Thursday, 13 November 2014

The Daily Grind by Naomi Elana Zener

I gaze upon you, your fervent gaze staring intently in the opposite direction from mine. You stand stoic, waiting, hoping, anticipating some sort of movement coming towards you. Time passes, the movement you desire has not actualized. You flop down, your body restricted, causing in you frustration, but a deep chortle in me, emanating from deep within my belly. I’m not laughing in a maniacal way, but sweetly alongside the chuckle you’ve yet to let loose simply because your age prevents you from realizing the comicality of the situation.

Suddenly, I see you hop sprightly to attention upon hearing a fictional sound afoot. I continue to lay in wait until your hope deflates, for only I know that nary a foot will breach the threshold. You remain ever a prisoner—seeking freedom at the hands of a benefactor—hoping that I will be the one to secure your release. Down you go once again, supine in defeat. So, you roll around in your perceived cage, doing your best to entertaining yourself within the four walls that contain you.

Through the screen I continue watch you like a stalker, taking in the scene, but not making any moves. I’m a voyeur with a window into your world. I sit as you stir, tracking your every move until our game of brinksmanship forces my hand, in the form of some well-played manoeuvre by you. Something is launched. A strident scream bellowed. A frightening thud heard.

The energy I must muster, to rise, to walk, to climb the stairs, and creak open the door—as my aching, creaky joints let loose sounds betraying my age—behind which your peering eyes have willed to be swung ajar. No longer hidden, I find you, your arms outstretched, beckoning me to come hither with pleading eyes and a rosebud mouth that cries out "Mama!" as if to say "Took you long enough. Now, get me the hell out of this fucking crib!" I cross the plains that consist of but only several feet, which for you feel like miles on end. I reach into your cage and scoop you up into my arms. With the sleep wiped away from your eyes, and the air filled with the wafting scent of a desperately needed diaper change, I masterfully and rotely repeat the dance steps we take daily after we’ve been reunited once the two hour reprieve I enjoy has come to an end. And, with each post-nap period, we will continue to engage in this two-step anew, with you always the victor having broken free from the shackles of your crib—my warden yet again—putting me to work until your daddy gets home.


© 2014. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

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