The Shape of You, The Shape of Me

The Shape of You, The Shape of Me
By Tony

The fight was over, but the talking was still left. James was stretched out across the floor at the foot of the bed, his wife Wendy was on the bed sitting crossed legged. He stared straight up at the ceiling fan as Wendy spoke.
"I just can't live like this anymore. I can't take your anger," she said.
Across the hall, Billy cried in his crib. He didn’t want to sleep, or maybe he just didn’t want to be left alone. He'd stop crying for a while, and you would think he was asleep, then the crying would start again.
James said, "Just let me get him up. He's not going to take a nap."
"He has to learn to go to sleep on his own. He hasn’t been in there that long."
"Christ."

Wendy slid over, dangled her feet over the side of the bed so that the tip of her toes just pressed against the carpet.
She said, "Something has to change. I can't fight anymore. Not like this. Ever since the baby came, you've been so mean. This isn’t you."

James rolled onto his side. Maybe if his back were to her she would stop. Maybe if he kept staring away, staring off somewhere at something else, she would stop. The sound of her voice grated on him. That pleading tone, instead of making him want to comfort her, only made him want to put his fingers in his ears. This was the worst part about fighting with her -- not the argument, but the calming down phase afterwards.
The baby had stopped crying. James held his breath, waiting for the crying to start all over again. It didn’t. Minutes passed and still there was quiet. He felt his shoulders relax, noticed his fists unclench.
"I guess he will sleep," he said.
Wendy lay back on the bed. She placed her arm over her eyes and started to sob. James climbed next to her. He reached around her, tried to pull her close. Her body was stiff against him.
"It's so hard," she whispered.
“I know. I’m exhausted too.”
“Everything’s just so hard. It just doesn’t seem like it should be.”
James said, “It’ll be better when he starts sleeping through the night. We really need some sleep, that’s all.”
She wiped her nose on her sleeve, pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes.
“I just don’t know,” she said.
James was up on one elbow looking down at her. He brushed back her hair and ran his fingertips over her eyebrows. Moving next to her, he again wrapped his arms around her. This time she moved into him -- soft, almost yielding. The baby was still quiet. James closed his eyes and nuzzled his wife's hair. He drifted quietly. Drifted while his body remained on the bed. Drifted like a lost balloon while his heavy limbs lay on top of his wife.
She nudged him awake.
"The baby’s up," she said.
“Do you want me to get him?”
“Please,” she sighed, her breath becoming rhythmic and deep once more.
James sat up slowly and put his head in his hands, rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair. He walked across the hall and placed his hand on the doorknob. Pausing, he felt the crisp cool metal and listened to Billy cooing in his crib. He opened the door. A shaft of light from the window stabbed at the center of the floor. Billy was on his back smiling up at his father.
“Did you have a good sleep?” James asked.
The baby looked at him, gurgled a little.
“Let’s change that diaper,” James said.
Billy’s damp warm breath brushed against James’ neck as he carried Billy over to the changing table. James put him down, looked at his face -- those almond eyes too close together, that broad forehead. Mongoloid, he thought. When James was a kid they called them mongoloids. James’ own mother had called Billy that the first time she saw him. Probably without thinking, but Wendy was pissed. “He’s a down-syndrome baby,” she had said, “not a mongoloid.”
James taped on the diaper, bent over and blew air on Billy’s belly. Billy laughed loud, squealed, flailed his arms and laughed some more.
“Your mommy is still asleep. Why don’t we go get her up?”
They crossed the hall. James held the boy against him as he pushed open the door. The little fingers curled around his neck, worked into his short hair. Still holding Billy, James sat on the bed.
“Hello,” Wendy sighed as she brushed Billy’s cheek.
She sat up, leaned against the headboard. Her face was puffy. She unbuttoned her shirt and exposed her fuller breasts. James handed over Billy. Wendy pulled him to her, propped a pillow under him. The soft light saturated the two of them, covered them -- her there with her exposed breast, Billy curled up into her. They were almost one being; one created from two.
James slipped out of the room and down the hallway. He went to the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of orange juice and filled a tall glass. He sat with it at the dinner table. After some time he heard Wendy open the bedroom door and start down the hall. James rotated his shoulders, trying to loosen them up. Wendy pulled out a chair and sat down across from James. She held the baby over her shoulder and patted him on the back. Her shirt was still not buttoned totally. The white tops of her large breasts were visible.
Wendy said, “What do you say we go to the zoo?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. It will be fun. Billy will like it.”
“He’s not going to get a lot out of it.”
“Oh, he’ll like it. Babies take in more than you think.”
James drank slowly.
“Besides,” she said, “they’ve got a new gorilla I want to see.”
“So?”
“I heard about this one on the news. He was kept in this mall in Ohio for just about his whole life. He lived in this little room, you know, so everyone would come by and look at him. He’s never been outdoors.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, well now this zoo has him because people started protesting. They didn’t think he should have to stay in that tiny room and be watched all day.”
“Like a freak,” James said quietly.
“Like a freak,” Wendy repeated. She added, “Today is the first day he’s going to be allowed outside”
So they got ready. Wendy took the baby and changed his clothes while James packed the diaper bag. James was tying his shoes when Wendy and the baby padded down the hallway towards him.
