MILK

by

Jojo Barker

Melissa undid the top three buttons of her blouse, freeing her left breast. Tommy’s face had already screwed into a wail. She’d feed him straight away, before his cries could disturb other diners.

“Hon, could you pass me the towel out of the baby bag?” Melissa asked.

Before Melissa’s husband could do anything, her mother-in-law, Betty, snatched up the towel and shuffled it under the restaurant table to Melissa.

“Aren’t you embarrassed, Nigel?” Betty whispered.

Nigel picked nervously at the label of a ketchup bottle. “Well… sometimes…”

“You’re not embarrassed, Nigel,” Melissa flashed him a confidential smile. Only three weeks ago, sitting at this same booth, he’d told her how much he loved the sight of her breastfeeding her baby.

Melissa heard Betty mutter something about “discretion” under her breath. Nigel’s mother had been staying with them in Colorado for only two weeks, but it seemed like an eternity. In that short time Betty had even convinced Nigel that the old Chevy wasn’t good enough for them, and he’d gone out and traded it for an expensive foreign car.

“Look, Mum, he’s got Melissa’s eyes,” said Nigel.

“He’s got swimming class tomorrow,” said Melissa, smiling fondly at her son.

“Swimming?” Betty gasped. “But dear, he’s only six months old.”

“He loves it,” said Melissa. “I used to go under the water with him, but he hates the taste of chlorine on me, so I just go in up to my waist now.”

Betty tut-tutted into her sundae. “You American women, honestly.”

“Mum…” Nigel shifted in his seat.

“What?” Betty lowered her spoon.

“Go easy,” he said. “This isn’t post-war Britain. There’s nothing wrong with babies going in the water. And you make it sound as if breastfeeding’s some sort of disease you pick up in the United States. I mean, Jen breastfed Charlie, didn’t she?”

“That’s different,” said Betty, looking nervous at the mention of Nigel’s sister. “Jen was living in Brussels then, and Frank had that job at NATO.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Well… French women. It’s natural to them. They’re closer to the soil.”

“Brussels isn’t in France, it’s in Belgium,” said Nigel. “Besides, Middlesbrough’s pretty close to the soil, if you ask me. In the bloody dirt, more like.”

Betty laid her spoon carefully on the table “Well, Middlesbrough was pretty convenient for you when you were laid off for so long. Home wasn’t so bad then.”

Melissa caught Nigel’s eye and smiled reassuringly, but he didn’t return her smile.

“I’m going outside for a smoke,” he said, as he got up and left the room.

Alone with Betty, Melissa transferred Tommy to her right breast, carefully covering the left. She noticed for the first time the slightly lost look in Betty’s eye. “I wonder if Betty feels we excluded her from Tommy’s birth?” thought Melissa. But then, Melissa had needed to be alone back then. She’d wanted a baby so bad she would have done anything to conceive. The doctor told her she’d been extremely lucky. Having a second child would be suicide.

Melissa smiled a conciliatory, half-hearted smile at Betty. “I think we’re destined for just this one, you know. First and lucky last.”

“Well, that’s sensible, dear,” said Betty. “Nigel went through so much worry last time.”

Melissa nodded and said nothing. “One more week,” she thought, “just one more week.”

#

“You’re too close to the edge,” Betty’s voice trumpeted.

Melissa’s head pounded from the altitude. She’d developed a thumping headache as the railway climbed to the summit of Pike’s Peak.

“Oh well, at least this sight-seeing trip is keeping Betty happy,” Melissa thought. She held Tommy tightly to her. Over to the west, she could see the Rocky Mountains, folding the landscape into a series of serrated edges, and to the east, for as far as the eye could see, the endless expanse of the Great Plains. “That’s home, over there, see,” she whispered to Tommy, pointing in the direction of Westcliffe. Tommy stared up at her in wonder, as if she’d created the mountain range herself.

“Look at the silly dustbins they put here,” Betty poked a stick into a garbage can. “Why would they put a dustbin here on top of a mountain? What a waste of money.”

