My Left One

Stories and poetry without a license

No More Waiting

A baby lay in a hospital, waiting. She had no name, and she was so tiny and helpless that she could barely lift her head. She waited for someone to feed her, to take care of her. All she could do was stare at the ceiling, wondering what was going on, if the faces would return, and if they would ever start calling her something unique and interesting.

Somewhere else, a woman sat waiting at home. She waited for the moment when all of her instincts would be called into action. When she would be asked to take care of a small child. When she would be asked to pour her heart into a new life that would depend on her for everything from a warm bottle to a rich understanding of the world.

A man waited as well. He waited for the instant that he would be called upon to drive, to sit, and stand, and buy, and carry, and hold, and teach, and worry, and protect. When everything he had ever done and had ever been would become the foundation for a new identity, a new part of a new whole.

A phone rang. It waited for nothing.

In the first ring, the woman became a mommy, and the man became a daddy. In the first ring, the baby became a daughter, and her three days of waiting were replaced by years, even decades, of hope, plenty, and love. In one telephone ring, a family was born.

Everything the mommy and daddy had done to prepare for this instant was suddenly proven adequate or otherwise. The test was thorough: Did they have the supplies, the food, the clothes, the furnishings? Was their energy, their mentality, and the capacity of their hearts up to their new role?

There was nothing to prove any more. Now there was nothing to do but do.

And they did. They drove, and met the waiting little girl. She looked at their two faces for the first time like she had looked at all of the faces she'd already seen. Like the others, these faces watched her and held her, and cooed at her, and fed her, and bathed and clothed her. Then they did something the others did not; They returned.

Time and time again the faces came back to the little girl and called her the same thing over and over: Riley. They called themselves something interesting too: Mommy and Daddy.

The little girl began to feel different every time the Mommy and Daddy came to her. She no longer stared at the ceiling in anticipation. She no longer wondered when the faces would return, when somebody would pick her up and rock her, and when she would hear that word again. Every time she heard it, she felt warm and peaceful, like her soul was enveloped in something soft and plush. Was it a name? Was Riley her name?

That was it. She had a name and it was Riley. The tiny girl looked at the faces again, and began to remember theirs. This one was Mommy, and that one was Daddy. And she knew she wanted to see them again, every day. She wanted them to never leave. Then they promised her that they never would.

And there was no more waiting.

My Left One

No More Waiting

Want More?

About This Story