No anser. I turn on some lites and look around for the thing where you set how hot you want the place to be. Its in the living room. I smile at the whoosh sound from the furnace when I turn up the heat. Its great to be inside and walking around in socks and to feel warm air on me. I stuff a kitchen towel in the broken window. In a few minits it is warm enuff to take off my coat. I put the gym bag down on a chair. The baby inside stares up at me with eyes like black beads.
Hi there I say as I lift it out.
Not that I like the baby. I dont. But I dont want it to die on me. So I act frendly and tickle it in the tummy like people do. The baby does not want to sit up so I put it on my lap facing out and use my arm as a seat belt to hold it safe. It is bigger than a loaf of bread but not much. A big loaf of bread. I find the cheerios and offer them. The baby looks away. And then it looks at me. I can read its mind. I know what it is feeling. I am feeling it 2.
Thirsty.
I take the baby with me to the kitchen sink and run some water. The baby perks up. But now we run into trouble. There are no bottles or baby cups. All this water and no way to get it to the baby. The next 5 minits are almost funny they are so awful. I can not get the water into the baby. I can get close—I can get a glass rite up to the babys mouth—but close is not good enuff. I can not get the baby to drink. It trys to drink from the glass. Gosh it trys. But it cant. It moves its mouth and gasps and chokes and spills and almost dies. Its not fair. I want the baby to drink and it wants to drink. We are both on the same side and we are losing.
The baby is so thirsty and mad it cries. I know how it feels. I feel like crying myself.
I get an idea. I put the baby on the floor on its back and neel over it and pour water into its mouth like you pour into a glass. This is a bad idea. Lots of spilling and coffing head turning and arm waving. Everything gets wet. I wipe up and sit the baby on my lap and try again.
Arrrg. Nope.
I drink myself to show the baby how you do it. I only mean to take a sip but the waters so good I cant help drinking the hole glass. I lean over the sink and pour another glass with 1 hand. I hold the baby with the other. I hear loud sucking noises. Hah! The towel I used to wipe up the water is on my sholder and the baby has the end in its mouth. It is drinking. I pull out the towel and wet it again. The baby goes back to drinking.
Hah! Hah! We have a system.
My relief is like dropping a heavy suit case.
The house phone doesnt work. I tryed it first thing. The Goyettes must be away for a while and turned off there phone. Thats why there are no cars or lites and the drive way is snowed over. The Goyettes are in Florida or Cuba getting sun tans.
In a few minits the place really starts to heat up. The baby is still drinking. I take off some of its close. It has a lot of black hair. A lot. When I pull off the hat it is like opening a joke can with snakes in it. Boom! Hair. I have to laff.
I wonder what her name is? Or his. It looks like a girl with all that hair but I dont know for sure. And I dont wanna find out. For me it is an it.
It stops drinking long enuff to eat the hole bag of cheerios and it is still hungry when they are gone. It looks at the empty bag. I know that look. I look at my empty plate that way sometimes. I wet the towel for the 300th time and the baby goes back to drinking.
Theres no cereal in the kitchen but I hunt around the shelves and find a can of pasta with a pop top. Woo hoo! Good stuff—tomato sauce and cheese. I can eat it cold and so can the baby. We share. The baby eats from my spoon. When I spill it licks my finger. We finish pretty quick and the baby falls asleep in my lap befor I even know. I put it on the couch and cover it up and think—what the hell?
I havent had time yet. But now that we are warm and safe and fed and the baby is sleeping I can wonder—what the hell is going on?
There are 2 parts to my what the hell. The first part has to do with the baby. How did it end up on the ice? Who leaves a baby on the ice? Not mom and dad—at least not this babys mom and dad. They care about it or they wuldnt of packed diapers and cheerios. So who? A bad guy trying to kill the baby? That doesnt sound rite. Who hates a baby that much?
I dont know the anser. So much for that part of my what the hell.
The second part has to do with me. Maybe I got kid napped so some place could get back the anthem that Grampa stole. But what about Grampa the wolf steering me across the ice to the gym bag and telling me to take care of what was in it? How much do I beleeve? What the hell is going on with me? I dont know the anser to this ether. But there is the baby making a little snuffy noise in its sleep. I cant deny that. Its totally real. So the rest is something I just have to take on faith for now. Chance. Grampa. Whatever.
Now the baby makes a noise. I know the noise and so do you. Yah that noise. It is a funny noise when you make it with your lips or under your arm pit—but the baby is not making the noise under its arm pit.
Oh.
The baby frowns and grunts and turns over in its sleep. Theres the noise again. The baby has had a lot to drink and eat and it is ready to—it is starting to—to—oh no.
Oh no no!
The noise goes on and on and on. And on.
And still there is more noise and more—more. Its epic. My jaw drops open and stays there. I dont know wether to scream or laff or start clapping. I am impressed. The baby sounds like it is digging to China or firing a rocket at the moon—and it sleeps thru the hole thing.
I dont want to talk about the next ten minits. The smell. The noise. The filth. The amazing amazing filth. Maybe not as bad as being kid napped and locked up in a cold basement but no fun. Trust me.
About half way thru the front door opens.