Baby Me's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Baby Me arrived at St. Michael's Hospital in 1960 with blond hair, blue eyes, and a hunger for everything. She wanted every face, every touch, every moment someone would pick her up. When warm hands lifted her, she knew she was wanted. When they set her down, she waited, believing someone would always come back. This was her world: the cycle of being held and being set down and being lifted again. She didn't know yet that wanting everything meant wanting something that could change. Therefore, the small white house became her kingdom. Her father's hands were the warmest of all. He picked her up when she cried and when she didn't cry. He carried her from room to room, showing her the window glass, the door handles, the texture of the walls. She reached for his face and he let her. She grabbed his finger and he waited. Every time he set her down, he came back. Every single time. But one day the wicker bassinet appeared in the corner of the room. It rocked on curved wooden runners, empty and waiting. Her father's hands still lifted her, but now they moved faster. He set her down more often. His voice changed pitch when he spoke to someone else, someone she couldn't see yet. The warm hands grew distracted. When her father finally brought the bundle home and placed it in the bassinet, Baby Me watched from across the room. The bundle made noise. It moved. Her father's hands hovered over it the way they used to hover over her. She waited to be picked up, practicing the patience she had learned. But the hands stayed where they were. Someone always comes, she told herself. Someone always comes. The bassinet rocked. The hands stayed warm. But they didn't reach for her.