The Babies Were Gone/Fuel Up

Thursday. Quiet, here in the new home office. Joey here with me. Today planning on further organization - there is still a shitload of stuff that came over from the office that needs to be gone through. And the weekend looms which is stressing me out. That's not right, right? To be worried about the weekend? It's just that they're so hard for me these days - the whole alone thing. Weekends should be about falling into the arms of someone you love at the end of a productive week, physical intimacy, sleeping late, great meals, silly fun with friends. Weekends should not be spent largely alone with only memories. It's not right and I have it within my power to change it - I think. I must.

Writing group last night - sparsely attended - just Lucas, Convex, me and one other. Fun though - James led the prompts. He had us write a great first line and then use that same line as the start of three pieces (we actually only got to two). I toyed with four first lines:

• Look at me.
• When Cecilia was five her mother left her in a restaurant.
• The babies were gone.
• Janet stared in the mirror and couldn't remember anything, even the reflection that stared back at her.

I chose the "babies" one.  Here is what I wrote:

The babies were gone without a clue it seemed. Inspector Morse sealed the scene with yellow crime scene tape that stretched the full perimeter of the old stone building - The Cradle, founded in 1881 was nestled in a quiet respectable part of Evanston, had been there almost as long as the town itself. Those days the pregnant mothers would have been shepherded there under cloak of darkness, their shame palpable. These days, the mothers-to-be held court in the Georgian ante-room, weighing options, making life and death decisions they were too young to make. 

Morse shook his head at the thought of the young girls in trouble - "Little hussies," he thought, thinking of his own daughter, Salina who was kept under virtual lock and key. "My Salina would never grace these steps" he thought as he entered the now empty establishment, ducking his 6'5" body to avoid hitting his head on the ancient stone entryway which was designed for 19th century frames. 

The babies had been taken from the third floor nursery - all eleven of them which couldn't have been any small feat. There was no elevator, so whoever took them had to have made many trips and there must have been at least two perpetrators - maybe more. What was amazing was that all of this happened in the middle of the day. True, the full staff wasn't there - most of them having taken the Memorial Day holiday off. Yet there was Mrs. Rosen, the headmistress, Carl, the handyman/janitor, and Susan and Beth had nursery duty that day. 

Morse walked through the nursery for the umpteenth time, by now familiar with each and every bassinet, even the spit-up stains left by the infants. Nothing had escaped his sharp eye, or so he thought until this fifth look. Maybe it was because the sun, which had been missing for days, reappeared and caught the little key in its glittering rays - a weird little key peeking out from under the rocking chair, the kind you open a can of sardines with. Morse would have to question Susan and Beth again. They had said nothing about eating sardines when he interviewed them earlier. 

The babies were gone and the only clue a smelly little key. Morse doubted its significance but at this point, it was all he had, so he lifted it from beneath the chair with tongs and plopped it into a tiny evidence bag. Sitting at the small antique desk in the corner of the nursery, he read through the dossiers of the parent applicants again. Some were clearly unsuitable and those he put aside in a separate pile - these folks would still be smarting from the recent rejection - perhaps there was one among them who had decided to extract revenge from the snooty agency - someone who decided, "Fuck you all - you won't grant me a child! I'll show you! I'll take them all! 

There was the angry school teacher, Miss Marmane - she insisted on being called "Miss", never had a desire to marry but decided at age 63 she wanted progeny. She was, according to the notes, furious with Mrs. Rosen for denying her application. There was a lonely grandfather whose grandchildren he had become estranged from when his son divorced. He liked children a lot, especially the sweet, soft little girls he rocked back and forth in his lap. His son had stood by him through the accusations, but wasn't talking to him now - said the old man was the reason his wife had left and taken the kids South with no forwarding address. 

And there were more rejects - a thoughtful mother who had not so thoughtfully lost her own daughter - forgot she had put the carseat on the top of the car when she drove off. She wanted a replacement for the flattened baby. Then the energetic eater of plums - a Blue Man Group performer who wanted a baby for his act. The weirdest  applicant, by far, was a tone deaf snake charmer who insisted babies had a soporific effect on snakes - his snakes had become agitated of late - a baby would calm them.

As you can see, I didn't finish the story - the above was written in a little over 1/2 hour - really two prompts both starting with the same first line, "The babies were gone."  The underlined phrases or words above were provided as part of the prompts - we were required to incorporate them as part of the exercise.  Fun, right:? Later over tea, Lucas and I mulled over the plot.  "How DID someone steal all eleven babies in the middle of the day - undetected."  Lucas had the great idea of the laundry chute.  Inspector Morris would realize a supply of pillowcases or crib sheets was missing. He would figure out that the the babies were each wrapped up and shoved into the laundry chute to an accomplice below.

The real story of The Cradle, which is a client of mine, is that there IS concern over how to evacuate the babies from the third floor nursery in the event of disaster. Often the nursery workers are significantly outnumbered by babies and the challenge of evacuating more than two babies at a time became a safety concern. Someone had the idea to have special aprons made, into which up to five babies could be safely transported. I never got to see the famous aprons but it captures the imagination. Can you picture a woman, cool under pressure while tendrils of smoke waft around her, placing each baby into a baby-sized pocket of the enormous garment - squirming, crying babies zipped into cramped pockets? Then, can you imagine her carefully picking up the garment which has to weigh almost fifty pounds and carefully, without knocking baby skulls together or against furniture, putting the apron over her head? Then ever so carefully mincing her way to the fire stairs, taking the steps one at a time - the same foot leading and feeling for the stair below while the stairwell fills with smoke? And, despite her carefulness and the thoughtful design of the aprons, the babies who are zipped low into the hem of the garment are bounced against the stairs as she descends. She winces with each thud and thinks, "Better battered and bruised than dead."

All for today.  The challenge for you today is taking your emotional temperature. The end of the week is nearing. It's summer and there is an obligation to enjoy it - to fuel up the sun's rays for winter. Do you have good plans? If not, can you script some that will find you on Sunday night, exhausted, happy and fulfilled?Architects of our own lives, we are.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is a baby from the Indian Vadi Tribe, legendary snake charmers. Boys and girls (and apparently even babies) must learn to handle snakes. Here's the link to the page with the amazing video depicted in today's picture.  Here is the link.