A. Marie Silver

A. Marie Silver

If Baby Could Talk – A Very Scary Dream

“Momma!  Momma!” I cried. “Bad dream! Bad, bad dream!”

Momma cam quickly into my room. “What is it baby?”  She lifted me out of my crib and cradled me in her arms, kissing away my tears.  “What happened?”

“Scary,” I said, swallowing a large amount of drool.

“What was scary?” Momma placed me onto the changing table and began removing my diaper.

“My dream,” I said. “It was awful.  Bottles were sour; all of them.  There were no more clean diapers. Everyone hated me.  Everyone!  You hated me. Dadda hated me.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.  Something even more awful and frightening happened.” I reached up toward my face realizing a pool of boogies had collected under my nose.  I really hoped Momma didn’t see it because the only thing worse than a pool of nose boogies was Momma wiping them away.

“What baby?” Momma asked.  She picked me up off the changing table and sat down with me on the rocking chair.  Very slowly she began rocking; back and forth, back and forth.  It was making me sleepy.

“Gwennie was there,” I began taking a deep breath.

“What did Gwennie do?”

“It was so scary, Momma.  Everyone hated me. Everyone – except for Gwennie.  Gwennie loved me in my dream.  I thought I was going to die. I’ve never been more terrified.”

Momma chuckled as she continued to rock me. “Well that would scare anyone,” she said. 

Suddenly, Bottle appeared in Momma’s hands.  I grabbed for Bottle, “Bottle!  Bottle!” I cheered.  Bottle was warm and Bottle tasted like Bottle.  Bottle was definitely not sour.

“Scare who?”  Gwennie came marching into the room like she owned the place.  Her head was high and she walked very prominently across the floor. “What’s going on?” She asked. “What’s the fuss? It’s bed time!  Little Thing!” She looked right at me. “Go to bed, Little Thing!”

Momma looked down toward Gwennie. “The baby had a bad dream.”

“What was it about?” Gwennie asked.

I looked up at Momma, uncertain if I should say anything. “I dreamt you loved me,” I said, reluctantly.

“Ha!” Gwennie laughed. “That’s so funny I forgot to laugh!” Gwennie looked right at me, “Listen here, Little Thing!  I love you about as much as I love having to scoot across the floor to get a dried up piece of poop off my butt. So you keep dreaming!”

“Gwennie!” Momma scolded. “You be nice!”

Gwennie shrugged her shoulders and cocked her head to one side. “What?  Why are you yelling at me? I’m not bad!”

From this point forward I chose to stay out of it.  I had bottle, I had a clean diaper and Momma made it all better.

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A. Marie Smith

Your short bio telling the story of why you are a writer and the things that you think are important.