The Crying

The shrill crying from the newborn down the hall woke her from a deep sleep. Her eyelids felt tacky as she pried them open. The red hazy lines which seemed to burn brightly from silent alarm clock began to clarify, bring not only the time in to focus, but the fact that she had over slept. She rubbed her face against the case-less pillow and attempted to sit up in the bed. Again the crying rang out and she dug her nails into the bare mattress, which was her bed, and pulled her self up.

Opening her mouth she realized her tongue was adhered to the roof of her mouth, with the windows closed the apartment had grown unbearably humid. Again the crying rang out, she thought that if she felt this bad the baby must be far worse off.

Her bare feet planted themselves on a pile of soiled clothes and attempted to support her has she lifted her self upon them. The extra large, and very tattered shirt she slept in unfurled as she stood, she pulled the thread bare bathrobe, which had been her blanket only moments before up, off the bed and sluggishly threw her arms through the sleeves. Upon stretching out her arm she felt a sickening pain and quickly recoiled it, rubbing it impatiently with her other hand.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that her head already felt like a home for disgruntled jackhammers, the crying cut through her, worsening with every throb pulse of her headache. She staggered to the bedroom doorway, brushing a fly out of her face. From this vantage point she could see her boyfriend laying on the couch eyes fixed on the television.

“Jason!” she commanded while steadying her self against the door jam.

He didn’t respond.

“Jason!” she yelled over the crying. “Can’t you hear that the goddamn baby is crying?”

He didn’t even acknowledge her.

“You can ignore me all you want you son of a bitch,” she growled. “But the baby is fucking crying, get off your lazy fucking ass and feed her.”

He kept laying there, focusing only on the Saturday morning cartoons.

“Lazy mother fucker.” She muttered staggering past the television on her way to the kitchen.

Pulling the door of the refrigerator open she struck by the light illuminating the empty fridge. At first she thought it was odd that the fridge was so brightly lit, until she realized that it was the rest of the apartment that was still dark. She kept the shades drawn most days, so she had just become used to the low light levels. Of course, the horrible headaches she woke up with on average didn’t do much to encourage her to open the blinds either. She began rubbing her arm again, realizing how much it hurt just to pull the refrigerator door open.

Again the crying rang out, even more shrill than before.

She snatched the bottle from the shelf, a wave of concern washed over her as she noticed the level of the milk in the bottle. Worry over the fact that the baby hasn’t been eating very much was quickly put on hold as the crying screamed out again.

“I’m coming baby,” she pleaded. “Mommy’s coming.”

She walked in front of the television, bottle in hand, shooting a hate filled glance at couch’s motionless inhabitant. Passing by she was renewed with anger that he didn’t even acknowledge her with a simple blink.

Back in the hallway she rushed to the crib in the baby’s room. She set the bottle down on the changing table next the eviction notice she found taped to the door a few weeks past. The crying became deafening as she bundled the baby up, scooping it into her arms.

She cooed at the baby, trying to get the baby to stop crying. She looked away from the baby’s face and made a “shushing” nose.

“It’s ok baby, mommy’s got you,” she reassured the little bundle. “Mommy’s got you.”

The crying continued, aggravating her already pounding headache.

“Oh baby, please stop crying,” she begged. “Please stop, they’re going to kick us out if you keep this up.”

Cradling the baby in her right arm cradled in one arm, she used her aching left arm to reach out and grab the bottle, bringing the bottle to the baby’s lips.

The crying only got worse.

She tried to ignore the pain in her arm and continued trying to feed the baby. But the baby would not drink, the crying only got louder.

Shushing even harder now she continued rocking the little bundle in her arms. Through the crying she heard the sound of banging on the front door. She walked out of the baby’s room and into the hallway.

“Jason!” she yelled out. “Get the fucking door!”

He continued to lie there.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed over the crying. “I’m coming, hold your horses.”

The crying paused.

She reached down for the door locks, as her arm hurt even worse unlocking the door she pulled the door open quickly, letting the security chain prevent the door from opening all the way.

Through the gap between the door and the frame she saw her landlord and three police officers. The men closest to the door winced as the door opened.

“Ma’am,” the police officer exhaled. “We’ve had complaint of…”

“Yes I know,” she interjected, cutting the officer off mid sentence. “I’m sorry, but my baby has been sick and she’s been crying non stop.”

The landlord covered his nose and mouth and looked at the police officer.

“Ma’am, I need you to open this door right now.” the police officer stated.

She looked down at the baby and realized that the crying had stopped. She nodded and closed the door just enough to unlatch the chain. This single motion transitioned the pain in her arm into a whole new realm of pain.

As soon as the door was fully opened, she began consoling the silent little bundled in her arms, still attempting to feed the bottle to it. The officer quickly entered the living room; one officer drew his firearm at the man on the couch, but quickly turned his attention to the back of the apartment. The officers made a strategic search of the rooms and quickly returned to the living room.

The landlord stood motionless in the hallway, his back against the wall as the medical examiner quickly passed by him and rushed into the room. The officer closest to the couch motioned towards the man still laying on the couch.

She watched as the medical examiner squatted by Jason, shaking his head. The medical examiner begrudgingly drew in a breath as he stood. Fear coursed through her body as he approached her.

“She’s been crying so much lately, but she’s ok.” She allowed the medical examiner to lift the tiny bundled from her arm.

“Oh god, tell me she’s ok.” She said again trying to take back her baby.

An officer stepped in front of her, his gun still drawn.

As the medical examiner unwrapped the tiny bundle one officer began gagging in the corner.

The medical examiner stood up leaving the baby on the table.

Seeing the man stand up without regard for her baby sent tears down her face.

“No!” she cried. “Don’t leave her laying there, she’s already sick, please don’t let her get cold.”

She pulled her bathrobe off to wrap up the baby and tried to side step the officer.

With one police officer in front of her, another came up behind her and began placing handcuffs on her.

“Watch her arm,” warned the officer facing her. “It’s still in her.”

She looked down at her left arm and noticed a broken needle sticking out of her arm along with the surgical tubing still tied around her bicep.

“Jason! Do something.” She cried.

But he did not move. He didn’t’ even move when the medical examiner pulled the blanket over his head.

The landlord inched his way to the front door.

“I got the complaint about the smell a few days ago,” he tried to tell the police officer closest to the door. “I thought the sewage line backed up in here, I had no idea…”

As the officer led her toward the doorway she began to thrash about has he gripped her wrists tightly. Blood began to trickle from the broken needle as she attempted to make her way back to her baby.

Then, for an instant, she saw her baby, not the way it was in her arms moments ago, but lifeless and emaciated. Her face twisted in horror not only at the sight of the nearly mummified infant lifeless on the table, but that she was the only one that could still hear it crying.



Exile