Febuary 2024

Story: Pushing, Pushing, Pulling, Pulling

By Leslie Flores

  Outside in cold snow, the baby was wrapped in warm wool. Underneath the wool blanket, a warm sweater squeezed her tight, like a hug from the mother who struggled to keep awake at night. Underneath the warm sweater, she wore a cotton shirt she had tried to resist as the mother held it over her head. The mother’s hand was warm against her back, ready to support the head that was inexperienced in keeping up. Underneath the shirt, there was skin. She was warm and happy. She was human.  

The baby knew she would soon grow older. She’d remember how to use her legs and push against the ground. Pushing and pushing, she’d make it to school with a backpack pulling and pulling her down. She would cry when the mother left her at school. She would cry when the mother returned. She would sit at desks and stare at boards. Her eyes would grow tired by high school. Then they’d soon light up as it was time to leave school. 

The baby would then grow older. She would find herself pushing and pushing against the world that tried pulling her down. She would hate her appearance and love it too. She would tie bows in her hair to feel like a child again. She would cut her hair to show she was an adult. She would smile at others like a child fascinated by the world. She would wear a deep frown like a woman who the cold world had frozen. The cold world her life would be spent pushing and pulling against. 

But the baby was wrapped in warm wool. The cold air would not get to her. If the wool was pulled from her, she had her warm sweater. If they took her warm sweater, she had her cotton shirt. And if they took her cotton shirt, she had her skin. No matter how much the cold air pushed and pulled against her, it would never take her skin. 🐾