get home, we could nestle in the bed, cocooned in a ring of pillows so Grey couldn’t roll off.  It was the only way to find peace, and we lost whole days, weeks, even months.  It angered Luke when dinner wasn’t ready.  He didn’t like finding me in my pajamas, either.  “Is it too much to ask that you get dressed even once a week?”
Gray’s crying was increasingly frantic in the car, and at a red light I felt the familiar tingle as my milk let down, down through my nursing bra and my shirt.  Down in sticky tears over the silvery stripes that tattooed my stomach “mother.”
He was purple, apoplectic, unapologetic.  Hungry for me.  In the garage I gave up thoughts of the bed and crawled right over the console into the back seat, lifted his shaking body from his car seat, and let him burrow into me.  Once his gasping gulps turned to sighing snorts, I allowed myself to lean back, splayed on the buttery leather.  
His pudgy hands were icy on my breast, though the heat was blasting on high.  Gradually it seeped through my body, chasing away the chill from my damp shirt, and my eyes were suddenly too heavy to open.
Until they did.  Gray was quiet, still.  I stared at him in confusion.  Wiggled his toes through the blue fleece of his sleeper.  Then I saw it at the front of the car.  The start button.  The start/stop button.
I didn’t stop it.
Oh, my God.  I didn’t stop it.  
I sat, glazed, then let my head drop, back into myself, where it was safe and warm.  Inhaled deeply, purposefully, filling my core with the smell of nothing but the best.  And then the whole world shifted.




Comments

  1. I love this! You did a great job with the pacing to create a real feeling of impending doom. And I love the “nothing but the best” these. I think I know that guy. I really had no idea you did short stories. You have a real talent for it.

  2. Thank you! Glad the pacing worked; it was hard to get right in such a short piece. But the word limit did make me cut a bunch of stuff that needed it, so perhaps shorter is better!

  3. Wow, I love how it feels like scattered thoughts, the way an exhausted new mother's mind runs. I love this line “Down in sticky tears over the silvery stripes that tattooed my stomach “mother.”” The ending crept up but the clues were there from the beginning. Great job!

  4. @mommylebron, thank you. That was my favorite line to write. Didn't know where I was going with it when it started, and I was surprised this is where it ended up. Headed over to your place in just a sec….

  6. I have chills! So, so well-done. “Down in sticky tears over the silvery stripes that tattooed my stomach 'mother.' ” Incredible. My heart hurts for this poor woman and her horrible husband and the loss of her son. I have constant fears of doing something like that, and I may have made the same choice she did.

  7. @LawMomma, sorry! I just started writing and it went there. I love your piece, btw. Will get back over to your site and comment as soon as I eat lunch.

    @NotJustAnotherJennifer, thank you. I imagine most mothers have had nightmares that look like this.

  8. Wow, this was incredible. I felt such sadness at the end for that mother… and her baby. I am a new follower of your blog.

  9. Yegads, woman! You went to a very dark place here. I really think there is a level of exhaustion that only new mothers can truly understand, and you painted it perfectly.

    Love the tattooed line.

  10. Oh, Angie.
    I feel like you just punched me in the stomach.
    This was so painful.
    Sleep deprivation and a sense of helplessness can be so overwhelming.
    Beautifully done.

  11. @Becca, thank you and welcome!

    @Cheryl, yes, very dark. Hubster came home, read this, and proclaimed it, “horrifying.” I said, “Oh, my God, you think it's horrible?” He said, “No. It's good. It's just horrifying.”

    I didn't mean for it to be this heavy and horrifying, but when you've been to such dark places with PPD (and thankfully mine were never this bad), and you're trying to pack a punch in a short space, I guess that's where stuff like this comes out.

    So glad you liked the tattooed line. My favorite sentence by far.

    @Nichole, sorry for the punch! But glad it at least delivered one. This is my first fiction in a long time, and I wasn't at all sure about it.

    So glad y'all are doing this, and very excited about the memoir prompts as well.

  13. Wow. That was. Wow. That was my greatest fear as a brand new mother. I was terrified of going to sleep in the wrong moment and having something terrible happen.

  15. I agree with Nichole…my stomach was in knots at the end and still is! I can't stand reading things like this about babies. But the ending was quite beautiful. This was very very good, but I must go read something else so I don't end my night on this!

  16. My stomach is nervous. I'm sitting here, staring at the screen, willing the words to rearrange themselves and for Luke to get his act together and support his wife.

    Your husband was right. This was horrifying. Beautifully written, but horrifying.

    And one of my fears…we have a push button hybrid. When it's just idling, it's silent. I'm a freak about checking to make sure it's off – especially when the baby falls asleep on the way home and I'm cozied in the front seat with a book.

    Fantastic writing, lady!

  19. I loved that you went to a dark place, although I wish it had been stupid selfish Luke in the car instead. The line 'If I blinked my eyes might stayed closed.' certainly took on an ominous meaning.