“To market, to market
To buy a fine pig.
Home again, home again,
Jiggedy jig.”

Carolyn bounced her squealing two-year-old niece on her lap as she sang to her. Little Carrie, child of Carolyn’s married sister Amanda, loved the rhythm and attention as shamelessly as her mother had loved conceiving her. Everyone loves this beat, thought Carolyn, from birth until death. Everyone wants to be held like this.

Carolyn had been untouched, unkissed, unfucked for a month since Elle left her. Carolyn felt her absence like the stinging ache of an excised clit, and sent countless silent messages after her. “We don’t have enough in common,” Elle had explained. “We’re not the same type.” Her logic had been so steely that Carolyn had been left with no hook to pull her back that would not look irrational and irrelevant.

Little Carrie shrieked with baby joy, but a child in Carolyn screamed in pain. Her heart had been ripped out, and parts of her had been sawed off.

Amanda loved Carolyn with the admiration due to a smart older sister who had always been her protector. Carolyn was supposed to be strong enough to forge ahead for womankind while her younger sister watched from the shelter of a man’s arms. Amanda could not be expected to give comfort.

Amanda and her man Josh relied on the relief Carolyn could provide as a babysitter. Carolyn took comfort from little Carrie, who was a marvel of honesty. When she was hungry, she demanded food. When she wanted attention, she climbed onto a lap. When she was sleepy, she slept.

Carolyn lay her namesake in her own bed and tucked her in for her nap. There was no rest for the aunt and godmother. Women trusted her not to cry or beg or threaten or stalk. Her good manners made her easy to leave.

Carolyn lay curled on the floor, breathing in dust from the carpet. She began to rock come back, come back, come back. Her grieving heart sang an answer she’s gone, she’s gone. Pressing a fist against her breastbone, Carolyn kept her heart from oozing out of her body. Her nipples stood up and asked what was happening.

Carolyn was joined by one much older than she was, held by an invisible force. It didn’t come from Elle. It didn’t come from Carolyn herself; instead, it came into her like a Greek god bent on rape. Or goddess. The woman melted, hearing an unspoken message

Your cunt is mine. I will waken it. Your hands are mine. I will use them to do my will. The life in you is mine. I won’t let you give it up. Life hurts. I will hurt you. I will heal you.

Carolyn rocked on, unzipping her jeans and pushing them down. Her usual hand slid firmly over her belly to find hair and an open mouth, already wet enough to soak her panties.

Little Carrie sucked her thumb, sighing in her sleep. Carolyn stroked her needy clit, sighing as her hot flesh throbbed like a nipple from which a clip has been removed.

The numbness of a month in hibernation had been easier to bear. Too late! One finger and another slipped into an undersea cave that miraculously became even wetter. Salt water gathered and ran in tiny streams.

Unknown to anyone else, a lesbian fucked herself and cried. A baby girl peed into her diaper, safe in her auntie’s care. Big girl and little girl rocked to the heartbeat of the world.

© by Jean Hillabold. All rights reserved.