Little Things 2.

She fell quickly to the ground, still clutching the baby's left arm. He stumbled backward; with the force of his tug, his arms came up over his head and the rest of the baby's body flew out of his hands. The screaming, red-faced baby crashed head-first into the living room window. His head split open and the bloody heap fell with a muffled thud to the carpeted floor. Silence.

The mother, dazed from the fall, could not immediately understand what had just happened. The father, clutching the door knob to keep his balance, quickly spun around to see where the baby landed. The mother belted out an ear-splitting scream when she realized that she was still holding her baby's arm. The father ran to his only son and knelt down beside him. He picked up his baby and cradled him in his arms.

Look what you DID! she screamed. I told you that you were hurting him! Now, look. You've killed our son, you bastard!


She continued screaming, but he could not hear anything. After picking up the baby, his mind completely shut down. He was lost in an endless void of blackness, just him and his baby. On the horizon in front of him, he could see a strip of white light, so he walked toward it with his baby still in his arms. After walking about a mile on the smooth, hard surface, he could see where the light was coming from. It was coming from a hole in the ground in which the width extended as far as he could see. It was about twelve feet long, though, a jump he could easily make alone. So, he sat at the edge of the hole until he heard something running at him from behind. It was some kind of large animal, one filled with rage which would certainly tear him to shreds. It was howling and screaming at him, so he knew he had to jump to save his life. The creature was getting closer, so the father reluctantly put the baby down on the ground, took three steps back, and jumped. He glided through the air with ease, but landed face first on the ground. The animal stopped, he looked up but could still not see it, because it was still in the shadows. The animal picked the baby up and ran back from where it came. The father screamed toward the beast, heard a loud "crack," then fell unconscious.


He continued to sit on his knees and rock the baby back and forth as she advanced upon him. Enraged by his lack of a response to her ranting, she started hitting him on the top of his head with both fists. He continued to ignore her; just silently rocking with one hand under the baby's legs, and the other holding the baby's head, trying to keep its brains from spilling out. She turned away from him, walked over to her bedroom, got out her husband's baseball bat, and ran screaming towards her husband. When she got to him, she abruptly stopped, swung the bat back and clocked him upside his head. He fell head-first, on top of the baby, and started bleeding through his nose.

She grabbed the baby while the unconscious father was lying on the floor, then picked up the baby's arm and ran into the bathroom. With gauze and medical tape from the cabinet, she started to bandage the head. Then, with a needle and thread, she sewed the arm back on. After cleaning the baby with a damp washcloth, she wrapped him in a blanket, covering his face, and placed him in his crib. She lightly kissed the top of his head, turned off the light, and closed the door.

She walked back into the living room and found him still lying on the floor. Blood was slowly oozing from his left ear, so she bandaged him up and dragged him to the bedroom. She placed him into their bed and cleaned his face with a wet sponge.

Finally, she walked back into the living room and started to clean that up. She sprayed Windex onto the windows and wiped them down with paper towels. After her third attempt at this, she successfully removed the bloody streaks from the window. With her Bissell Deep-Cleaning upright vacuum, she not only washed the blood stains out of her carpet, but she left behind the "pleasing odor of deep-cleaned carpet." After arranging the furniture into its proper place, she turned off the light, took a long, hot shower, and went to bed.


The father woke up and remembered nothing about the previous day's events. He had forgotten about leaving his wife, he had forgotten about the unpleasantness afterward. He sat up in bed and only knew that his head hurt like a bastard. His bandage on his ear tipped him off that something had happened the day before. He woke up his wife and asked her about this.

Oh, what happened to me? he asked sleepily. My head hurts and I can hardly turn my neck.

Don't you remember? she asked. You slipped on the kitchen floor after I waxed it and you slammed the side of your head on the counter. You were bleeding pretty badly. I can't believe you don't remember.

He pondered this for a moment, doubting that her story was correct. Suddenly, a rush of panic swept over him and he did not know why. The only thing he could think of was the baby, something happened to his son. His eyes widened as he realized that his baby had been killed; the baby had been killed by him and his wife.

Oh shit! The baby. Where's the baby?

He's in his crib. Where else would he be?

No. No. NO! He died! He died and we killed him. I remember now.

He jumped out of bed and ran into the living room. She slowly followed after him.

Where is he? The father was now in tears.

I told you, he is in his crib, she replied calmly. Whatever made you think that our son is dead?

We were struggling for the baby and he broke, and he . . . he's in his crib, you say?

Yes, you can see for yourself, but don't wake him for God's sake, she replied indignantly. It took me all night to get him to fall asleep.

