No Tinkerbell Necessary!

My favorite part about this is the last image. I really liked writing that. I hope you like reading it!

***

The kitchen was chaos, and Eleanor was in a panic. Jason was rushing in and out, gathering papers and files to bring back to his briefcase, only to forget them again and leave. The boys, Leo and Frank, were coming in and out for various reasons. They would drop off their book bag, or forget their homework and rush off to get it, and every time they swept in and out they always asked: Is the food ready now?

This was the worst part of her day; the mornings on weekdays. Jason never cooked, and since they took after their father in so many ways, neither did the kids. It was as Jason’s personality had split in two and formed the high schoolers Eleanor had appease on a daily basis. Leo took after his father’s quiet side. He was passive aggressive, sneaky, and manipulative. Eleanor never knew when he was coming around a corner, and he had a slow burning temper that, at its peak, was as devastating and quick as a rattle snake lunging from its tight coil. Frank inherited his father’s athletic side. He played soccer and basketball in school. Unlike his brother, his temper was short, and Eleanor had already endured two visits to the guidance councilor and head coach about Frank’s “in game meltdowns”.

Leo had helped himself to an apple from the fruit basket in the center of the kitchen table. He munched and crunched, while Frank rolled a soccer ball back and forth under the table. Eleanor spun away from the oven’s steam and the heat to spoon eggs out on two plates. The pan was tossed into the sink, and she raced back for the bacon popping away in the deep skillet. Tiny oil bullets shot from the pan and singed her wrist, but the stinging was ignored as she threw the strips of bacon on the plates with the eggs. The skillet dropped back on the stove, and Eleanor killed the burner.

“Here you go, boys,” Eleanor went to the kitchen table, and set the plates down.

Leo sighed, “I’ll just grab something at school,” and stood to get his things. He tossed the apple core in the trash can as he left the kitchen. Eleanor watched him go, and smoothed back a strand of frizzy sandy hair.

A surge of hope ran through her, maybe Frank would interact. “Ready for your game tonight, Frank?”

“Sure,” he was up, scrounging for silverware. “Why are these all dirty?”

“The dishwasher’s backed up with food bits. You guys should really rinse your plates out when you’re done.”

Frank snorted, and came back to the table just as Jason stepped back into the kitchen. He was in a hurry. His jacket was draped over his arm, and his burgundy tie was loose around his neck. He used to be fit, but late nights at the office meant Chinese take-out and too much soda. “There’s my champ,” he winked at Frank, and made a line for the coffee pot. He shook it, and frowned at Eleanor. “No joe?”

Eleanor was at a loss. “Thought you were meeting up with your boss for breakfast this morning.”

Jason dropped the pot heavily on its base. “That’s right. Cup would be good for the road though. Maybe next time just put some on?”

Eleanor bit her lip. “I can make some really quick… if you want.”

“Forget it,” he shook some cereal into a bowl he nabbed from the cupboard, “I’ll just get some at the gas station.” He opened the drawer for a spoon, but when he found he turned it over in his hands, and inspected a couple more before holding them up for Eleanor. “Why are these all dirty?”

“The dishwasher. Remember? We called – ”

“Right, right, right,” he tossed the silverware back in the drawer, shut it, and cleaned off the spoon that remained in his hands. He sat down with his cereal, and began shoveling spoonful after spoonful in. Eleanor was about to say something, but Frank excused himself with an abrupt shove of his chair. He was texting at full speed, as he grabbed his bookbag off the back of his chair.

“Later, dad,” he said over his shoulder, and was gone from the kitchen before Eleanor could muster a farewell. She sighed, and focused on Jason again, but he was also deeply involved in his cell phone. Eleanor prepared a bowl of cereal, and cleaned one of the spoons in the sink.

“I had the strangest dream last night…”

“Mm-hm,” Jason glared at the screen his thumb was surfing.

“It got me thinking.”

“Right,” Jason shifted in his seat, pushed some gelled hair back from his face and started to answer a text that had just chimed in.

“Maybe, you know,” she tore off a paper towel and rubbed it around the spoon, “we could take the boys and go camping for a weekend. You think that’d be fun?”