“I’ll get the baby in the car,” Wendy said.
James nodded, watched her and Billy go out the door and down the stairs. He finished tying his shoes and straightened up slowly, almost arthritically. He grabbed the diaper bag and stood there for a moment, poised in an odd position -- his one hand holding the bag, his head tilting slightly, his left hip shifted out. He stared blankly out the window and for some reason noticed the trees swaying, the leaves fluttering. For a split second he thought he might cry. But then he shook himself and headed out to the car.
“Are we all set?” he asked once he was seated.
“Let me snap my belt on.”
Billy was in the back seat. The straps of his child seat pulled at the cloth of his shirt, ruffled it, puffed it out. He stared at the black and white mobile that hung in front of him. Wendy’s belt clicked loudly as she fastened it. James started the car.
They hadn’t driven far when James said, “Are you okay? Are we okay?”
“I guess.”
Some cars passed them.
Wendy said, “You said some really mean things. It’s hard for me to just forget about them.”
“I know.”
Wendy looked out the window for a long time.
Wendy said, “Billy’s staying with us. I’m not going to let anyone else take care of him.”
“I didn’t mean it when I said that. It was a stupid thing to say.”
“You should never say anything like that.”
“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”
James clenched the steering wheel in both hands. He moved the mirror down so he could see Billy. The sun was filtering into the back seat. Sunlight coated Billy’s legs, reflected his red shirt onto his face so that he looked rosy -- jolly almost. It hurt when James thought about Billy being gone. And it hurt when he thought about Billy staying, about spending his whole life looking after Billy.
But Wendy seemed to be handling it. James glanced at her as he drove, thought about more of the things he had said to her when they had argued -- things that hurt him to think of. He thought about how sometimes when they argued he could feel the meanness coming out, could feel himself forming those vile words, but still not stopping them. Sometimes he couldn’t stop himself, and sometimes he just didn’t want to.
How do you make yourself want to?
They drove in silence -- the only sound was an occasional squeal or gurgle from the baby and the thumping, thumping, thumping of the tires against the asphalt.
They pulled into the zoo parking lot. James drove slowly through the crowded lot. He prowled for a space, ready at any time pounce. The sun had heated up the car. James dabbed at the slippery sweat that dotted his forehead. Finally he found a space and parked the car. As he gathered up all the baby equipment, Wendy got the baby out of the seat. James popped the trunk and pulled out the stroller. Wendy placed Billy into it carefully, tugged his tiny hat lower to keep the sun out of his face.
They headed towards the entrance, they melted in with the other people who were briskly making their way inside . James pushed the stroller. Wendy walked next to him. Neither spoke as they walked up to the ticket gait, as they wheeled themselves through and inside.
“Do we see the gorilla first?” James asked.
“Can we?”
“When do they let him out.”
Wendy glanced at the combination map and advertisement they had been handed on the way in.
“Oh,” she said. “In a couple of minutes. Let’s hurry and we’ll be able to see it.”
They weaved quickly through the crowd. Billy leaned forward in the stroller, reached out towards the passing people. Stop looking at him, James thought. Just stop looking at him. James’ jaw shut tight, clenched. His teeth worked against each other.
Wendy said, “Here, over here.”
They pushed their way through the people, up to a fence, and peered inside.
“Is he out?” James asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Wendy.
A man standing next to them said, “They are going to let him out any time now. That door,” he pointed to the far end of the cage, “is where he will come out of.”
As James squinted at the door, it slowly opened. Inside of it, just in the shadow, you could make out what looked like a gorilla. The crowd pressed tight together.
“I don’t see him,” said Wendy.
“There. To the left of the door. Inside to the left,” said the man who had told them where to look.
The spectators were silent as they waited. James gradually gripped the handle of the stroller tighter in his fist. Wendy had her fingers wrapped in the fence. Billy too was quiet.
The gorilla moved closer to the open door, poked his head out.
“Here he comes,” said Wendy.
But he didn’t. The gorilla stood at the edge and peered out. He put his hand out the open door, yet would not follow it. Minutes passed. Grumbling onlookers started to leave.
“He’ll come out,” Wendy said. “He will. I know it.”
She reached down and picked up Billy.
Still the gorilla remained on the edge.
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to,” James said.
Wendy whispered, “He has to.”
A half an hour passed. The man who had spoken to them earlier drifted away with rest of the crowd. Wendy turned to James, her eyes puddled with tears.
“We came here to see him,” she said to James.
“He’ll come out.”
They stood there and watched, and he didn’t come out. They stood there and watched, and this gorilla stood there too, still inside, like he had been for his whole life. Still inside this cage. And Wendy shook -- with what seemed like rage, like sadness. She began to sob. James pulled her to him, pulled her so tight he thought he might be crushing her.
“We’ll wait,” he said softly into her ear.
Wendy put her head onto James’ shoulder. Billy shifted some in Wendy’s arms. She place him back into the stroller. He sat so still, so calm.
James said, “We will wait right here.”
They stood there, holding each other -- neither one of them looking at the open door, neither on of them moving or seeming to breathe. And the baby silent in the stroller next to them. Wendy crying uncontrollably now. And they leaned slightly against an invisible force, invisible wind.
And they waited.