The father ran to the baby's room and quietly opened the door. He was relieved that the baby was sleeping. Without going inside the room, he closed the door and let out a great sigh.

Boy, you must have hit your head harder than I thought.

I guess I must've.

Do you want me to call your boss and tell him you won't be coming in today?

No, I'll be fine. I've got to get some money saved up for Christmas. Can you start a pot of coffee while I get dressed?

She nodded, smiled, and kissed him on the forehead; then she walked into the kitchen.


After seeing her husband off to work, she decided to do some laundry. Having made an unconscious decision to block out the previous day's events, she went calmly about her daily routine. After starting the washing machine, she ate eggs and toast while reading the New York Times. At 10:00, she decided to start the baby's formula and wake him up; after all, if he did not get up soon, then she would not be able to get him to sleep tonight. She put a pot of water on the stove, then walked toward her baby's bedroom.

With a smile on her face, she walked inside the bedroom and picked up her sleepy son. She carried him back into the living room, softly talking to her child, trying to rouse the baby. After laying him on the couch, she unraveled the blanket covering the baby. The first thing she noticed about her baby was the fact that he had a hideous bandage covering almost all of his face, with dried blood soaking through. Within seconds of this discovery, she noticed that her son was not breathing. This sent her into a frenzy of screams which she could not control. Then, she found the baby's arm hanging an inch under his shoulder, with thread sloppily clinging to the skin. She immediately stopped screaming when she saw this, the memories of the previous night were coming back into focus. With workmanlike resolve, she wrapped up the baby in the blanket again, and took him to the garage. She found a small box, placed the baby inside, and walked over to her garden. Using her hands, she dug through the soil normally used for making cherry tomatoes, and buried the box.

She walked back inside the house and washed her hands. She reentered the living room, finding a blood stain which was left over from last night. Calmly, she walked to the hall closet and grabbed her Bissell Deep-Cleaning upright vacuum, and brought it back into the living room. Remembering that this was the spot where her son had died the night before, she started cleaning, needing to rid her mind of this horrible memory. She went over the stain dozens of times, but it would not wash away. She saw her husband drive up, and she became very distraught over the fact that he might find the bloody patch in the rug.


He returned home at 2:00, three hours earlier than usual. His foreman had sent him home after he scrapped yet another airplane part. His machine was supposed to be making the landing gear for the planes that Boeing makes, however he does not work directly for Boeing itself. It takes an hour to shape each piece, and he had already ruined three of them today, so his boss told him to take a couple of vacation days off until he felt better. The drive home took longer than usual as well, because he forgot which freeway exit to take. After back-tracking for three miles, he eventually found his way home.

He opened the door, feeling as healthy as ever, then he stepped inside and the headache returned. His wife was vacuuming the living room carpet in tears.

It won't come clean, damn rug! she exclaimed loudly.

Noticing how upset she was, he tried to be sensitive.

Oh, honey, you don't have to do that. It looks very clean to me.

NO! The stain won't come out! No matter how much I try, it won't go away.

Instead of fighting with her, he decided to take a nap. First, he went to check on the baby. Peering inside the dark room, he discovered the baby was not there.

Honey, where's the baby? he called out over the vacuum roar.


Where is the baby? (now in the hallway).

Oh, he is with mom.


She wanted to see him.

Oh, OK.

Already drowsy, he closed the bedroom door and took three aspirin. After placing his earplugs snugly inside his ears, he fell asleep almost instantly.


Five hours later, calm and refreshed, he walked towards the living room. No longer vacuuming, his wife was now grunting and breathing heavily. Hearing ripping sounds, he curiously walked in to find her pulling up the carpet.

What the hell are you doing?

No matter what I did, I could not get that damn stain out. So I am taking the rug out.

What? (shaking his head in bewilderment). That carpet is perfectly clean.

NO! Can't you see? (holding the rug to him). It is full of blood. See? See? Right there! You wouldn't want to live in a house with a bloody rug, would you?

What blood? All I see is a crazy woman pulling up my carpet. I'm going to get the baby; we can talk about this later.

I'm afraid you can't do that, she replied, more subdued. I told you, he is with mom.

Yeah. So I'll go over to my mom's house and pick him up, he replied with a patronizing tone. Really, what is wrong with you today?

Don't you get it? He isn't with your mom.

What the hell are you talking about now? He has to be, because your mom has been . . . dead for . . . ten . . . years (drifting off).

His eyes glazed over, he was once again lost in the void.

(Distantly). Here, let me help you with that carpet, he said, softly. You go ahead and make dinner.