Monday, April 23, 2012

The Solution.... By Carla Blaschka


"The worst of human narrowness pours forth in the negative assessment of monographic work as merely descriptive."

What a whiner. I put down my book and surveyed the scene. A wet and shaggy corgi ran past looking for more fun with master. A photographer was filming people walking toward the camera for who knows what reason. A grungy crazy-looking tramp was kicking the gravel in the path while muttering mayhem toward somebody or something and at random intervals we would hear random drum beats from a group of Native American kids seated in a circle on the lawn. A small terrier raced hell for leather with a ball in its mouth away from its owner, then brought it back to demand it be thrown again.

I was in distress. My stomach was hurting and my chest was doing that odd thing again. It felt like I forgot to breathe and then I would have to gasp in a huge lungful. It only happened when I was anxious and I was always anxious these days.

I was contemplating ways to remove my sister's baby from her, and it was killing me.

It was going to break our family in two, but what could I do...she was acting crazy. I had researched post-partum depression online and she was showing all the symtons. Crying all the time, talking crazy about killing herself or the baby, ignoring her for hours and then calling me in the middle of the night because of some supposed health problem. She had phoned me at 3 am the other night to say Jeanette hadn't spit up enough after her feeding and should she take her into the emergency room! Christ, what a nutter. I was so worried about her. Every news story I'd ever heard about it featured some woman who killed her baby while it she was hallucinating it was Jesus and that it would come back from the dead or some such crap.

Was I going to wait until she killed Jeanette and spend the rest of her days guilty and in prison or was I going to intervene? I wanted to save her too, she was my sister and I loved her.

It wasn't like she had a husband to look after her. She wanted a kid so she got one, without regard to Jeanette's need for a father, without regard to what might happen if she got sick and now this. It was a rare day I could get her to meet me or even open her door, she just locked herself away from all of us, and she was so deep in crazy that she couldn't see it.

If I took the baby, I'd be a kidnaper. They'd find me and then just give the baby back to her. I was willing to sacrifice myself for Doris and Jeanette but that wouldn't work. I had called CPS but they didn't have the staff to handle "maybe's". Maybe she'll hurt the baby, maybe she wouldn't. I had called her doctor, but didn't think she'd convinced her to take anything for it. If I got more authorities involved, my sister would never speak to me again, and I'd never see my niece.

Fluffy cotton clouds floated in a baby blue sky, just like they did in Jeanette's nursery.

I could push my sister off the ferry, claim she committed suicide. That would save the baby. I checked my watch. The next ferry was at two-thirty.

But I couldn't. I loved her. I was trying to save her from infanticide, not destroy her.

My stomach felt like I swallowed ground glass, I was so worried. We were going to Bainbridge Island to visit Grandma and were meeting at the fountain, now sprouting green water in honor of spring.

A Seattle legend walked past, sunshine itself in yellow and a colorful pink beard. He stopped at a request to have his picture taken, and I noticed the takers never even asked his name. I had wondered before if the bright peacock colors he wore were really just his camoflauge, to hide who knows what precious gem inside.

What to do? What to do? I was so tired of this. Just worn out with worry and getting phone calls in the middle of the night. I was beginning to act crazy.

I wanted to save the baby, save my sister, save our relationship, get back to normal. I loved my sister. If only she hadn't gotten pregnant, this never would have happened. It was having the baby that had caused all the problems. It was the baby who was to blame. If the baby wasn't here, I wouldn't have a problem.

To get rid of the problem, I just needed to get rid of the baby. Bingo.

When the ferry bumped against the dock, I could 'accidently' drop the baby overboard, throw myself over to pretend to save it while I made sure it didn't bob up to the surface like a fat pink apple. Result: sister sad but saved, relationship strained, but hopefully saved. Nobody in jail.

Problem solved.


---by Carla Blaschka, 4/21/12

      Written alongside PurpleMark Wirth at Cal Anderson Park, Seattle.

Carla's Prompts:                                                                         

  1. "The worst of human narrowness pours forth in the negative assessment of monographic work as merely descriptive." Stephen Jay Gould. Wonderful Life. (WW Norton & Co, NY c.1989), Page 100.
  2. "I consulted my schedule again, which told me that the next ferry back would be two-thirty." Sharon Duncan. The Dead Wives Society. (Signet, c.2009), Page 100.
  3. "6. Research Post-Partum Paranoia online" Diana Osgain. Bundle of Trouble. (Berkley Prime Crime, c. 2009), Page 100.
  4. "Her ailment seemed more mental than physical." Theo Paijmans. Free Energy Pioneer: John Worrell Keely. (IllumiNet Press, c. 1998), Page 100.
  5. An object: A wet shaggy corgi passed by

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