Baby Maria

by Mike Huber

A nightmare chases me into my Mamas' room. When I climb into their bed, I smell the clay from Mama Kelly's pottery wheel, and I smell the cinnamon from the bakery where Mama Susan works. I snuggle between them. Mama Kelly pats my back, "It's all right, Steven," and my nightmare melts away.

When I wake up, I help Mama Kelly sort baby clothes. Her rough hands fold the clothes into neat little squares. Can you believe I used to wear these? I couldn't fit into them now. No way. I'm giving them to my new baby sister. This whole room is going to be hers. Mama Kelly painted the room blue with white stars on the ceiling. On the bed she wrote Maria. That's the baby's name. "Maria." Or Baby Maria. That's what I'm going to call her.

After dinner, I help Mama Susan pack her suitcase. She's going to Guatemala. That's where the baby is. I came from Guatemala too. I don't remember it, even though my parents show me pictures sometimes. Mama Susan looks up from the suitcase. "Maybe we should all go to Guatemala next summer when you're done with kindergarden. It would be fun."

"I think we should wait until Maria is older," says Mama Kelly.

I ask, "Why don't we all go get Baby Maria and forget about kindergarden?" Mama Susan just laughs and snaps the suitcase shut.

Mama Kelly says she'll walk with me to school while Mama Susan is gone. But it won't be the same. How is she going to know which one is the skipping sidewalk and which one is the hopping sidewalk? Mama Kelly just walks. How am I supposed to go to school just walking?

I fall asleep on the way home from the airport. I can feel Mama Kelly carry me to bed. I’m too tired to talk. I wake, up and the room feels lonely. I go to Mamas’ room. Mama Susan’s jacket lies on the floor where she dropped it yesterday. I crawl into bed with Mama Kelly. I smell the clay, but no cinnamon. It’s like a garden without flowers.

Mama Kelly hugs me and says, “I miss Mama Susan too.” She sits up so my head is in her lap. “She’ll be back soon. She’ll have your new baby sister, and she can tell us stories about Guatemala.” She strokes my head. I reach for the jacket and pull it close.

Bad news. It’s already been a week, and Mama Susan won’t be back for at least three more days. Mama Kelly says there is a problem with the paperwork. Who cares about paper? Maria’s a baby; she can’t even read! I guess I could help her because I can write everyone’s name in our whole family. Well, I can almost spell "Maria." Maybe it’s good I have a few more days.

It’s been two weeks, and I can spell "Maria." Why aren’t they back? I can spell another word: MAD. And that’s what I am—mad. I don’t even remember how to skip to school anymore. It’s not fair! I want Mama Susan back!

I’m a big brother now! Maria and Mama Susan finally came back this morning. We had the longest hug ever. Then I wanted to show Mama Susan how I can hop backwards, but she was too busy playing with Baby Maria. She even played googly bear with her. That was our game! Everything was supposed to be better, but I was wrong. All Mama Kelly and Mama Susan do is hold the baby and feed the baby and sing to the baby. Baby baby baby! I wish a wolf would eat her up.

I crawl over to Maria very slowly. I lick her face to see what she tastes like. She’s kind of sweet, like sugar. This won’t be so bad. Mama Kelly asks me, “What are you doing to the baby?”

I tell her, “I’m the wolf, and I’m going to eat her up.”

She looks at me and says, “Why, wolf, what small ears you have.”

“That’s so I don’t have to listen to the baby cry all the time.”

“And what a small nose you have.”

“That’s so I don’t have to smell her messy diapers.”

"But, wolf, what a ticklish tummy you have,” She tickles me in my favorite tickle spot. “And what big, snuggly arms you have. Are they big enough to hug me?”

“Bigger,” I say.

“Big enough for me and a baby?”

“Bigger.”

Mama Susan comes over and asks, “Big enough for a whole family?”

“Yes,” I say, and we all hug.

Then it’s time for bed, and we all get to sleep in Mamas’ bed. We all climb in. Me, Mama Kelly, Mama Susan, and Baby Maria. It smells like clay. But that’s not all. It smells like cinnamon. It smells like sugar. All snuggled together.