Mike Wells: Baby Talk

Neal shook his head and downed a few more pain killers, popping them into his mouth like gum drops. He backed the car out of the parking space and began to make his way out of the lot, to the street. He felt another strong urge to glance at Natasha, but fought it.

Concentrate, Neal, concentrate . She’s just a little harmless, sleeping baby. Why are you so afraid her?

Neal gave a reassuring nod to himself, feeling a little better. He decided to go over all the supplies he would need. Yes, that was a good idea—make a mental list of things he would need in order to take care of Natasha. That would keep his mind occupied.

1. Formula.

That was the most important thing. Annie had plenty of it at home—she had bought a half-dozen cans the day before, so that wasn’t a problem.

2. Diapers.

He was sure there were some diapers around the apartment, too, though Natasha seemed to go through them at the same rate that he went through the pages of the classifieds. But he would manage.

What else did Natasha need?

Neal struggled to think, desperately trying to concentrate...to avoid looking at the baby...

She was looking at him, though.

He could feel it.

No, it’s your imagination, Neal. She’s asleep. Concentrate, buddy, concentrate. Don’t lose your grip on reality again!

Neal underwent this internal struggle for the next few minutes, until he approached Roswell Road. He managed to keep himself under control. He could not and would not look at Natasha.

She’s looking at me , he thought, as he turned the corner. I know she’s looking at me...

Neal slowly turned his head just a little bit to the right, his gaze focusing first on the radio...then the glove compartment... the passenger door handle...

She’s looking at you, Neal. She’s watching you...

When Neal could stand it no longer and finally looked over at her face, he jumped so violently that the car swerved to the left.

Natasha was looking at him, all right! Her eyes were open wide, her fuzzy little head turned in his direction, both her eyes blacker than the drizzly night. But that wasn’t what frightened him so much.

Her toothless, infantile mouth was twisted into a grin.

Neal tried to get the car under control, but it had already started skidding.

Then, to Neal’s absolute horror, Natasha spoke.

“Feeeeeeed meeeeeee!” she cried, in a high-pitched, scratchy voice. It sounded almost like that of an elderly woman, like Grammy Snell.

Neal screamed.

A second later, a horn was blaring in his ears. He realized that he was about to smash into a car that was in the left-hand lane.

Neal swerved his own car over to the right. This caused the back end to begin fishtailing, first to the left, then back around to the right...

“Feeeeeed meeeee, Neeeeeal! Feeeeeed meeeee!”

Hearing his name come out of the tiny, hideous mouth pushed Neal completely over the edge. He closed his eyes, no longer concerned with whom or what his car collided.

After another wide fishtail, the car began to skid sideways across the slick pavement. Neal was only dimly aware of the blaring horns of other cars, headlights in his face, and still more blaring horns, a SPEED LIMIT 40 sign that seemed to sweep within inches of his left-hand rear view mirror, and—

The car shuddered to a halt.

It took Neal only a fraction of a second to realize that it had somehow—miraculously—come to a stop on the shoulder of the road, positioned at a right angle to the traffic, without hitting anything.

He flung his door open and jumped out, shrinking back from the car, staring at Natasha.

She was still staring at him, her black eyes seeming even darker than before.

“Feeeeed meeee!” she shrieked.

“Holy mother of God!” Neal yelled.

Several cars slowed down almost to a stop, the drivers staring at him as they rolled past. One shouted something, but Neal was oblivious to all but the screaming monster inside his own car. He was standing smack in the middle of the right-hand lane of traffic. He didn’t know what to do.

“Get out of the road, you dumb-ass!” somebody else yelled. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Neal turned around, only dimly aware of the pain in his left foot, squinting into the headlights of the oncoming cars, disoriented. He blinked once, then saw more lights. And blue flashes coming from somewhere.

He staggered backwards, looking across the street, then behind him, stumbling. He now saw that the blue flashes were coming from a police car—it was making a U-turn.

“Uh-oh,” he muttered. The sight of the law enforcement vehicle and its strobe lights had jolted him back to reality. He quickly got his bearings and hobbled back over to the driver’s door of his car.

The police cruiser rolled up and stopped.

There were two officers inside—a white male, at the wheel, and a black female in the passenger seat. The male officer opened the door and got out.

He approached Neal with professional caution, one hand resting on his gun.

“What’s going on here?”

Neal hesitated. “I lost control of my car.”

“No kidding.” Keeping a safe distance from Neal, the officer peered into the car with a flashlight. “Is that your child?”

“Yes,” Neal said.

“Don’t you know children are supposed to be strapped into the back seat?”

“Oh.” Neal vaguely remembered this rule. Annie always strapped Natasha in the back seat when the three of them went out, but Neal thought that was only because Annie sat in the passenger seat. “I guess I forgot.”

The cop shook his head and shined the flashlight on Natasha again. Working up his nerve, Neal looked inside the car, too. But all he saw was a normal-looking five month old baby girl, drooling and fidgeting in her car seat.

The cop pointed the flashlight in Neal’s face. “You had anything to drink tonight?”

“No.” Neal made a conscious effort to stand up straight on his throbbing foot. “I’m on my way home from the hospital.”

The cop shined the light on Neal’s shoeless foot.

“Not for that.” Neal hoped to invoke the policeman’s sympathy. “My wife was in a car accident tonight. She’s in intensive care.”

The cop remained stone-faced. He motioned to Neal’s car. “You’re lucky you aren’t in intensive care yourself, mister.” He paused, looking at Neal more closely. “How exactly did you lose control of your vehicle?”

“My daughter...she scared the hell out of me.”

The cop shined his light back into the car, at Natasha. She turned her head towards the light. “Gaaaaaa,” she said, kicking her feet a few times.

“Yeah, she’s really scary,” the cop said. “I can see why you nearly caused a ten-car pileup.”

“I didn’t mean...” Neal ran his trembling hand through his drizzle-soaked hair. “What I meant was, she screamed and I thought something was wrong with her. When I looked over to see if she was all right, I drifted into the other lane, then I over-corrected, and...” Neal shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’m pretty upset about my wife.”

“Upset is no excuse. You need to be more careful. If you’re that upset, you shouldn’t be driving in the first place.”

“I know.”

“And you need to strap your daughter into the back seat, according to the law.”

“Yes sir.”

The cop opened his mouth as if to continue his lecture, but apparently changed his mind. “May I see your driver’s license, please?”

“Sure,” Neal said, pulling out his wallet. He handed the license to the policeman and then glanced at all the cars that were slowly rolling by, and at the people in them who were gawking at him.