“Baby, do you know who that is?” he was referred only as Baby. So, he assumed that’s what he was called. Like Mommy was called Mommy. “Look ahead. Do you see?”
“Me. Baby,” he pointed with a dried bloody finger. “Baby and Mommy.”
“Yes,” Mommy grinned. He liked when she did this, because all her perfect teeth were on display.
His teeth were not perfect. He was Baby. And Baby doesn’t get perfect, grown teeth until he reached two ones. Or at least that’s what Mommy told him.
“One more time?” she whispered in Baby’s small ear.
“Okay,” Baby’s chubby fingers wrapped around Mommy’s wrist once she clasped her hand over his mouth, then plugged his nose.
He could feel his little tommy stop pumping up and down, while he closed his eyes. Mommy always taught him to focus on something else while she tested his strength. She said he would need it when they escaped to the big waters.
This wasn’t the only exercise he did. When Mommy put him in the tub, she’d teach him new ways to move his arms in big water, and tried explain how to float. Baby never understood the floating part but tried to imagine himself doing it in a bigger tub, with darker water.
“Twenty-two seconds,” she exclaimed. “That’s a new record!” Baby let out a deep sigh and fell back into Mommy’s lap. “Baby you're catching up to me,”
“Really?” Baby’s eyes opened. Mommy pushed his dirty hair out of his face to kiss his forehead. Baby liked her lips on his forehead.
“Yes. And when I return I want you to be waiting for me, right there.” Picking up his head, Baby stared at the stained mattress in the corner of the dark room.
He frowned. “Pillow is gone,”
Mommy moved up, forcing Baby to settle forward. “No, pillow is just behind me.”
Taking pillow in his grasp, Baby stood over Mommy. “Why do we have to sleep so early?”
“Because I want to wake up before you. Don’t you hate when you can’t wake Mommy?” Baby shrugged.
“I like twisting your hair,” Mommy smiled at that. Which made Baby smile.
“Come, now. Bedtime,” When she stood, Baby scrambled to the mattress. It was a game he called “Touch the Mattress Before Mommy Does.”
And every night was a success, except for this night. Mommy moved quicker than he’d ever seen, and giggled louder than he ever heard. “I beat you,” she cried.
“Mommy!” Baby crossed his arms. “I wasn’t ready,”
Still laughing to herself, Mommy yanked him on top of her. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
“What’s a sore loser?” pulling the blanket from the bottom of the mattress, Mommy laid it across his small body the way he liked it.
“Someone who blames other people for losing.” She explained.
“Sorry,” Baby whispered, reaching his red fingers to touch Mommy’s face. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Baby, don’t take it to serious. Okay? It’s just a silly game.” She moved in for a kiss on the cheek. “Now, if I don’t wake up before you, you know what to do?”
“Repeat my alphabets three times. And count to one hundred and seventy-two.” He remembered.
“Correct.” She pushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “I cooked you some oatmeal for the morning, because I don’t want you using the stove. I put it in a container.”
Baby scrunched up his little face." I hate cold oatmeal,”
“Stop complaining,” she warned. “Cold is better than what?”
“Nothing,” Baby moaned.
Mommy clearly nodded more to herself, then stood to her feet. “Now sleep.” She ordered.
And no more than ten minutes of tossing, and singing nursery rhymes to himself, Baby was fast asleep. She’d laid him down at a good time, with two hours to spare. Usually she took this time to reflect or clean around a bit. But she was tired of seeing Baby crying when she awoke, with the fear of her never coming back to him.
So, she quickly washed the same tee he had worn for the past two years, and hung it on one of the cabinets closest to the ceiling fan. When she finished, she removed her own shirt to rinse it, before snuggling up next to him.
This was her baby. He was the only reason for her to carry on like this. The only reason not to seek help. And when Cameron put her on the drugs, it further proved that she was the only person that could be involved.
Sometimes she would awaken to a child crying, and not be in the right place, at the right time. And all she could do was comfort him, from the opposite side, like a broken record.
Malina tried teaching him to be strong. He was learning well enough. Yet, somehow, she felt as if he was becoming braver than her.
It was hard waking up in India every day not to see him waddle over to her. Or, listen to him try and sing her a new song he invented daily about food. It was difficult being a mother, but at the same time not being on at all.
Her fear of never seeing him again was the worst of all. She refused the idea so much it made her sick.
DISCLAIMER
So, after all the searching I figured out Malina's ability. I knew it had to be something that was personal, in which she didn't like sharing, but at the same time a mental ability. Her ability is called "Alternate Reality Traveling" in which she travels to an alternate realty while she sleeps. In this realty she went on with the decision to have a baby boy, known as "Baby," Every ability that is chosen somehow corresponds to the personality/wants of the people. Clearly she has been dealing with this for a while assuming that Baby is around flour-ish five-ish. She has no control over anything that happens there, she simply has to live through it. I hope you enjoyed the first piece of Red Berry. Like I said this is a experimental project, things might sound weird.