Page 42 - North Star Literary & Art Magazine

“I’ve tried everything. I’ve watered it every day, made sure it had the perfect amount of sun, pruned it. I gave it fertilizer, plant food, pesticides,” the woman continued with her diatribe about what she had done for that poor plant.
In all honesty, she had no clue what to tell the woman. She was still just trying to hold in her laughter because now that she was looking at the shriveled plant in contrast to the mason jar house. It was the perfect irony. It seemed like one of those things they put in the funnies when the Sunday paper came in the morning.
She grinned mirthfully, but when she saw the woman’s woeful expression, she simply answered “It doesn’t really seem like there’s much else you can do, other than just being patient. Maybe give it some time and see how it does?”
Apparently, that did the trick because the woman took some time to think, then jumped to her feet, a new cheery mood about her.
“Why don’t you come inside for some water,” the woman requested. “ I’m sure my husband would like to meet you.”
Sure, she’d like to meet her husband, but she was conjuring even more theories about what might be inside that house now that she can see that too. This was some of the best entertainment she’d had in weeks, and she supposed it must have been her lucky day.
“Alright,” she nodded, following the woman once more, through the glass door into the glass parlor.
The place was sensibly furnished, oddly enough, with everything that might be found in a house that is not of the glass variety. The woman ended up giving her a full tour, showing her the kitchen and the dining room, then the bedrooms and such, and one room after another, she began to doubt her grievances about living in a place like this.
It wasn’t unbearable. It looked clean, but lived in, and there was certainly a lot of natural light. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
“And this is the baby’s room,” the woman said.
The nursery was one of the last places that they visited, and suddenly she had a lot of questions. She didn’t know the woman was a mother. There was no shower or party or anything. Not even so much as a word.
They went down the glass stairs, past the parlor again, and into the living room where a man was sitting next to a bassinet. She expected that was where the baby was. The little baby that would grow up in this glass house.
The man turned around to notice her and the woman, then he stood up to walk across the room, giving her another weak handshake.
“You must be our neighbor from across the street. Nice to meet you,” the man grinned.
“You too,” she said, still wondering about the baby. She practically whispered, not wanting to wake the baby or make a fuss since it seemed so quiet.
The woman held what seemed like a rock after she picked it out of the bassinet, carrying it over to her, wrapped in a soft-looking blanket.
And she couldn’t quite seem to pry her eyes away.
She had no children, but she’d seen many babies in her lifetime; long enough to know what a baby should look like.
Sometimes they wore spritely smiles, or sometimes needful tears, but the baby in
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