Jason chuckled, and poked his phone. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he stood up, left his half-eaten bowl of cereal, and dragged his briefcase off the counter. He went for the door leading to the driveway. “I’ll be home late, don’t wait up,” he spun on his heel and was out the door with the phone to his ear.

Eleanor stood in the empty kitchen, the spoon in her hand, and with no other sound or person to keep her company except for Jason revving his engine outside. There was a flash of red beyond the kitchen door as the car reversed down the driveway for the open street. The roaring sound became a buzz that faded into the distance.

Eleanor’s head dropped. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she hurled her spoon into the sink. She wanted to tear the house down. She wanted to rip the cabinets up, and bang the pots and pans against one another. She wanted to open a can of paint, and drench the walls with greens, blues, and polkadots. Maybe then she would at least not have to look at grey, taupe, and off-white-mother-of-pearl-sandy-beach –

Upstairs, a baby started to cry. Eleanor’s tight, teary face uncoiled and the last tears fell from her cheeks. She released the lip of the sink, and brought her shaking hands together. Eleanor took deep breath, and rubbed away her tears as she climbed the stairs. The averted tantrum left Eleanor exhausted, as if she had just run a marathon. Her legs felt heavy; maybe she had slipped on a pair of armor leggings without knowing it. Wouldn’t that be something!

Eleanor cleared the landing, and crept down the hall. The baby cried on, the sound grew louder with every step. With the gentlest push, Eleanor eased open the door to the nursery, and stepped inside. This room was the spoils of battle, one that Eleanor had chosen very carefully. There were things she released into Jason’s control, the things she knew she could part with and only temporarily miss. However, there were some things that Eleanor clung to. These were the things she knew she needed. One of those things had been to decorate the nursery for her very first baby.

She painted the room herself. There was a big tree painted on one of the walls, and its leaves were blowing in the wind as the sun set across green hills. The sky was painted in several hues of yellow, red, violet, and blue. There were wild flours dotting the hills that stretched all around the walls of the nursery, and butterflies infinitely roamed that open, painted sky. There was a toy corner, a mixture of some tummy time toys and stuffed animals, and by the window there was an old stereo she had tuned to an oldies station. Books from Eleanor’s youth huddled tightly together on a little pink shelf close to the crib Eleanor had built. The wooden frame and rails were polished. A ladybug mobile hung from the top, and inside, pulling herself up from a pale blue blanket, was Wendy.

Wendy was one year old, healthy baby, sensitive to noise and bad moods. She had her mother’s big blue eyes, and her father’s dark hair. The soft locks reminded Eleanor of juggling veils and those feathers you could buy in plastic bags from party stores. Her face was red from crying, and her feet kicked inside of a light yellow jumper. The instant mommy and baby saw each other, their tears subsided, and their racing hearts calmed.

“Is that you squawking, Wendy bird?”

Wendy gibbered, and sniffed over and over again as she tried to catch her breath. She had already been crying so hard that she was having trouble calming down enough to do so. Her cries renewed, and Eleanor chuckled.

“Ohhh,” she drew Wendy up from the crib and lay her against her shoulder. “Ohhh, it’s okay. Get it out, sweetheart. Get it out, it’s okay. It’s okay, mamma’s here. She’s right here.” Wendy babbled into Eleanor’s shirt, and rubbed her head back and forth. Her whole body conformed to Eleanor’s chest and shoulder. “I know,” Eleanor smiled and delivered several kisses around Wendy’s red cheek and tiny ear. “I know, I know.” The morning was forgotten for the moment. In here, this was where Eleanor felt safe, loved, and herself again. The connection between her and Wendy was remarkable, and inspired jealousy in Jason. His work kept him out of the house so much that Wendy often reacted to him the way she would to strangers. She became shy; she would gawk at him, and button her lips together.

He always expressed his resentment to the marriage councilor that was not working, and Eleanor never said anything. Perhaps she would have been sad that she and Jason had drifted so drastically apart, but Wendy illuminated her world too brightly. Work had enveloped her husband. Ambition, climbing the ladder, and focusing on engineering his career into the peak of perfection had become Jason’s priority, while Wendy was hers. Their divorce was inevitable, but this was the furthest thought from Eleanor’s mind, especially while she played with her Wendybird in the glowing morning sun pouring through the nursery window.