Melissa glanced at Nigel, as usual a fortress of reserve. She envied him. If only she had some of his patience. Then again, Nigel was like a locked door where emotions were concerned.

“Nigel, tell her not to go so close,” said Betty.

Nigel didn’t answer his mother. Melissa noticed his forehead creasing into a slight frown.

Melissa moved closer to the edge of the cliff, away from Betty. This area was called the Bottomless Pit, a sheer, one thousand foot drop into the canyon below. Above the tree line the summer sun had melted the snow months ago, revealing powdery red clay amongst the gravel. Melissa’s shoes were covered in it. Some gravel had come loose among the soil and the shuffling of Melissa’s feet sent several stones traveling across the surface, plummeting over the edge and down into the depths.

“Melissa, that’s way too close, you know.”

Melissa looked at the distance between her and the edge of the cliff skeptically. It would have taken a running leap to fall from where she stood. But she held Tommy closer, and moved dutifully back to the concrete platform, well away from the edge. She noticed the corner of Tommy’s blanket flapping in the breeze, and was about to adjust it when she heard Nigel’s voice behind her.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mum, will you just bloody shut up!”

Melissa wheeled around, surprised at the outburst from her husband. She caught a glimpse of Betty’s open-mouthed expression. She’d never heard Nigel raise his voice to anyone, let alone his own mother. Betty stood rooted to the ground, as if Nigel had pulled her pants down.

Melissa swung around again so that they wouldn’t see her. The view of Nigel and his mother was just too comical. She had to cover her mouth and laugh.

She turned too quickly.

A rounded patch of stones shunted her foot forward. Melissa lurched backwards, falling. She clutched wildly at the bundle in her arms as the baby’s blanket unraveled. She tried to grab the baby, grab the blanket, grab anything.

She missed.

In one fateful second, Tommy fell out of her arms and onto the concrete. She heard a sickening crack, as his head hit the surface.

Then instantly she heard another bone-crunching thud, as her kneecap struck the concrete. Ignoring the pain, she scooped Tommy up in her arms, hoping to hear his shrieks of protest ring out, but she heard nothing.

“Help me!” Melissa mopped Tommy’s head carefully, trying to stop the blood that was oozing freely through her fingers and flowing in a thin line across the concrete.

“For God’s sake, somebody help me!” Melissa’s words rang out over the silence, and echoed into the canyon below.

#

Four men in mourning suits eased a tiny, black casket into its grave. Melissa’s heavily sedated eyes gazed blankly at the descending coffin. She leaned on Nigel, her injured knee bound in a supporting brace. In the distance hung a rough wooden sign:

“Silver Cliff Cemetery

Founded 1878."

The priest tossed a sheath of baby’s breath into the narrow pit.

“Ashes to ashes.”

The spray of tiny flowers landed with a delicate bounce.

Melissa held her throat. “He can’t breathe. I can feel it.”

“Hon, don’t,” Nigel murmured.

Betty shook her head, and raised a cupped hand to Nigel’s ear. Melissa heard the words “…shallow grave…” whispered by Betty in a disapproving voice.

Suddenly Melissa felt an unbearable choking sensation.

“He can’t breathe! He can’t breathe!” She screamed as she lunged toward the grave. “Get him out of there! He can’t breathe!”

Nigel grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

She struggled against him. “He can’t breathe!”

Betty backed away further, as Nigel held a writhing Melissa.

Melissa’s head wheeled around like the Medusa to face Betty. “You!” Melissa screamed. “Why’d you have to come here? It’s all your fault!”

Nigel tried to put his hand over Melissa’s mouth but he couldn’t stop her next words: “I should’ve pushed you over that cliff. You old, useless woman!”

Nigel pulled Melissa towards him. In one swift movement he slapped her hard across the face. Melissa’s screaming died instantly, as she saw the tears in his eyes, his expression hovering between anger, grief, and self-doubt. She turned away from him just in time to see Betty, a handkerchief over her mouth, her face filled with a distant, patronizing pity.

#

Betty knocked on the door of the bedroom.

No answer. She turned the handle, opening the door slightly.

“Melissa?” Betty peered into the room.

