Curtained

This is the beginning

Somewhere in time the mother is depressed. The child doesn’t know this, the child has never heard of depressed. The child watches the mother from behind her eyelash curtain, not knowing this is the beginning of secrecy. She watches for the slightest upturn of her mother’s lips, for the lines on her forehead to smooth out like waves on a sunny, sandy beach. The child has never been to the beach but she’s seen it on TV, broad and sparkling like thousands of smiles. 

The child thinks the mother doesn’t like her, doesn’t want her. The child moves from room to room like a shadow. The child tries to stay out of the way. She wonders why this house is so silent except for when the baby cries. She watches the mother pick up the baby with a deep sigh, watches her walk back and forth across the wood floor, empty echoes going nowhere. 

The baby sits in the corner in a cradle-like thing, Her eyes are big and she is quiet now.

The mother stares out the kitchen window, hands methodically washing the same plate over and over.

The child watches behind curtained lashes. And waits.