Cubs, School, Homework, Kids…

I hope to post more stories tomorrow. This has been an exceptionally busy week, and I haven’t been able to keep up with the daily stories.

What could keep me from writing? Homework–I’m in a class for a web design certification course. School–my daughter started this week. Kids–my daughter is very young, and her baby brother is younger. 😉 Baseball–took my dad to a Cubs game this week. DO NOT get me started about other so-called fans. Yes, my beloved Cubbies have the greatest fans in baseball. They also have the worst. Argh!

By the way, I absolutely LOVE Kerry Wood and I ADMIRE Ron Santo. I have a lot of respect for Derrick Lee, as well. DO NOT scream “D-P Lee” at Wrigley just because he hit into multiple double plays this week. DO NOT scream at Jim Hendry to can Cedeno and Howry as the man is driving away. DO NOT scream at Bob Howry as he drives away. The guys on the team ARE CUBS. They are YOUR TEAM. SUPPORT THEM.

The way some fans behaved at the game absolutely incensed me. So what if players are paid millions of dollars to win? They are people, too, and they can be affected by this nastiness that some people feel compelled to heap upon them. Sheesh!

Okay, rant slightly diffused. Kind of…

He Sleeps

He sleeps, nestled against his mother’s chest, dreaming baby boy dreams. His mother kisses his blond head and inhales his sweaty-sweet aroma. Of all the futures she sees, his is closed to her

He stirs, his eyes flutter. She snugs the blanket up to his shoulders and sighs when he puts his fingers back in his mouth. She feels his muscles twitch in time with his even breathing.

To him, all is well. There are no worries beyond the nap. All is now, there is no was or will. His mother longs to experience this simplicity. Such a thing, of course, is impossible. Her guard must never waver. Vulnerability is not an option. Lack of confidence means death.

Another kiss to his fair brow. It is time.

She edges to a slit in the door. The street has appeared empty for hours, but it is the game they play. To them, it is a game. She is less than an insect in their regard. If she is destroyed, they will choose another.

Panic fights calm. For her son is to live, she must win. For him to be a free man, she must exceed all others before her.

She hesitates. Are they waiting around the corner? Maybe she lost them. She’d be dead by now if she hadn’t. Zephyr’s warning tugs at her. They’ve begun teasing the runners. Let them think they won. Take them down seconds before victory.

Still no sound from outside. No sense of nearby life, unless they’ve learned how to disguise that, too. Is that part of the tease, to let her think she retains her sole advantage?

The baby’s hand falls from his mouth, so deep is he in dreamland. She prays he lives to see a peaceful day.

She moves to the door jamb, presses her back to the wall. With what little remains of her source, she draws a misty veil around herself. As long as they don’t look directly at her, she’ll escape notice. She delivers a final kiss to her warm bundle then wraps her arms as tight as she dares. Using a slight source nudge, she opens the door just wide enough to slip through. She takes a shaky breath.

The little boy’s mother steps into the street.

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