a tuesday in may

Mrs. Halfpenny sat in her chair and let herself settle. Her nausea had started to subside, but the little one inside seemed intent on giving her stomach problems. She thought about having some tea but didn’t come to a decision. Instead her eyes lingered on the pretty afternoon sunlight. A light but steady breeze wended its way through the maples and cast delightful dappled patterns of light on the sitting room. She fancied she was immersed in a sea of honey and wished to float with the current, but the child pulled her back to earth. Or, at least the pang in her guts did. She let herself feel irritated that the baby was plotting to keep her bunged up.

With a sigh, she languidly leafed through a paperback and the newspaper. It was all quite boring. The novel was something about Nazi UFO sex cults or some such, but the prose was turgid and the tiny print gave her a headache. The newspaper was equally dry, but it did amuse her slightly that the President, speaking in front of black students in Chicago, said Martin Luther King Jr. didn’t need a federal holiday, and that he hadn’t intended to extend tax breaks to racially segregated private schools because he was unaware any such institutions still existed.

She didn’t notice when she fell asleep, nor when she began dreaming.

She was just in a hospital or clinic. The air was thick and sweet and she felt as if she could hear the stars humming. She let herself drift like mist towards a room where a young woman, perhaps about her age, but worryingly thin and waiflike, lay holding, and singing to, a baby.

Her skin was a pleasant brown that made her smile for some reason. The newborn was gurgling silly little sounds that began to coalesce into something like a song in her dream ears. The little one then seemed to lock eyes with Mrs. Halfpenny, and smiled.

She woke up with a start and felt the edge of panic. She sat up and frowned as the feeling subsided, and felt silly. Mr. Halfpenny would be home soon, and she had to check on the roast.