The Wall

VIII

Little Kelly rubbed her eyes, waking from a fitful night's sleep. Vague images of teddy bears and teacups were interspersed with the constant sounds of a baby's torturous wailing and the near blinding light of the hall as the bedroom door was opened and closed repeatedly, her parents taking turns trying to soothe baby Cynthia during the night. Neither parent took notice of how well or not well she had been sleeping. When she asked her father for a glass of water, he'd replied impatiently, "You know where the bathroom is, Kelly," and then settled down with Cynthia in the rocking chair, hugging the little girl to his chest in a way that made Kelly's stomach hurt.

How Kelly hated that rocking chair. Whenever her parents were in that chair with the baby, cooing to her and smiling at her, Kelly became nearly invisible. She sometimes wondered if her parents had ever been like that with her, if her mother had ever held her in that rocking chair and cared for her the same way, looked at her with endless love and forgiveness; she didn't really think so. She had begun to think that maybe her parents didn't even like her, much less love her, and maybe never had, only no one really noticed until perfect little Cynthia came along.

Kelly looked at her bedside table and sneered at the Minnie Mouse clock with the cracked plastic over the face. She hated Minnie Mouse more than she hated the rocking chair. She'd never taken to Mickey and his crew, but the theme for the baby shower had been Minnie Mouse and the entire room had been decked out in familiar white and red polkadot pattern that had spilled over into the rest of the house with the baby's clothes and her toys, even her diapers. Kelly had tried to express her dissatisfaction to her parents by ripping the eyes out of one of the Minnie Mouse dolls given to her at the shower, a pity gift from one of her mother's friends. Her parents had thrown the doll in the trash and never mentioned it again. A few weeks later, after Kelly scratched some of the eyes out of the little Minnies on the wallpaper and thrown the clock at the baby's crib while the baby napped, her parents finally conceded to tearing the wallpaper down and repainting the room. It was a small improvement, but it didn't placate Kelly, who was constantly taking all of the baby's things, especially the ones with Minnie Mouse on them, and meticulously placing them on the other side of the invisible line in their shared room. Sometimes she thought about destroying these things too, but with each of her little outbursts, her parents paid less and less attention to her. She'd become fearful that they might send her away and forget about her forever if she destroyed anything else.

It was nearly six in the morning now and the sun was just beginning to brighten the back windows, but it was Saturday. Her parents were in their bedroom upstairs, catching up on their interrupted sleep. Without the threat of work or church looming, they'd sleep in and probably couldn't hear the baby's stupid whining. In fact, they probably wouldn't hear anything until closer to eight, when Kelly knew Spongebob Squarepants came on.

The baby made another simpering noise and Kelly's attention returned to the crib on the other side of the room with irritation. She threw her covers back and stomped across the room in search of a way to get the baby's annoying noises to stop. Thinking of all the times in the night the same noises had woken her up and drawn her parents to the baby, Kelly became angry.

Peering into the crib, Kelly saw the baby still laying down with her eyes closed. As she watched, the baby's mouth opened and made another whining noise. Kelly realized the baby was dreaming and her noises were a reaction to whatever she was dreaming about. The baby smiled and giggled in her sleep. Anyone else might have remarked how adorable this was, but not Kelly. Kelly only became angrier. To get the baby to stop the noise, she'd have to wake her up. But then she'd have to entertain the baby and be responsible for her until her parents got up. What she wanted was for the baby to be quiet so that she could go back to sleep until it was time to get one of her parents to turn on cartoons for her. (Actually, what she really wanted was to go back to a time when there was no baby, no Cynthia, when the world still felt good and right, and when she wasn't woken up in the middle of the night just to be ignored.)

Kelly stared down into the crib for a while, watching the baby sleep and make stupid baby noises. The baby lay on her stomach, her head turned to the side and her nose only an inch or so from the corner of the crib and the soft bedding. She stared hard at the baby in her little pink and white polka dot onesie, watching her breathe as the fabric of the baby's clothes expanded and fell. And as Kelly continued to stare down at Cynthia, she began to wonder if the baby was real, if she was really alive. Though the baby was breathing, Kelly had a lifelike doll who cooed and drank from a bottle, just like the baby in the crib. Her doll had the same rosy cheeks, the same pudgy hands, the same little fat rolls in her legs. What made the baby in this crib so different?

The baby stirred then and began to cry, perhaps having a nightmare. Her cries became louder and more tortuous with each intake of breath, as if she were in real distress, and Kelly jammed her hands over her ears. Cynthia continued to cry, but her parents did not come, still dead asleep upstairs. The baby propped herself up on her arms and looked at her big sister expectantly. As Kelly watched, the baby's mouth opened wider than Kelly thought possible, and she saw the tiny uvula at the back of her throat vibrate with the shrill cry. Kelly was again reminded of her doll. A few months ago, the doll had malfunctioned, continually cooing uncontrollably. She had buried the doll under a mound of pillows to muffle the sound until her mother yanked it from Kelly and pulled the batteries out of a compartment in its back, silencing the doll. Kelly looked at the cushiony corner of the crib again.

Her anger and frustration suddenly broke over her at the continuous sound of this doll-like crying, and Kelly lurched down into the crib. She put a hand on the baby's head and pushed it down into the corner. She didn't push too hard, just enough to muffle the sound of the crying until one of her parents came to the rescue and took the batteries out. But they didn't come. And the longer the baby cried, the louder and more shrill the sound became. The baby began to struggle a little, tried to lift her head. Kelly pushed more firmly, until the sounds of the crying were deadened.

Kelly didn't know how long she stood there, holding her sister's face against the bedding. Time seemed to pass slowly, but she held her sister's head down until the baby finally slowed in her movements and breaths, until she finally stopped crying, and then stopped moving completely.

With relief, Kelly finally let go. She looked at the baby in the crib again and noticed that it now looked even more doll-like than before, the skin more plasticy and the face very still. She sighed with relief. Finally.

Without another thought, Kelly walked back to her bed, crawled under the covers and fell into a deep sleep. She didn't hear another thing until her mother's screaming woke her up.

Kelly popped up in her bed like a spring, alarmed at the sound. Her father rushed into the room a moment later.

"Karen, what's wrong," he demanded as he rushed to his wife at the side of the crib. "What's wrong?!"

"She's dead," Kelly's mother cried as she turned to her husband, cradling the now cold, still body of Cynthia. She fell into him, sobbing uncontrollably. "Our baby is dead!"

Immediately, her father turned to Kelly, the whites of his eyes suddenly a blinding white compared the his black and hatred-filled eyes. "What did you do, Kelly? What did you do!"

Kelly, who had begun to cry as her mother's heart-wrenching screams filled the room, looked at her father. "You didn't come," she said. "The baby was crying and you didn't come to take the batteries out. Why didn't you take the batteries out, Daddy? Why?"