Andrew

Carol wasn't ever exactly the most stable person at the best of times, but I never thought it would go as far as it did. How could I? How could anyone? Yet, there I was, going to my neighbors houses one by one, begging them not to bring it up. The BBQ was only a few hours away, and a lot of people had RSVP'd; something that would have made me ecstatically happy just six weeks ago, but after everything that happened, it only served to fill me with dread. Now, I don't know if I'll ever be happy again.

It all started when our firstborn, Andrew, came home with us from the hospital. He was the best, Carol's bright blue eyes and my big fucking ears. He was the best. Andrew died in his crib within a month. 'Sudden Infant Death Syndrome', they called it. It certainly was sudden, alright. A meteor impact would have been less out of the blue. Carol didn't speak for over a week. She couldn't even attend the funeral. Then, one day, I came home from work to find her curled up in the rocking chair in the baby's room, nursing something. Well, trying to, anyway.

Swaddled in a baby-blue blanket, wrapped up in her arms, was our dog, Max. Only Max wasn't quite Max anymore. Carol had shaved him, completely. There was barely a single hair left on his tiny little chihuahua dog body. She shushed me when I screamed, telling me that she was just 'Teaching Andrew not to bark.', and that she was 'So happy that he was back with us.'

It made me sick, but at the same time, she really did seem happy again. Like he'd never actually left us. As it turned out, that's exactly what Carol believed. Apparently, 'God' had 'swapped the souls', and that Max the Chihuahua had perished in the body of our son and Andrew had inhabited the canine vessel he now found himself in. Our 'son'. I knew that Carol was sick, but I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone and have her sent away so that some doctor could dope her up and lock her in a white room someplace. She was all I had left, and so began our new life.

It was fine when she never left the house. I think on some level deep down she knew that it wasn't our baby... what people would say. But after a while, I couldn't keep her inside anymore. I came home to a great big hug, the kind that'd probably kill someone if they were frail enough, and the news that she'd 'already sent out the invitations'. Puzzled, I asked her for an explanation, and Carol told me that they were for the backyard BBQ we'd been planning for that evening. That was the first I'd heard of it. An hour later I was frantically running around buying hotdogs and burgers and buns and the barbeque setup we didn't even own. Then, I had fourteen of the most awkwardly deceitful conversations of my entire life. Most of the neighbors were understanding enough of whatever lies I told them regarding my wife's crumbling mental state, and to the ones I knew wouldn't be I made up excuses as to why the BBQ was off, which worked without a hitch due to the short notice of the whole thing. I don't know what I was expecting. I just wanted to keep her close to me. Just for a little while longer, at least...

When I arrived home, sweating through my shirt from the stress of it all, Carol came downstairs as she heard me come in; wearing the dress from our first date, still as beautiful as ever. I asked her where 'Andrew' was, and to my utter relief she told me nonchalantly that he was sound asleep. Feeling like I could finally relax, I took a moment in the bathroom to thank the Lord and splash some water over my face. Then the guests started showing up. The Smiths, Joyce and Steve, knocked on the door at exactly seven p.m., owing to Joyce's neurotic need to always be precisely punctual. I used this to my advantage and sent the couple into the kitchen to keep an eye on Carol, who was sitting rigidly in one of the lawn chairs out back, gazing intently at a crow as if it were revealing the secrets of the universe to her.

Carol seemed to liven up as more people arrived, and for a short while it was almost as if she was her old self again. Everyone was laughing and joking around and the neighborhood kids were having a great time playing out in the street. I even started to enjoy myself, chatting shit about the football games I'd missed with Steve and cooking up burgers. Then, as if by some sick cosmic joke, the front door was all of a sudden being hammered ceaselessly. And then the barking. Then the confusion on everybody's faces when Carol sprang to her feet, saying how she was going up to 'get Andrew.'

I begged her as she ascended the stairs, telling her not to bring him outside, but obviously she was beyond listening to reason. Throwing the front door open, enraged and mortified, I was angry to see that it was that asshole from next door, Dale. He was pissed off about how I'd lied to him about the BBQ being off, and unable to think of anything to say I let him shove past me with barely a word.

An hour passed. Then two. The party was clearing out and it seemed as if maybe Carol had listened to me after all. While I was in the middle of subtly trying to coax an already shitfaced Dale into going home, I heard her at the top of the stairs, humming a sweet lullaby. Grabbing Dale's arm and leading him outside, we were almost home free when my wife called after him as if nothing were at all amiss, asking if he'd like to hold the baby. Dale's face went white as he saw the bald snout poking out from within the pale blue bundle of blanket in her arms. About to speak but unable to, he staggered outside, where I could hear him vomiting in our bushes.

Before I knew what was happening, Carol had wandered by me and into the backyard, among the remaining guests. The immediate shock was audible before I could even close the distance to join them and several of our neighbors hastily pushed past me to leave on my way over. Steve and Joyce were frozen in place, shadowed by Micheal and Ginny and their daughter Stephanie from across the street. All five were very clearly looking for a way out, as uncomfortable as I'd ever seen anyone, and I couldn't blame them. As I was whispering to my wife in-between her swoons of 'Isn't he beautiful?' in a vain effort to lead her back inside, I heard drunk footsteps drag in behind us.

"That's not a baby, it's a shaved dog!"

With one last gasp, the final guests took that devastating outburst as their chance to escape. Which they did, quickly, thankfully pulling Dale along with them. Joining Carol once again in the backyard, I pulled her close to me and we embraced; cradling a swaddled Max between us.

"I'm so sorry, honey..."