A Different Blue(101)

would have made you a different Blue.” He looked at me then. “And that would be the biggest

tragedy of all.” With a little quirk of a smile he raised my hand to his lips – Mr. Darcy to

the very end – and then he turned and walked up the stairs.

That night I sat in the dark, waiting for Wilson to play. But there were no strings to tie me up

in silken knots. I wondered if Pamela, the pretty blonde with pearly skin and perfect teeth, was

with him. Maybe that's why there was no music. I supposed I should be grateful that there

weren't moans and professions of love coming through the duct work. I winced at the thought and

the baby kicked, causing me to catch my breath and lift my shirt so I could watch my stomach. It

was so alien . . . and so cool. My stomach rolled, lifting and lowering like an ocean wave.

“No tunes yet, sugar. Wilson's holding out on us. I would sing, but I promise that's worse than

no music. My stomach rolled again, and I eased myself into a different position, trying to get

comfortable, trying to appreciate the discomfort. It wouldn't be long. Moments like these were

trickling away. I felt them sliding away into yesterdays, and the yesterdays were stacking up.

Eventually, this moment would join the others. The final tomorrow would come, and my baby would

be born. And I would just be Blue again.

I was tired, and my eyes grew heavy. Somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, a memory shimmered

to the surface, and I watched it like a dream, playing out like an old rerun on the T.V.



“Jimmy, how about we find a new mom?” I had pulled myself up into a tree with low hanging

branches and climbed out until I lay on the branch above Jimmy. His hands slid along the gnarled

hunk of juniper he was striping of bark.

“Why?” Jimmy answered after several seconds.

“Don't you wish we had a mommy?” I asked, enjoying the scenery from above. It gave me an

interesting view of Jimmy's greying head. I dropped a pine cone on him, and it bounced off his

head harmlessly. He didn't even swat at it.

“I had a mommy,” he grunted.

“But I don't! And I want one!” Two more pine cones hit their target.

“Put an apron on Icas.” Jimmy picked up his hat and put it on, his answer to the barrage of

pine cones.

“Icas smells and has slobbery kisses. Mommies don't have dog breath.” I looped my knee over

the branch and swung from one arm and one leg. Reaching down, I swooped Jimmy's hat from his

head. “Maybe Bev could be our new mom. She likes you and she likes me, and she makes really

good cheese sandwiches.” I put Jimmy's hat on my own head and dropped to the ground, not really

minding the pins and needles sensation in my feet when I hit the dirt.

“I guess I like things the way they are, Blue.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I picked up a smaller piece of juniper, a mallet, and a chisel and started

stripping the bark, mimicking the steady movements of my father.

“Maybe we could just adopt a baby,” I suggested.

Jimmy's chisel bit deeply into the wood and he cursed under his breath . . . something about

hell freezing over.

“I would be a good mommy, I think,” I said seriously, ticking off my accomplishments. “I

would share my bed with her. I could teach her to crawl. I obviously know how to walk, so that

wouldn't be a problem. You would have to change the diapers, though. Or maybe we could teach her