Day Three by Holly Day

Mar 30 2012

He’s wearing out. The man looked old and tired. I have to go to work. I should call in. Damn, I should call in.

No, no, go to work. Candice took the sobbing baby into the bedroom and sat down on the bed with him. The baby began to nurse. I’ll take care of him. I’ll call you if he gets worse. Or better. She made a smile. Go to work.

And then the woman was alone with the baby. The baby’s eyes were closing, and it looked like sleep. Candice waited, holding her breath. Shhh. Eyes closed, stayed closed. Candice put the baby on the bed and gently piled covers over the tiny white body. Shhh. She backed away. Shh. She closed the door. So quiet.

Her ministrations of the previous nights appeared to have worked. Here and there were tiny holes in the walls and floors, but no new gigantic rips through the house’s foundation could be seen. She poured rubbing alcohol along the windows and doors, everywhere there was exposed wood. Get ‘em while they’re sleeping, she thought. All along the floor molding.

Two bottles of alcohol later, the baby was still asleep. Candice looked in and watched the tiny chest rise and fall, rise and fall. She called Jonathan at work. The baby’s asleep.

Oh, thank God. You, you should sleep, too.

It’s so quiet, she said. I don’t know if I can sleep. I just want to sit and enjoy this quiet. She pressed the phone against her ear and closed her eyes. Can you hear that? she asked. Nothing at all.

Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hawai’i Pacific Review, The Oxford American, and Slipstream. Her book publications include Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar-All-in-One for Dummies, and Music Theory for Dummies, which has recently been translated into French, Dutch, Spanish, Russian, and Portuguese.

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