LIFE

by Bruce Costello

It began before birth. Before you entered the world.

The stricken voices. Your mother's frenzy flooding your blood.

*

Now you are 12 months old with eyes that reflect the fear and confusion you feel.

You know too much.

Not knowing as we grown-ups understand knowing.

Knowing for you is unthought.

It is instinct, nipple, shouted word, abusive touch, unmet need, useless yearning.

You look around, head revolving like the turret of a tank on a battlefield.

Who are these? What’s happening? Who can I trust? Who's looking after me? What am I? What is life? Where’s Mother?

Your mother’s breast was warm and squishy sometimes, but other times it was cold and prickly, and her milk was poison.

Who can a girl trust if not her mother’s milk? Mother’s breast was there, but not there. Always going, never coming. When Mother was there, she was somewhere else, even before she killed herself.

And your little arms thrashed the air, desperate for a grip on life, but your mind was a primordial mass of unmet needs and torments and there was no one to hold you.

Out of the desperation came a primal scream, fading to silence, sudden compliance, eerie surrender.

*

A new sensation welled up in me as your tiny hand gripped my finger. Long forgotten feelings surged, overflowed my eyes and spilled from my lips.

Now here I am.

We’re adopting each other. Grandfather promoted to Motherhood.

You, little Janet, are now mine to nurture and protect.

And if I win your trust, you may learn to trust the world.

In 2010, New Zealander Bruce Costello retired from work and city life, retreated to the seaside village of Hampden, joined the Waitaki Writers’ Group and took up writing as a pastime. Since then, he has had 158 short story successes— publications in literary journals (including Yellow Mama) anthologies and popular magazines, and contest places and wins.