A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Isaac

I was six years old. It was a couple weeks after my birthday, when my mom informed me she had something important to tell me.

"I'm going to have a baby, Skye!" She exclaimed. "You're going to be an older sister."

I was awestruck. I'd seen older sisters on TV. They were always kind, and everyone liked them. Now I was going to be one of them!

"When?" I asked her enthusiastically.

"In seven and a half months." She answered, swooping me up into her arms.

I was disappointed at first by the long wait, but I was soon overtaken by pure ecstasy.

I knew how cute babies were, and couldn't wait to have one in my house. I told anyone that would listen that I would be getting a sibling (a brother, I later learned). As March 26th loomed closer and closer, I got as impatient as my mother's stomach was large.

Right on the date, as she was about to take me to school, my mother stopped short, eyes wide, and placed a quivering hand on her stomach.

"Get your father. Now!" She told me. I ran to the stairs, and I climbed them two at a time, yelling for my dad.

When he saw my mom keeled over in pain, clutching her ballooned stomach, his reaction was instantaneous.

"Skye, get into the car, I'll drop you off at school on the way to the hospital." He took my mom's arm with one of his big, calloused hands, and gently started walking her out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, we were all packed up into the old red minivan, and bolting off down the road.

After ten minutes of weighty silence punctuated by my mother's pained groans, my dad pulled into a parking spot.

"Alright, pumpkin, have a nice day at school!" He said, slightly panicked, as I unbuckled myself from the car seat and grabbed my backpack.

As soon as I shut the car door my father had pulled away again, naturally desperate to not let my mom give birth on the side of the road.

I waited the entire day in bated breath. I was desperate for that final bell to sound so I could escape the stuffy clutches of education and meet my baby brother. I barely took anything in the entire day, except for that last clanging of metal on metal that meant dismissal.

When the last bell finally went off, I sprung out of my seat like a rocket and raced to the front schoolyard, where my beaming father was waiting for me.

The car ride to the hospital went by in a blur. Once in the parking lot, I ripped off the seat belt, opened the door, and sprinted as fast as my six-year-old legs could carry me to the front door.

Once in the lobby, I realized my dad was still coming through the door, and I grabbed his hand so I could make him walk faster. He flashed his plastic bracelet to the woman at the front desk so she knew we were authorized to be here. He led me to the little room my mom must have spent the last hours in.

When we walked through the door, I saw she was sitting up, staring fondly at a bundle of blankets in her arms. She looked up and smiled her tired smile at me and whispered, "Come meet your brother."

I emphatically skipped to her chair, and peered into the mass of blankets to see, well, I wasn't quite sure. It wasn't a baby, I knew that with confidence. It was red and wrinkly, and its tiny face was screwed up tight.

"His name is Isaac." My mom said softly, smiling at the thing in her arms. "Isn't he beautiful?" She asked me.

"What is that?" I asked her in response, slightly repulsed.

In a huff, I sat on the chair next to her, and crossed my arms in front of my tiny body. What a disappointment.

A few days later, when my mom finally came home, she seemed to have regained her usual luster. The dark eyed woman was carrying a bundle of fabric her arms.

"Do you want to see Isaac?" She asked me. "He looks a little different."

I put down the picture book I was reading, and looked at her. "Alright."

My mom padded across the carpet to where I sat, cross-legged.

"Hold your arms out." She instructed, and when I was ready, she put the bundle in my arms, and sat next to me, ready to catch the bundle if it fell.

I looked at the little being inside the pale blue mass, and saw a totally different creature than a few days before.

It had a fuzz of reddish hair on his head, a tiny nose, ears, hands, and little squinty blue eyes that watched my every movement. He smelled like soap, and his skin looked soft.

The baby yawned, and I saw inside the mouth. He even had a tiny tongue!

I was infatuated, and I guess it showed on my face.

"Do you want a picture?" My mother asked beside me, standing up to grab the cyan, almost unused Poloroid camera on the coffee table.

In response, I nodded, still watching Isaac as intently as he watched me.

"Ready?" My mom asked from in front of me. I tore my eyes away from the infant to see her holding the camera up to her face, looking through the lens. "Smile!"

I obeyed, and flashed my pearly whites. I was blinded by the bright flash, and when I blinked the spots out of my eyes, I saw my mom offering the pale photo out to me. I took it with my hand that was supporting Isaac's head, and watched it darken.

When it did, I was holding the second addition to my collection. An image of me, smiling ear to ear, eyes alight with pure joy, and my new brother caught mid-yawn.