Cries Babies

by

Morna McLeod​

Bella’s favourite show appeared on one of those giant, four-story screens on the side of an office tower, across six lanes of traffic and surrounded by jackhammers. She sank down onto a bus bench to watch, her back to the sidewalk stream of early-morning office workers, each striding purposefully forward in their well-groomed, adult way. At last, blocks away from her tiny children and their dad, some peace to watch TV on her own. But just as she was grasping the plot – something about two undercover cops cornered by bad guys in an underground garage – why does anyone ever set foot in those treacherous garages? Bella wondered – who should appear and plunk down next to her but Rosy – Posy? – from Bella’s building, with her own baby attached to her front in a Snuggli, launching into the usual inane maternal patter about sleepless nights and projectile vomiting. Bella said, “We met last week at Don and Linda’s on the 11th floor. Rosy, isn’t it?” “Yeah. At the recipe swap.” “No. The 40th birthday. Don’s birthday.” “No. I don’t think you were there.” Rosy-Posy resumed chattering about her baby. Bella wondered which one of them had totally lost it – the one who considered that a logical sequence of thought, or the one who had shrunk into someone entirely forgettable. On the four-story screen, the female detective was now giving a bad guy a karate kick to the side of his head. Rosy’s baby began to cry, a sad little warble muffled by the Snuggli and the surrounding city noise. Rosy said she’d heard NASA was working on a system to track the sound of all the babies crying everywhere. “What earthly use could that be to anyone?” Bella asked. Unless it was to find all the moms with their bizarre ideas of normal, the ones so tired their judgement had been severely impaired. Bella glanced across the road at the giant screen and straight into the gaze of that clever detective, who smirked as she gave Bella a thumbs up. 
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