Chloë was woken up all of a sudden by the loud wailing of the fake baby at 12 AM.
Emphasis on fake, there.
She grumbled to herself about effing stupid fake babies waking her up in the middle of an amazing dream as she turned on the lights and got out of bed toward the cardboard box laying on the floor which served as John's crib.
The light indicator on his right leg was flashing red and yellow, which meant that she had to change his diaper and feed him, which, taken together, would cost her about an entire hour of her sleep. Despite that, she picked him up.
She exchanged the baby's dirty (not) diaper for a clean one and placed him in her lap. This job seemed quite easy, except for the fact that she didn't know how to be affectionate towards a baby, much less make it stop crying.
Would it be rude to wake up Mum and use some of her help?
Not really, because this was a school project and her ever-loving mother had consented to helping her with taking care of John.
She got up and crept down the hall, wincing every time the obstreperous wooden floorboards creaked underneath her bare feet. She quietly opened the door to their bedroom and peered into the dark, trying to locate the bed in the middle of the room.
A tap on her shoulder made her turn around. It was Mum, her angular face shadowed in the dark, wearing nightclothes and a small smile. Elegant as always.
"Why aren't you asleep, maman?"
She waved away Chloë's question. "Nothing but a bad dream. I had gotten up to make some coffee since I wasn't going to bed anytime soon. Do you need anything, mon amour?"
Coffee - UGH.
Chloë burst out, whining petulantly. She just couldn't help herself.
"I swear to all the gods above, this fake baby is made of TITANIUM and is DEAFENING. He won't let me sleep every night, and the lack of sleep is KILLING me. I tried to put him to sleep by throwing him against a wall, and I also threw a frying pan at him several times, but karma decided to bite me back in the butt by sending the pan towards me at A HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR. I declare him to be a criminal, the proof being his bad choice of music, given that he doesn't like Khalid."
Chloë heard an inaudible snort from her mother. Then that snort turned into full-blown, laughing-so-hard-I'm-crying laughter. She grumbled something under her breath.
"Oh, dear-" she wheezed, "-that was one of the funniest things I have ever heard. Throwing a baby against a wall? Damn near genius! But-" she waggled her eyebrows at Chloë, "-hurling things at babies will not help them sleep, as I hope you've learnt your lesson by now. You need the assistance of your dear mother to put a baby to sleep by not throwing it at a wall. Also, think logically. Does it look like I did the same to you when I was in this situation?"
"YES, because I think I've been MAD RIGHT FROM THE DAY I WAS BORN!"
"Pfft, you know that's not the point. We're all mad in some way or the other. So-" here she changed her voice to a low rumble, made a grand gesture of sweeping her arms and bowed low, making Chloë giggle, "-lead the way."
Chloë led the way.
Her mother picked John up in her arms as soon as she saw him. "Chut maintenant, mon enfant," she cooed, "and be a good baby. Let your maman get some sleep."
Even though she is a fake one, just like you are a fake baby, Chloë thought, suppressing a mad snicker as she watched her.
Then Mum turned to Chloë and asked her to do something quite unexpected.
"Sing to him, and try to show him some love. You'll learn that it's nearly impossible to hate an infant for long. Just imagine that he's real, it'll become easier, d'accord?"
And so, Chloë took him in her arms and sang, with all her heart.
The only lullaby she ever remembered.
Terrible nightmares would come her way as a child when thunder would boom outside her bedroom window, rattling the shutters, a ghastly shade of purple. She had always been afraid of thunder, and so would shut her ears with her pillow and scream loud enough until she was able to drown out the sounds. Mum would rush in, calm as always, give her her medication and sing to her, right up until the storm ended, Chloë stopped trembling and the sounds of her soft breaths would begin to fill the room.
She looked into his eerily lifelike brown eyes and stroked his chocolate-coloured hair with gentle fingers. Putting a hand on his heart, she imagined a tiny heartbeat drumming in there, delicate and innocent. She put the milk bottle into his mouth and slowly heard his cries become softer. As she sang, somewhere far away, she could hear a sweet something over all the noise inside her head, the calm in the storm. The voice of Elpis that lived in the deepest parts of her mind.
"Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot
Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot.
Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu.
Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu.
Au clair de la lune, Pierrot répondit :
Je n'ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit.
Va chez la voisine, je crois qu'elle y est,
Car dans sa cuisine, on bat le briquet.
Au clair de la lune, s'en fut Arlequin
Frapper chez la brune. Elle répond soudain :
Qui frappe de la sorte ? Il dit à son tour :
Ouvrez votre porte, pour le Dieu d'Amour!
Au clair de la lune, on n'y voit qu'un peu.
On chercha la plume, on chercha du feu.
En cherchant d'la sorte, je n'sais c'qu'on trouva.
Mais je sais qu'la porte sur eux se ferma."
When she was done singing, she gently kissed the baby's forehead.
"Hush, mon bébé. Don't wake me up again, I'm hoping to catch up on my sleep and practice on the uneven bars tomorrow," she smiled down at John, unable to express any dislike towards him anymore.
She heard the snap of a Polaroid and looked up to catch her mother red handed, a guilty expression on her face.
"I'm sorry, honey. That moment was way too cute to miss out on."
Chloë surprised her mother - and herself - by hugging her and pressing her lips to her mother's soft cheek.
"You've shown me that loving anyone is not an impossible task, that it is in the human nature. Thank you, maman. Oh, and I suppose you can put that picture in our scrapbook," she beamed up at her, waving the now-printed picture under her nose.
"I haven't done anything, Chloë. You've found this out all by yourself, all I did was prompt you to do it. This life, this journey of finding yourself, it's all yours. You have the power to choose a path on your journey, and change your life by making your decisions, all in your way. The role of your parents and teachers is only to be the light in the darkness and show you where to go.
That's enough soul-talk for today, then. I don't wish to come off as a rambling lunatic to you, so let me tuck you in."
Chloë got into bed, Mum pulled the covers over her and she soon fell into a dreamless sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Finding You (UNDER THE PROCESS OF EDITING)
General FictionPlunged into an enigmatic darkness after a horrific turn of events, Chloë Williams becomes one with the ice that has wrapped itself around her like a cloak, obscuring the raw pain inside. She turns tenebrous and reckless, and doesn't care about wh...
