http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_fyVuTLuaY
The Daddy was around the side of the house hanging a door for the
tenant when he heard the child’s screams and the Mommy’s voice gone
high between them. He could move fast, and the back porch gave onto the
kitchen, and before the screen door had banged shut behind him the
Daddy had taken the scene in whole, the overturned pot on the floortile
before the stove and the burner’s blue jet and the floor’s pool of
water still steaming as its many arms extended, the toddler in his
baggy diaper standing rigid with steam coming off his hair and his
chest and shoulders scarlet and his eyes rolled up and mouth open very
wide and seeming somehow separate from the sounds that issued, the
Mommy down on one knee with the dishrag dabbing pointlessly at him and
matching the screams with cries of her own, hysterical so she was
almost frozen. Her one knee and the bare little soft feet were still in
the steaming pool, and the Daddy’s first act was to take the child
under the arms and lift him away from it and take him to the sink,
where he threw out plates and struck the tap to let cold wellwater run
over the boy’s feet while with his cupped hand he gathered and poured
or flung more cold water over his head and shoulders and chest, wanting
first to see the steam stop coming off him, the Mommy over his shoulder
invoking God until he sent her for towels and gauze if they had it, the
Daddy moving quickly and well and his man’s mind empty of everything
but purpose, not yet aware of how smoothly he moved or that he’d ceased
to hear the high screams because to hear them would freeze him and make
impossible what had to be done to help his child, whose screams were
regular as breath and went on so long they’d become already a thing in
the kitchen, something else to move quickly around. The tenant side’s
door outside hung half off its top hinge and moved slightly in the
wind, and a bird in the oak across the driveway appeared to observe the
door with a cocked head as the cries still came from inside. The worst
scalds seemed to be the right arm and shoulder, the chest and stomach’s
red was fading to pink under the cold water and his feet’s soft soles
weren’t blistered that the Daddy could see, but the toddler still made
little fists and screamed except now merely on reflex from fear the
Daddy would know he thought possible later, small face distended and
thready veins standing out at the temples and the Daddy kept saying he
was here he was here, adrenaline ebbing and an anger at the Mommy for
allowing this thing to happen just starting to gather in wisps at his
mind’s extreme rear still hours from expression. When the Mommy
returned he wasn’t sure whether to wrap the child in a towel or not but
he wet the towel down and did, swaddled him tight and lifted his baby
out of the sink and set him on the kitchen table’s edge to soothe him
while the Mommy tried to check the feet’s soles with one hand waving
around in the area of her mouth and uttering objectless words while the
Daddy bent in and was face to face with the child on the table’s
checkered edge repeating the fact that he was here and trying to calm
the toddler’s cries but still the child breathlessly screamed, a high
pure shining sound that could stop his heart and his bitty lips and
gums now tinged with the light blue of a low flame the Daddy thought,
screaming as if almost still under the tilted pot in pain. A minute,
two like this that seemed much longer, with the Mommy at the Daddy’s
side talking sing-song at the child’s face and the lark on the limb
with its head to the side and the hinge going white in a line from the
weight of the canted door until the first wisp of steam came lazy from
under the wrapped towel’s hem and the parents’ eyes met and
widened–the diaper, which when they opened the towel and leaned their
little boy back on the checkered cloth and unfastened the softened tabs
and tried to remove it resisted slightly with new high cries and was
hot, their baby’s diaper burned their hand and they saw where the real
water’d fallen and pooled and been burning their baby all this time
while he screamed for them to help him and they hadn’t, hadn’t thought
and when they got it off and saw the state of what was there the Mommy
said their God’s first name and grabbed the table to keep her feet
while the father turned away and threw a haymaker at the air of the
kitchen and cursed both himself and the world for not the last time
while his child might now have been sleeping if not for the rate of his
breathing and the tiny stricken motions of his hands in the air above
where he lay, hands the size of a grown man’s thumb that had clutched
the Daddy’s thumb in the crib while he’d watched the Daddy’s mouth move
in song, his head cocked and seeming to see way past him into something
his eyes made the Daddy lonesome for in a strange vague way. If you’ve
never wept and want to, have a child. Break your heart inside and
something will a child is the twangy song the Daddy hears again as if
the lady was almost there with him looking down at what they’ve done,
though hours later what the Daddy won’t most forgive is how badly he
wanted a cigarette right then as they diapered the child as best they
could in gauze and two crossed handtowels and the Daddy lifted him like
a newborn with his skull in one palm and ran him out to the hot truck
and burned custom rubber all the way to town and the clinic’s ER with
the tenant’s door hanging open like that all day until the hinge gave
but by then it was too late, when it wouldn’t stop and they couldn’t
make it the child had learned to leave himself and watch the whole rest
unfold from a point overhead, and whatever was lost never thenceforth
mattered, and the child’s body expanded and walked about and drew pay
and lived its life untenanted, a thing among things, its self’s soul so
much vapor aloft, falling as rain and then rising, the sun up and down
like a yoyo.
dfw, 2004