A Mother's Love

         There was a knock on the bedroom door. The door itself was painted white with pink accents, and a bronze coat hanger laid at the top. On the hanger was a child’s purple winter jacket. Teddy bear stickers made a clear line at about a child’s height. A plastic pink chair was pushed up against the doorknob. There was another knock.

          “Abigail. I know you’re in there. This morning Lucy told me you didn’t want to play with her again.” A pause. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

         There was a sigh. The person outside put weight against the door. The chair held the knob in place. “I’m going to give you three seconds to compose yourself. When I come in, I want an explanation.”

         “One.” A pause. Breathing.

         “Two.” A longer pause. Snarling.

         “Three.” The door moved, but it didn’t open. The mother on the other side expected the worst. She began to push against the door. Now, she heard growling. “Oh, consarn it, Abbie!”

         There was a particularly loud push and the chair slid to the floor, the door opened. The room was dark except for the small path led in from the hallway. Pink carpet. The mom immediately went for the light switch, and she already knew what she saw. Next to the fallen chair sat Abigail.

         Her back was turned and sloppy wet sounds emitted from her feeding mouth. Her mother recognized her dress, it was the one given to her by her late aunt. And, finally she admitted to herself, underneath Abigail was the body of a poor newspaper boy. She loomed over her, but her face was turned to the side in disgust.

         “Really, Abigail?! Again? I thought we had this issue under control! I thought you were better than this! Hm? Was I so wrong in wanting you to be better?”

         She clutched Abbie’s shoulders, shaking at her from above. “Look at me!”

         Abbie did. Her face was contorted in anger and satisfaction. Even as she stared at her mother, she stuffed her face all the same. Her hands hastily shoved food into her waiting mound. She ate. She burped. Her hair was matte with blood against her temples. Her mother patted her back. For an instance Abbie’s hands slowed down, and then all at once she lowered them. She started to cry. Her mother began to hug her.

         “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I was just…I was-” Abigail sobbed into her mother’s shoulder. She cradled Abbie in her arms, shushing her.

         “I know you’re tired of waiting, sweetie. Just, keep playing with Lucy a little longer okay? How many little girls get to play with their food?”