Superfluous to the Plan

Superfluous to the Plan


         The baby wrapped his hand around her ring finger as she rocked it back and forth. Her hands were rough and there was dirt caked under every fingernail. Her dull, red hair was pulled back and secured by a strip of green cloth. Head down, she sang the only lullaby she knew. “Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.”

         The woman, in the gray suit and expertly-permed hair, straightened up. “Well, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the baby's medical records.” Her gray suit shone. The faux-wood walls shone. The fluorescent lights shone. “In fact, from your phone call, I assumed the baby would be in at least some distress.”

         Not 'your baby', 'the baby'.

         Her baby yawned, exposing toothless gums, and twisted to find a more comfortable berth. Normally, it would still be sleeping. A baby needed sleep to grow big and tall. “And if that diamond ring turns brass. Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass.” The baby still smelt faintly of brand-name baby shampoo.

         “Now before we continue,” the gray-suit woman said. “There are a few things I need to bring to your attention.” Her bracelets made a tinkling sound as she reached for her coffee. It was some sort of instant Arabica that came powdered in a bag. She set the coffee aside. “I can get you one,” she offered, noticing the other woman looking at her bagel. The mother just shook her head. Gray-suit leaned back again. “Once we accept the baby, we can't return it to you. Even if you change your mind, we can't let you know where it is.”

         “And if that billy goat won't pull. Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull.”

         “Also,” Gray-suit added. “It is against our policy to release any information on the children's original family, even if they inquire after they pass the age of minority.” The gray-suited woman stopped. The mother was frowning; Gray-suit remembered her education level. “We can't tell him that you're his mother, even if he asks,” she said kindly.

         There was still no reaction, but Gray-suit continued. “It would be good if you didn't try to find him.” Every year, there were reports of birth mothers going to see their children. A week ago, she had helped file a restraining order against a Hispanic mother who had driven three-hundred miles to give her daughter a lollipop and a hug for her birthday. Her real birthday. “It would be best if you pretend that you never had him.”

         “And if that dog named Rover won't bark. Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart.”

         “Finally,” Gray-suit said. “We can't tell you anything about how he's doing.” She wondered, watching the girl rock her baby, how the mother could be so calm. It was like she didn't even care. “We can't even inform you if he's adopted by a family in a different country.

         The mother simply nodded. “And if that horse and cart fall down.”

         The words had left her mouth before she even realized. “I can't guarantee that you won't regret this,” Gray-suit said, the curls of her perm bouncing, “Especially if you haven't put much thought into this plan!”

         “You'll still be the dearest one in town.”

         “I can't,”Gray-suit said, the words tumbling out, “Even say that you'll be happy!”

         For the first time, the mother locked gazes with the adoption agent. The gray-suited woman found herself stunned by the girl's piercing eyes. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot, but the sky-blue irises were resolute. Quietly, they looked at each other

         Almost ten seconds later, the mother bowed her head, and went back to singing. After all, a baby needed to sleep in order to grow big and tall.

          “Hush little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird...”