It had been two days since the funeral. Melissa sat on the bed with her back to the door. In one hand she clutched a bundled up blanket; in the other she held a manual breast pump. Her hand worked the pump, which had gathered a small amount of milk in the attached bottle.

“Melissa, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I understand how you must be feeling.”

Melissa continued extracting her milk, in robot-like motions.

“There’s no point in keeping that. Let me get rid of it for you.”

Melissa stopped what she was doing and stared vacantly ahead, as Betty pulled the bottle from her grasp.

“I can still feel him,” Melissa said.

“I’m sure you can, dear.”

Melissa turned to Betty, a broken, pleading look in her eye.

“No, really. I can hear him. He calls me.”

Betty’s eyes filled with the same look of pity that she’d had at the cemetery. Melissa had not been allowed near the grave since the funeral. Her reaction had been too intense, and her doctor had decreed she be kept heavily sedated, unofficially confined to the safety of home.

“What if they made a mistake? He’d be so cold in the ground.”

“No, Melissa. There was no mistake.”

“I need to go back. Take me back to the cemetery. He needs me.”

Betty paused for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, as if making a decision. “Melissa dear, I’m going to get rid of Tommy’s things.”

“What?”

“It’s only for a while. Nigel and I have talked it over. There’s just too much here to remind you of him. We’re trying to help you.”

“No!”

Nigel appeared in the doorway. Melissa braced herself on the bed. She looked around the room for something to hang on to. She grabbed a teething ring.

“He needs this!” screamed Melissa. “He’s going to be cutting his first tooth soon. He needs this.”

Tears streamed down Nigel’s face as he dragged Melissa from the bedroom.

#

Midnight. Melissa’s hands opened and closed on the bed-blankets. In her mind she spun in ever-decreasing circles, her hair flinging wildly behind her, the peaks of distant mountains shooting past her field of vision. She sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a whimper.

The bedside lamp flicked on.

Nigel’s eyes opened, blinking at the brightness.

Melissa rocked back and forth in the bed, hypnotized.

“He’s calling me,” she said. “He can’t breathe.”

Nigel sighed, exhausted.

“Hon, you’re having another nightmare. Just like you’ve been having for the past month. You need to sleep.”

Melissa continued to rock. “I can’t sleep. He needs me. I know it.”

Nigel looked at the clock.

“I’ll wake Mum...”

“No!”

Nigel sat up in bed and put his arms around her. Her rocking ceased but she was stiff to his touch, her shoulders knotted into two tight balls. He rubbed her back gently.

“Melissa, I can’t go on like this. I’m falling asleep at work.”

Nigel tried to get her to meet his gaze but she wouldn’t. She just stared straight ahead.

“I’m going to sleep on the sofa,” Nigel said.

Melissa nodded.

#

The path to the cemetery was rough, and Melissa’s bare feet were bruised and bleeding. She’d walked two miles in her dressing gown, from their home to the Silver Cliff Cemetery, and she’d stumbled repeatedly on the way. The full moon illuminated the path before her, and the clear, night sky twinkled with a thousand stars. In the distance, the Sangre De Christo Mountains loomed over the horizon, like a set of jagged teeth.

She passed by a solitary, leafless tree, and entered the bare space that marked the grounds of the cemetery.

She knelt by Tommy’s grave. The flecks of white granite in the headstone caught the moonlight, making it appear as if a dancing white light hovered over it. The soil was dark and still looked freshly dug.

In the weeks since the funeral, several weeds had already taken root. The largest one had wedged itself between the soil and the headstone.

Melissa pulled out the weed and threw it to one side.

“How can they let weeds grow on you? My poor baby.”

A smaller one had taken root in the center of the grave. Melissa pulled it out as well.

There was another tiny one in the corner of the plot. She pulled it out too.

Melissa scratched the soil with her hand. It was still soft and loose. The coolness of the earth felt good against her skin.

She scooped out a handful of soil with her bare hands, and scratched her knuckle on a sharp stone. Blood dripped onto Tommy’s grave.

