rubberneck. “He’s naked! I see his penis!” they screamed. With bright cheery voices, their mothers shepherded them away, while from the corners of their eyes they watched as Nina attempted to quiet a hysterical kid, without raising her voice, without lifting a hand.
Who is the mommiest of them all?
they asked in the reflections of each other’s eyes.
The red illuminated Exit signs hanging at either end of the room beckoned. If she bolted, she could add this to the secret chronicles of maternal failure: The time Max vomited as she was about to go to work, so she quickly bathed him, changed his clothes, juiced him up with Tylenol, then took him to school. The time he heard her swear, and to wrest his promise that he wouldn’t repeat the word in public, she allowed him to say the word in front of her, so that in especially tender moments, he leaned close, his apple juice breath warm on her cheek, and whispered
shit
softly in her ear.
“Are you sure he doesn’t want to hug Gymbo?” Mike asked, as Max writhed at her legs, as Wendy and the other moms smiled combinations of pity and pleasure.
“No,” Max screamed, the same no that resounded inside her body and that she tried to swallow back down.
“
No,
” Max screamed again. “
No, no, no.
”
“One kiss for Gymbo?” Mike asked.
Nina tried to make the right words emerge. “Fuck Gymbo,” she said instead.
Max narrated the way home: A mailbox, a bus, a pigeon. A pay phone, a taxi, a subway station. They passed a woman and Max loudly asked, “Why is that lady so fat?” They passed a man on crutches, and Max asked, “Why does that man only have one leg?” Nina explained that Steve was a real person but Blue was an imaginary dog. Mermaids were imaginary but dragonflies were real. Max’s world was one where the real effortlessly intermingled with the pretend. As amazing as it was that her body could form another body, what truly stunned her was that she could birth a separate consciousness.
Along the way, they were joined by a menagerie of Max’s imaginary friends, his favorite of whom was Maurice, who had x-ray vision and sometimes was invisible, not just imaginary. She had been amused by the emergence of these characters, Max’s conversation suddenly containing references to people she didn’t know. A mother she knew made birthday parties for each of her child’s imaginary friends and set places for them at the dinner table, acting as though she too could see them. But Nina had decided to leave Maurice for Max alone.
“Mommy? Does Hop know his name is Hop?” Max asked.
The animal in question was all too real, hatched in the fish tank in his nursery school classroom and now living as their summer guest in a small glass bowl on what used to be her desk. Max had named him Hop, in anticipation, though at the moment he was still in the nebulous territory between tadpole and frog.
As Max talked, Nina realized that coming toward her was the crazy woman whom, through a coincidental confluence of schedules, she saw nearly every day. Today she was wearing a sequined blue beret, a loosely knit white sweater with a red bra underneath, and a floor-length pink satiny skirt that, in a previous life, was probably the inner lining to another skirt. On her feet she wore white lace-trimmed bobby socks and black patent leather Mary Janes; from the knees down, she was a little girl dressed for a birthday party. Usually Nina tried to look away, but today’s outfit was so outlandish that Nina couldn’t help but stare.
Spotting the set of pay phones nearby, Max ran toward them, grabbing one of the dangling receivers. “Maurice?” he screamed into it.
The woman stopped walking and approached him. “Hello, beautiful,” she said.
Max smiled and for a moment, they all stood still, as if someone had located the city’s Pause button. Inspired by Max, Nina broke the rule prohibiting eye contact and smiled with what she thought was sympathy.
The woman’s
Who is the mommiest of them all?
they asked in the reflections of each other’s eyes.
The red illuminated Exit signs hanging at either end of the room beckoned. If she bolted, she could add this to the secret chronicles of maternal failure: The time Max vomited as she was about to go to work, so she quickly bathed him, changed his clothes, juiced him up with Tylenol, then took him to school. The time he heard her swear, and to wrest his promise that he wouldn’t repeat the word in public, she allowed him to say the word in front of her, so that in especially tender moments, he leaned close, his apple juice breath warm on her cheek, and whispered
shit
softly in her ear.
“Are you sure he doesn’t want to hug Gymbo?” Mike asked, as Max writhed at her legs, as Wendy and the other moms smiled combinations of pity and pleasure.
“No,” Max screamed, the same no that resounded inside her body and that she tried to swallow back down.
“
No,
” Max screamed again. “
No, no, no.
”
“One kiss for Gymbo?” Mike asked.
Nina tried to make the right words emerge. “Fuck Gymbo,” she said instead.
Max narrated the way home: A mailbox, a bus, a pigeon. A pay phone, a taxi, a subway station. They passed a woman and Max loudly asked, “Why is that lady so fat?” They passed a man on crutches, and Max asked, “Why does that man only have one leg?” Nina explained that Steve was a real person but Blue was an imaginary dog. Mermaids were imaginary but dragonflies were real. Max’s world was one where the real effortlessly intermingled with the pretend. As amazing as it was that her body could form another body, what truly stunned her was that she could birth a separate consciousness.
Along the way, they were joined by a menagerie of Max’s imaginary friends, his favorite of whom was Maurice, who had x-ray vision and sometimes was invisible, not just imaginary. She had been amused by the emergence of these characters, Max’s conversation suddenly containing references to people she didn’t know. A mother she knew made birthday parties for each of her child’s imaginary friends and set places for them at the dinner table, acting as though she too could see them. But Nina had decided to leave Maurice for Max alone.
“Mommy? Does Hop know his name is Hop?” Max asked.
The animal in question was all too real, hatched in the fish tank in his nursery school classroom and now living as their summer guest in a small glass bowl on what used to be her desk. Max had named him Hop, in anticipation, though at the moment he was still in the nebulous territory between tadpole and frog.
As Max talked, Nina realized that coming toward her was the crazy woman whom, through a coincidental confluence of schedules, she saw nearly every day. Today she was wearing a sequined blue beret, a loosely knit white sweater with a red bra underneath, and a floor-length pink satiny skirt that, in a previous life, was probably the inner lining to another skirt. On her feet she wore white lace-trimmed bobby socks and black patent leather Mary Janes; from the knees down, she was a little girl dressed for a birthday party. Usually Nina tried to look away, but today’s outfit was so outlandish that Nina couldn’t help but stare.
Spotting the set of pay phones nearby, Max ran toward them, grabbing one of the dangling receivers. “Maurice?” he screamed into it.
The woman stopped walking and approached him. “Hello, beautiful,” she said.
Max smiled and for a moment, they all stood still, as if someone had located the city’s Pause button. Inspired by Max, Nina broke the rule prohibiting eye contact and smiled with what she thought was sympathy.
The woman’s
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