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Points of Exit
“Some lives last less than a day, some as much as a century. There is no knowing which got closer to what they took birth for in the first place.”
— Stephen Levine, Unattended Sorrow
One long-ago spring day, I carried my firstborn son, my extra-large baby boy, in my arms across the parking lot toward the entrance to a Boston mall. Seven-month-old Benjamin weighed nearly 9 pounds at birth and had continued to grow along the 95th percentile of the curve. It was a mismatch of sorts between big Benjamin and his five-foot mother, one that had opened my eyes early to the sheer physical- ity of being a parent. I nuzzled the side of his soft face, inhaling the scents of baby shampoo and breast milk that never failed to ignite a rush of love in my chest. His fine blonde hair stuck straight out from his head in a bright punk halo. Earlier, as I’d lifted Benjamin out of his car seat, I’d felt the sharp pain in my right elbow, the twinge that dated back a few months to
the time I’d carried him, in his infant seat, with one arm, across a busy Brookline street; something in my elbow had surely torn that day. Now I avoided car- rying him anywhere in his infant seat; the strollers made to transport infant seats did not yet exist. Our big Graco stroller was so heavy and awkward that I never brought it along on short outings like this one. I just carried him, his chubby legs wrapped around my hip, his arm on my shoulder.
April sunshine lit up the nursery that morning when Benjamin awoke, and I’d decided we had to get out of the house, inventing an errand on the spot. We hadn’t lived very long in Boston; my loneliness at home
with a new baby often sent us out to a mall or some other public place just to be around other people. The Natick Mall, a short drive from our apartment in Jamaica Plain, was old and shabby, but the errand I’d come up with involved one of its stores, the name of which I can no longer remember.
I boosted Benjamin further up onto my hip as we came through the entrance to the mall. My purse hung off my right shoulder by a long strap, bouncing against my thigh, its zipper wide open after I’d pulled out a tissue to wipe my baby’s nose. My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the mall’s hallway as I headed toward the brightly lit store that was our destina- tion. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone peel off from a group of people standing nearby and start walking in my direction. It looked like she was mak- ing a beeline for me. A neatly dressed young girl with a pleasing face, maybe 12 or 13 years old, she smiled at me as our paths converged in front of the store.
I wondered briefly whether I knew her; was she a psychotherapy client of mine at the hospital where I worked? No, she didn’t look familiar.
“Oh, your purse is open,” she said in a cheery voice. “Let me hold your baby while you zip it up.” She held out her arms toward Benjamin.
In the millisecond I cannot forget, I lifted my baby up and away from my body, perhaps an inch, toward this smiling young woman. I moved almost reflexively, without thought, such a small movement, detectable only to me. A surge of adrenaline then registered
in my belly, so strong that it took my breath away. Barely into the arc of moving my baby in her direc- tion, I stopped. “No,” I choked out, shaking my head as I pulled Benjamin back toward my body and held him close, my arm crossing his back with all the force I could muster. I looked away from her, heart pound- ing in my ears as I said, “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.” I turned and walked fast, away from her and all the way into the middle of the store before I stopped, gasping for breath.
What the hell had just happened? My body was still screaming “emergency!” as I shifted Benjamin to my left side and clumsily zipped up my bag. Had that girl just tried to kidnap my baby?! No, she was just a kid. But kidnappers could hire kids.
My mind flooded with “what if?” questions as I walked mindlessly around the store, no longer think- ing of whatever it was I needed to buy there. Pressing Benjamin to my side, my arms trembled. Maybe she was just trying to be helpful. Maybe she just liked hold- ing babies. Maybe she was going to grab him out of my arms and run away, maybe I would never have seen him again.
I needed to be at home, right then, with Benjamin safely tucked into his crib and all the doors locked. But what if she was still there, waiting for us in that
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