Sometimes Mothers are Cut Open
Willi and The Attic Antiquarian sit near the attic window. It’s jarring, looking outside and seeing absolutely nothing, but with luck, it will only be a temporary experience.
“Now,” The Attic Antiquarian begins, “while it is uncertain whether you live here, you still seem to be quite human, yes?”
Willi hadn’t realized her humanity was being questioned as well. She slowly nods her head.
“How old are you? In human years?”
Willi doesn’t know any other kinds of years. “Twelve and three quarters. I’ll be thirteen in February.”
The Attic Antiquarian looks down and Willi just now notices the notepad and pen they hold in their hands, writing furiously.
“What is the current date over there, out of curiosity?”
“December tenth,” Willi says. “That’s to be my brother’s birthday now.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yes. He is being born this moment. That’s why my parents are not here.”
“Both of them? But isn’t it true that only one parent gives birth to the baby?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“Then why do both parents have to leave?”
Willi frowns. “I’m not sure. I suppose…he left to help her. In case she needs it.”
“What does birthing a baby entail?”
“A lot of things,” Willi says, trying and failing to remember her biology lessons. “But for Mother’s case, they have to cut them out, with a knife.”
“Oh?”
“That’s what they did for me.”
“Whatever for?”
“I don’t know,” Willi answers truthfully. “I suppose I had a hard time coming out.”
“What was it like? Coming out?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t remember.”
The Attic Antiquarian tilts their head. “You don’t?”
“No, babies don’t remember anything.”
“Why not?”
“They have no brains to keep the memories in.”
The Attic Antiquarian straightens their back at this. “Really!”
Willi nods. “That’s why their heads are so squishy; there’s nothing in there. It’s not until one is about three or four years old that the brain grows in and the memories start to stick.”
“Well!” The Attic Antiquarian is writing writing writing in their notebook at a speed Willi suspects isn’t humanely possible.
“And tell me,” The Attic Antiquarian continues. “Why is it that your father left to help, but you were to remain here? Were you of no use to them?”
“They probably thought I’d kill the baby.”
“Would you?”
“I’d think about it intensely.”
“Why?”
Willi frowns, feeling her heart grow bitter. These are thoughts she knew she shouldn’t share with anyone, but surely a creature does not count as an anyone. Surely it’s okay to let the truth out here.
“I don’t think we need him,” she says. “I don’t understand why I’m not enough.”
The Attic Antiquarian leans in, likely to ask another question, when a crash is heard near the attic entrance. Both, Willi and The Attic Antiquarian, look up towards the shop. A little mushroom creature is standing on the boxes and knocking over various decorations and contraptions.
“Ah! Nonono!” The Attic Antiquarian hurriedly rushes toward the creature and grabs him in their dark hands. The mushroom creature squiggles and squeaks, trying to break from their grasp.
“Get off me!” he shouts, his voice high pitched and boyish. Black goo drips from his crown as he shakes.
“These aren’t items for you to play with!” The Attic Antiquarian scolds, dragging the mushroom creature off the boxes and towards the exit.
“But I’m bored!” the mushroom argues. “You have so much! Give me something to do!”
“Ah, if it will get you to quiet down. Um…”
The Attic Antiquarian looks around the items, hesitant, before their face lands on Willi’s.
“You!” They point at her. “Why don’t you keep this one entertained while I clean up this mess? Oh, as if I didn’t have enough work all ready.”
“All right,” Willi says. The mushroom stops squirming, beaming eagerly at Willi. She leads him down out of the attic as they hear the clattering of The Attic Antiquarian cleaning up.
And now we meet my other favorite character!
Thank you for reading!
