Bill spotted her in the corner of the bookshop. Liza glanced up with dream-soaked eyes. They smiled.
He was rather obtuse when it came to matters of the heart. It took Liza two years of hinting at a ring (he thought it a chronic case of indigestion) for Bill to understand and march right over to the only jewelry store in town. They lived in one of those quaint places with a church that everyone attended, picturesque farmland featuring sheep and horses, and wreaths on every door at Christmastime. You know the kind. Where everyone smiles a bit too much.
They held the wedding smack dab in the middle of town for all to attend. It was the event of the year, starting promptly at three and finishing at eight on the dot. There was no need to interfere with curfew. They didn’t venture far, honeymooning in the next town over, by the seaside. All they could ever want was within their reach. At least, that’s what they were told.
It didn’t take long for Liza to start hinting at a baby. Once Bill realized what she wanted (he thought it a curious case of postnasal drip), he approached the task with gusto. Liza gave birth a prompt nine months later.
The baby was a boy, a perfect combination of round, soft, and sweet-smelling. Liza boasted that even the baby’s soiled diapers smelled like fresh-mowed grass. The baby hit all his milestones, including babbling right on schedule. Time passed. Liza noticed the babbling changing, changing into words. The words weren’t English.
They fetched the doctor. She questioned the baby; he responded with enthusiastic garble. She frowned.
“A severe case of Greek Speak. He might not grow out of it. Best bring in a translator,” she said.
“We can’t afford a translator!” Bill huffed.
They spent many hours pointing out objects, enunciating the letters. The baby grinned, glancing from one parent to the other, thinking it a game. Soon the baby was waddling about spouting full sentences of strange, foreign syllables. His parents despaired.
The town held a meeting. Bill asked if they could send him back? The town gently explained to Bill that babies could not go back. They wouldn’t fit.
One elder piped up. “There is a baby trading service. We haven’t used it often, but it may be the perfect way to unite him with his kind.”
The rest agreed. Liza resisted at first but eventually acknowledged it was for the best.
The service was prompt and discreet, completing the trade without much fuss. Liza didn’t even realize it had happened until she was ready to kiss the baby goodnight.
She often thinks about him, wondering how he is doing. The new one doesn’t quite smell as sweet. The new one isn’t soothed by her touch. But he speaks the language. And he speaks it well.
A.J. Press
A.J. Press is an award-winning narrative and documentary filmmaker and storyteller with a Master’s in Film Production from one of the top film schools in the country. Not limited to any one genre, her writing draws from her various passions and education in history, astrophysics, psychology, and literature. Frequently based on the human condition, her stories motivate, enlighten, and make you laugh.
Twitter: @AJP_Films
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