John Jodzio - Knockout

Your indoor baby will sometimes stare longingly out the window at the world. This is normal. Your baby is an inquisitive baby and he or she will wonder what is going on out there. Totally normal. This is how your baby tests their boundaries. Sometimes your indoor baby will bang his or her head on the window. Again, testing their boundaries. Sometimes your child will paw the window with their hand, run it down the entire length of the pane leaving these smeared and seemingly desperate handprints. All absolutely normal.

Swayze’s first birthday is coming up. He just started walking. This afternoon he tries to climb up on the kitchen counter. Over and over, he keeps trying to hoist himself up, he won’t quit.

“You are not going to be able to hold him for long,” Mitch told me yesterday. “That’s the thing. You think you’ll be able to hold him inside here, but sooner or later he’ll escape.”

Mitch might be right. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to explain all of this to Swayze yet. My mother thinks I should make up some elaborate story about the apocalypse, about a nuclear event, about how his skin will melt off if he steps outside. Luckily I’ve got a little while to decide.

After Swayze and Mitch fall asleep, I call the grocery store. It’s only Thursday, but James has already been here three times this week. I don’t know what it is with me lately, but I’ve become absentminded. No matter how many times I call James I always forget something I really need.

Tonight I order a pound of coffee, a bag of frozen chicken strips, two cucumbers, a bag of oranges, and a case of Diet Coke with lime.

“On my way,” James says.

This time when James sets the groceries down in the garage, I accidentally close the garage door too quickly and he’s stuck inside.

“Hello?” he calls out.

I immediately realize my mistake, but instead of opening the door, I press my ear against the door to the garage.

“Mrs. Roberts?” he yells out. “Are you there?”

The door’s locked, but I swear I can smell his cologne seeping through it. For a second I think about flipping the deadbolt open, inviting him inside, but instead I press the garage door opener.

“You can let me see you,” he tells me before he walks out of the garage. “I’d be all right with whatever happened.”

This morning, on page 204:

Babies are hard work. Especially indoor babies. May we suggest that you buy a harness and stake your baby to something immovable? Don’t skimp on the harness, because babies are very strong. Stronger than you might think. A baby with enough motivation can move a couch or a recliner or an antique armoire out from in front of a bedroom door. A baby with enough motivation can pull an oven off the wall and tunnel through the drywall behind it. A tip: when you do pound in your stake for your harness, pound the stake deep into the floor joists, so not even an adult can pull it out.

Today when I am giving Mitch his sponge bath, I lean in to lift him up to clean his back. My shoulder is right near his mouth. Mitch could sweetly kiss me, but he doesn’t. He tries to bite me. I pull away just in time.

“What the hell was that for?” I yell.

“We do our best with what little we have,” Mitch tells me, then he starts laughing.

I don’t understand what the hell he is talking about or why he’s laughing, but I back away from him. I turn to look at Swayze. . he’s not there. I run through the house and cannot find him. Then I hear some squawking in the backyard. I look out the window and see Swayze standing on the patio and two eagles circling around him. He was just in his playpen a minute ago, but he must’ve escaped out the dog door while Mitch was distracting me. Swayze’s wearing overalls and by the time I get outside the eagles have looped their claws around his shoulder straps. They pull him upward, trying to gain lift-off. Fortunately Swayze’s a solid kid, much heavier than Snowball, and the birds only pull him a few inches off the ground before they set him back down and try again.

“Fight!” I yell to Swayze as I grab a broom. “Fight!”

But Swayze isn’t fighting. He’s jumping up and down as the birds flap their wings; he’s trying to help them get off the ground. His jumping becomes more frantic when he sees me running toward him. I poke one of eagles in the gut with the broom handle and I knock the other one in the side of the head and they let go and flap away. Swayze is sitting on the ground now, holding out his hands to them as he watches them go.

Sometimes even with the best planning your indoor baby does not remain inside. Something goes badly. This is a time where you need to roll with the punches. Have a positive attitude, know which battles to fight, learn from your mistakes, have a steady hand, all of these things are necessary with any good parenting strategy. Your baby may not understand why these rules are necessary now, but later, later your baby will thank you for keeping him or her safe. Later, and this could be many, many years down the line, your baby will take your hand and look into your eyes and tell you all the good that you have done for him or her. Then all this hard work will be worth it, won’t it?

Istand over Swayze now and watch his little stomach rise up and down. I gave Mitch a pain pill about an hour ago. He’s snoring in the other room.

First I take a piece of plywood and I nail the dog door shut, then I pour myself a glass of wine. I sit on the couch underneath the skylight and watch the clouds move across the night sky. It’s been a stormy summer and sometimes the wind blows so hard that I think the whole damn house is going to fall down around me. Mitch used to tell me that I was crazy, that this house was as solid as they come, but I still can’t stop thinking that it just might happen, that one of the construction workers missed a nail somewhere, that maybe the trusses are moving in the opposite way the foundation is settling. Everything in the universe was mashed together all nice and tight at one time and then somehow it all blew apart, didn’t it? Who’s to say that the opposite can’t happen and that at some point we’ll all be smashed together again, noses into armpits and knees into crotches?

I pour another glass of wine and then I call the grocery store.

“I need a bag of marshmallows and a jar of peanut butter,” I tell James. “I need a bottle of tonic water.

“Give me twenty minutes,” James says.

I hang up the phone and then I go and check on Mitch and Swayze. I brush Mitch’s hair from his eyes. Swayze’s thrown his blankets aside and I cover him back up. When I’m finished, I walk into the garage. I press the opener and watch the door slide up. The wind moves through the tops of the pine trees and some crows flutter off into the dark sky. I unbutton my shirt, slide off my shorts. I throw my bra aside and step out of my panties. I stand there naked, waiting for James to bump up the driveway. I stand there, waiting for the lights of his car to wash over my pale body. I wait for him to see that even though I’m trapped inside, I’m still free.

Lessig’s hut was closest to the latrine, downwind from the yucca being fermented in the hollowed-out rubber trees. He was lying in his hammock, itching a rash on his calf and wondering if tonight was the night the Kula were going to come through the jungle with their machetes and garrote his white ass. Three days ago, they’d abducted Tunney, who’d disappeared exactly like Rautins had the week before, without screams or hubbub, his hiking boots set neatly in front of his hut filled with stones from the river. Lessig and Schneider were the only anthropologists in the village now. After the first abduction, Gtal, the chieftain of the Campas, had ordered extra sentries in the watchtower and more warriors on foot patrol, but the increased security hadn’t done dick, the Kula had poached another one of his colleagues. Even though he was less than forty-eight hours away from the supply plane splashing down in the river to ferry him away from this godforsaken place, Lessig knew he was probably fucked.