Hold On Tight
by Melissa A. Morgan
Mama’s stomach was a balloon. Then it wasn’t. They said Lexi was born with a broken heart. The doctors had done everything they could. That’s what they told me.
I’d never been to a funeral before, but I figured it was a fancy party since Aunt Betty bought me pretty new clothes and told me I should be on my very best behavior. Adult parties were boring, that part I knew. She dressed me in a navy dress, white tights, dress shoes, and a gray peacoat and drove me to the funeral home. I don’t know why they call it that. It didn’t look like any home I’d ever been in.
She gave me crayons and a stack of paper and left me in a bright room with a table and vending machines. I tried to be quiet and still, but it was so hot and I was so bored. A crayon fell to the floor and a new game began. I got on my knees and rolled the green crayon all the way to the wall. The red one almost made it, and the yellow one got stuck in the hard, blue carpet. It wasn’t like the soft, warm carpet in my bedroom. I walked my fingers over the rough ridges, marching across foreign lands to rescue my yellow soldier.
“Where are your shoes and coat?” asked Aunt Betty from the doorway.
The disappointment on her face almost made me cry. She pulled at my dress, hair, and feet until I was hot again and led me to Mama and Daddy. They hugged me and walked me to the shiny, white box. Daddy picked me up so I could see Lexi. She was so pretty, just like the doll I asked Santa for.
“Can I hold her?” I asked.
Daddy shook his head. Mama cried and slapped my hand when I grabbed the beautiful, silver rattle out of Lexi’s hand.
“She can’t play with it,” I said.
Aunt Betty came. Just like that, I was back in the empty room.
I sat at the table and drew a picture of my family. Daddy, Mama, and me all in a row with Lexi in the air above us. I held a red string tied to her foot so she wouldn’t float away.
Aunt Betty folded the picture, put it in her pocket, and hugged me long and hard.
“That’s for Mama,” I said.
“It’s time for the service. You’re going to sit with me,” she said.
We sat near the back of the room. Mama and Daddy were in the front row, but there were a lot of people, mostly strangers, between us. I stretched to see Mama and was pulled back down into my seat. Everything was dark and yellow like the light in our oven, and it was just as hot. The smell of the flowers baking made me feel sick. I was going to melt right in the middle of all that talking and singing and crying. I wanted to leave, to run out, but Aunt Betty made me sit back down. I tried counting the pink and white flowers, but there were gazillions of them, maybe more. So, I gave up and decided to practice my magic skills. It was useless. No matter how hard I concentrated, I never did disappear. I was almost invisible once, almost.
Aunt Betty wanted me to stay with her for a while, but Daddy said I needed to be at home with them. I never heard Mama say much of anything anymore. Daddy went to work in the morning and came home at night. Mama cried a lot and slept even more. I’d tip toe into their room and find her asleep in the bed or on the floor or crying in the bathroom. Aunt Betty would bring food and talk to Mama and hug me too tight.
All day I watched tv and drew pictures and played in my room. Daddy and me would eat Aunt Betty’s dinner in the living room, which was against Mama’s rules. He even let me pick the shows we watched sometimes.
I worried a lot. Aunt Betty said Mama would be ok, but it would take a while because her heart was broken. Lexi’s heart was broken too. Would the doctors do all they could do for Mama too? Would she float away like Lexi?
I crept into Mama’s room when I knew she was sleeping and tied a string around her ankle. I held it tight and laid on the floor by the bed. I must have fallen asleep too because Mama tripped over me and almost fell. She threw away my string and sent me to my room until Daddy got home.
One day, Aunt Betty came to play with me. She said Mama needed to run errands and take care of some things. No one told me what those things were, but Mama must have gone to see the broken heart doctor for a shot to fix her. When she came home, Mama gave me a shiny, white box. Inside was a tiny doll dressed in pink ruffles. Her eyes would open and close and she came with a bottle she could really drink and a white toy rattle. I tore open the box and danced around the room with my new baby.
“Thank you, Mama. She’s exactly what I wanted.”
“She’s so pretty! What will you name her?” said Mama.
“Lexi,” I said.
“That’s a very good name,” she said. “Can I hold her?”
Melissa A. Morgan is a multi-genre fiction writer living in Pontotoc, MS with her wife, Lisa. Melissa’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Dark Onus Lit, Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself, On the Run, and Ligeia Magazine. Melissa is currently working on a collection of connected short stories and a novel. You can follow Melissa at https://www.facebook.com/MelissaAMorganauthor/