Flash Fiction

I've been looking through a genre called Flash Fiction to find interesting pieces for my students. This is basically a short short story, brief, concise, and to the point. However, it also contains the traditional story arc of longer pieces. As I combed through my own desktop, I came across this piece, which I wrote at some point this summer--it's a bit of a haze. Thought I would share it with you here, since it's based on my experience. Bear with me--I've never written flash fiction until now.

Hope

In that moment, as her daughter’s head brushed her own, she felt the smallest inkling of motherly feelings. She spoke, something generic like, “Hey baby,” but the intonation was husky, bearing the weight of her dreams. Her daughter looked at her—not an unfocused glance, like all the books had said. No, the blue, almost black eyes stared into her own, as if to say I know more than they think I know. I see you and I know you’re my mother and I am deeply delighted by that reality. No one else knows me quite like you do.

Months later, after the NICU bills begin to arrive, Isabelle knows that this moment saved her in the midst of wires and shots and Lumbar punctures and blood draws and EKGs and CT-Scans. This moment told her that her daughter would survive the Group B infection that threatened to hi-jack her tiny body. This moment held her up when the nurse practitioner voiced threatening words like, “mental retardation” and “paralysis.”

She pushes the stroller with her eleven-month old daughter safely tucked inside, away from the southern sun, and tells a friend about the birth, skipping the part about the nights spent in NICU as still too real to repeat. As they walk through the bird exhibit and smile at the long-beaked toucan, Isabelle says, “In that moment, I knew Selah was a fighter. I knew she would surprise everyone.” It isn’t until she speaks the words that she realizes the significance of that moment, that one look into her daughter’s eyes could convey so much truth. Strange it had yet to occur to her, but the passage of time often opens our understanding to a depth not yet realized.

She looks down at her daughter, encased in pink and brown stripes, covered with a shadow of the miniature stroller awning, and watches her knowing eyes follow the short flight of the colorful-beaked bird. She points and squeals, kicking her strong legs and flailing her arms in the direction of the caged bird. “Look. Bir’, Bir’,” she repeats as she looks back at Isabelle. In the still blue eyes of her daughter, she knows her hope has not, is not, and will not be cut off.

THE END

*Bonus points if you can find the religious allusion in the last few words of the story. :) I'm such a teacher. :)

Back in Session

School started earlier this August, and my life feels as if I daily press fast-forward from 7:30-4pm Monday-Friday and attempt to slow down and enjoy Tim and Macie the rest of the time. Today Macie came up to school (with Tim--she's not driving yet) to eat lunch "with" or rather "on" mom. The recent school policy this year is that children are not allowed on campus during school hours, and who should happen to run into me, my husband and my four month old? Our headmaster, of course. Thankfully, he was gracious and didn't attempt to remind me of the new policy declared in a first-of-the-year faculty and staff meeting. He asked a few questions about Macie and shook Tim's hand and let us do our thing--or rather Macie do her thing, which was to be carried across campus to a little room off the library, eat heartily, and then spit up.

Although I still haven't cried about going to back to work yet, I definitely feel the pull between professionalism and mommy-hood. I wish I could only teach while Macie is napping and then rush home whenever she wakes up. I also wish that I didn't feel this tug to be excellent at my job and excellent for my baby, but since the tug-of-war does exists, Macie always wins. Even if it means sneaking her on campus under my shirt. I'll just look REALLY pregnant again.