were alive, would he have the same reaction, or would he have thought I’d finally gone off the deep end? I wait for the subject to change. Eventually, one of the women starts talking about Mother’s Day Out programs. I listen as they volley suggestions back and forth. I check on Jackson a few times and then move to throw away a wet wipe.
When I do, a batch of silver stars explodes across my vision’s smeared black veil. My ears ring. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I attempt to sit right back down, but my body won’t cooperate. My legs hyperextend, then bend, and I crumple foot-by-foot. A collective gasp escapes from the group. I am up one moment and down the next. My cheek cracks against a rock that’s wedged into the rubbery earth.
Everything goes inky. I allow myself to be pulled under. Visions clash in my mind: Chris, Jake, my mother, Jackson, the red tie being carried away by the wind. I surrender to it, to how right it feels to be still and give in. Children’s voices screech and whine—a reminder of reality. Bells trill in the distance.
My baby.
I open my eyes, roll to my back, and blink into the bright sky. My sunglasses must have flown off. I reach for them, but my fingers close on air. I finger the spongy knot on my cheek and sit up. The playground turf burns under my legs.
“Give her room,” Jess says.
“Did she just faint?”
“Someone call nine-one-one.”
Park mothers fret over what to do, their voices thin and muffled, like I’m trapped underwater. I sit up, my palms hot against the scorched rubber. Finally, I locate my sunglasses and clutch them to my chest. The sharp tang of blood fills my nostrils. I touch my face again. This time, my fingers come away slick.
I blink until the fizz-pop of stars fades, but the ringing in my ears sticks. I yawn, wiggle my jaw, try to get them to pop.
Jess’s sturdy hand hoists me onto the bench. I reach for my tri-fold cane and my diaper bag. Both are right where I left them.
Jess taps my shoulder with a bottle of water, which sweats onto my bare thigh. “Drink.”
The plastic seal cracks apart, and I drain the bottle until it crinkles in my fist. I attempt to recount what just happened: I stood and then fainted.
“That’s a nasty cut,” Jess says. She almost sounds impressed. “We should wash that out.”
“I will.” I make no attempt to move or hunt for the first-aid kit in my diaper bag.
After questions and murmured concerns—the second time in a few days—the other mothers disband. The air thins, and I try to clear my head.
What just happened?
Their footsteps squish over the earth, their trilling voices wrangling unwilling kids and tossing used-up snack baggies and juice boxes into trash cans. My head jerks behind me toward the stroller, something primal kicking in. When I fainted, I could have sworn I heard the tinkling of Jackson’s anklet: bells.
“He’s fine,” Jess insists. “Are you?”
Am I fine? What a loaded question. I almost laugh. Instead, I nod. “Let me just sit for a second.”
“Take your time.” Jess’s hand connects with my back and rubs repetitive, soothing circles.
“Ms. Rebecca!” A voice calls behind me and I turn my head too sharply. My world tilts again.
“Ms. Rebecca!” Savi is breathless and smells like bubble gum. “I just saw you fall! Are you okay?”
I nod. “Where’s your mom?”
“Right here.” Crystal rushes over. “We were just walking to the music store. Are you okay?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“Bec, you need to lie down. Or go to the doctor. She fell pretty hard,” Jess says to Crystal.
“Can she come rest at our house for a second, Mom? Please?” Savi hops up and down, and all the commotion makes my head pound.
“That’s okay, Savi. I can walk home.” To prove my point, I stand, but my legs buckle. My heart beats in a strange, labored way.
“Come.” Crystal drapes a firm arm around me and guides me toward her house. Jess grabs my diaper bag, cane, and stroller. Jess chats with Savi in an attempt to lighten the mood and warp the truth: I need help.
As we navigate the short path through a thicket of trees to Savi’s house, worry spreads through my chest—a physical ache that darts straight to my back.
“This is the backyard,” Savi explains. Metal groans as she runs ahead to open the latch. “It gets stuck sometimes. And