Once, Years Ago
written by: Katie Fitzgerald
Once, years ago, when Ariana was a newborn, I scolded the neighbor girl, Julia, for playing the radio too loudly while she and her friends giggled and painted their nails on the deck of the house next door. “I have a baby!’ I said, expecting the entire world to revolve as mine did around the squalling bundle on my shoulder.
This evening, Ariana and her friends are at the salon primping for Prom, and Julia is walking the stroller frantically back and forth between the mailboxes on the corner and the fire hydrant at the end of the block. Baby Owen calms when he’s in motion but loses it when his mama stops to turn around. Ariana was like that, but with the swing.
These days, I have earbuds. I keep them fully charged to help me through piano lessons, TikTok dances and the dog in the yard three doors down that barks every morning at four. At the sound of the baby’s cries through my open window, I reach for them automatically. They are out of the case and halfway to my ears when Julia stops at the end of my driveway. Reaching into her bulging diaper bag, she draws out a bottle, attempting to jostle the stroller at the same time. Owen gives a startled kick, and I flinch as the bottle slips and rolls down the pavement.
Pocketing the earbuds, I head for the stairs, my jacket, and the front door. As I approach, Julia’s shoulders slump. My reputation precedes me. Just last week, I contacted the HOA about the construction noise on the next block. I know what she thinks I’m doing, but I don’t do it.
“Let me give you a hand,” I call in my gentlest tone. The noise of the crying baby assaults my eardrums, and part of me regrets involving myself. Not my baby, not my problem. The whole world doesn’t revolve around new mothers. We fend for ourselves. But I remember how the world spins out of control when a tiny person relies on you, and I step forward. “I can push for a bit. You take a break.”
Years ago, when Ariana was a newborn, Julia rolled her eyes at me, her friends glared daggers, and I went inside in a huff, forced to contend with my overwhelming tasks on my own. Her face looks nearly the same now as then, except that her scowl lasts a mere half second before it’s overtaken by relief. “Thank you,” she tells me and immediately fixes her sloppy ponytail.
Later, I take pictures of Ariana and her date under the dogwood tree, and Julia comes to the window with a sleeping Owen in a carrier. She waves, and we wave back. Ariana says, “Since when do you know her?” I don’t reply, but the answer is that she’ll know her, too, when the time comes.
- Once, Years Ago - May 10, 2025