She started to dig with her hands, unaware of the bleeding. Then she noticed a flat, broken piece of slate nearby. Carefully she brushed away the thin layer of surface dirt with the slate, and then proceeded to scoop out chunks of the soft, loose soil beneath it.

Ten minutes went by and still she dug.

Twenty minutes. She dug.

Thirty minutes.

Deeper.

An hour went by. Melissa felt her raw, bleeding fingernails scratch the surface of the coffin. She cleared away the dirt to reveal the shining black lid.

The meaning of Betty’s comment at the funeral suddenly became clear to Melissa. The grave was incredibly shallow. It could only have been three feet deep at the most. Even more surprisingly, the lid of the coffin was loose.

She opened the lid.

She saw Tommy, his skin shining pale blue in the moonlight, his eyes closed. He was so beautiful.

Carefully, she lifted him out of the coffin, and held him close to her.

He was cold, so cold. She pulled the dressing gown from around her shoulders and wrapped him in it, rubbing his hands and feet to warm him. She rocked back and forth as his little body grew warmer, and she felt her own arms and legs growing cooler in the night air.

“Wake up Tommy, please wake up.”

She lifted the nursing fold in her nightshirt, and freed her left breast.

“Wake up little baby. Aren’t you hungry?”

Gently she squeezed her nipple and a single drop of milk fell onto Tommy’s blue lips. The wetness glistened in the moonlight. A shuddering, irregular breeze eddied around the headstones and blew underneath Melissa’s nightshirt, sending a chill through her.

Tommy’s tiny mouth moved, tasting the milk.

Melissa held him tight, pulling the dressing gown closer to him.

A single finger moved on his left hand.

Tommy’s eyelids flickered.

His eyes opened. He blinked a few times in the moonlight, looked up at her, and started to cry. It had been five weeks since his last feeding.

“It’s okay. Momma’s here.” She cradled his head, trying to avoid the deep gash that ran down the back of his neck, as he took her nipple in his mouth.

She sighed as Tommy sucked at her breast.

“I’m never going to leave you alone again, ever.”

Melissa started to sing a lullaby as she rocked back and forth. He was so hungry. She’d never felt him going so hard at her breast. Her eyes welled with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry.”

He fed ravenously.

“They said to leave you but how could I? How could I leave my precious bundle of joy? I love you so much, little baby. I love you so much.”

Her tears flowed in a torrent now, wetting her face and hands. It was the first real opportunity she’d had to let it all out after the birth. The difficult pregnancy had exhausted her, and she’d been so careful with him for the past six months that it was unbelievable he could be gone. She wept for the miracle of this second chance, of having her one and only child, the baby they had told her was impossible, returned to her.

She felt Tommy’s mouth pulling at her breast, as her body was rocked by her sobs. She stifled her tears and saw that she’d wet Tommy’s head with her crying. Carefully she wiped his forehead with the blanket, as she noticed a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

Tommy had stopped feeding. She lifted him before her and saw that his lips were red.

“I’m sorry, baby. Momma made you bite her by moving around too much.”

She put a finger in his mouth and inspected a row of tiny little teeth.

Melissa had dreaded this. Everyone had told her that she should expect this after six months, and here it was. But she wasn’t going to wean him until she really had to. Besides, she’d already tried him with solid foods and he’d shown no interest. He wanted his Mommy.

“Silly people made me stay away and miss your teething. No wonder you’re so hungry.”

She stroked his head gently. Her breast was sore. She reached down to check the nipple and felt her hand settle on a patch of blood.

She looked down.

A six-inch hole was all that she could see where her left breast had been. A rib showed through the layer of fatty tissue that remained and a combination of blood and milk flowed freely from the wound. Her dressing gown and nightshirt were stained with it, and a dark pool had gathered on the ground, beneath her.

Tommy’s face screwed up into a wail, as she pulled him away. His head fought forward in her hands, his tiny neck muscles searching for her nourishment.

“Oh my darling, darling boy. I never knew you were so hungry. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Melissa winced in pain as she lifted her nightshirt and let her right breast fall free. Tommy continued to feed.

THE END