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Title: En L'aire Summary: It's been months since that night in Montana. Thanks: I owe thanks to Deep Background. I also thank bugs for friendship and advice, and for the beautiful website she created for my stories. See the url below. http://underthewing.com/branwell/ Scully jumped as a hand slid up from her ankle to her stockinged calf. "You have smooooth legs, Aunt Dana," came a loud whisper from somewhere below her knees. Mattie was already bored with "The Nutcracker Suite." Scully took her nephew's chubby hand in a firm grip. There would be trouble if she let him continue his progress beneath the seats until he reached his grandmother. She leaned over and spoke quietly into the darkness bounded by green plush upholstery. "Do you remember? Grandma didn't like it when you went under the pew at church?" She felt his resistance slacken. Mattie's ruffled blond head popped up beside her. At the same moment Tara took his other hand. Mattie sank into the empty seat between them with a theatrical slump. Scully wondered if her mother had forgotten her own Sunday morning ordeals, when she struggled alone to keep order among four pre-schoolers. Perhaps her mother thought Tara had it easy with only one child to manage. There was no excuse for laxity when the odds were even. On stage the young dancers spun in swirls of rose, maroon, Prussian blue and white. They waved toy swords and dolls in broad gestures. The music was almost too lush with emotion, syrupy with strings and fat with harmonies. Mattie was not impressed. He discovered that if he raised his legs, his seat folded him into a compact, giggling "V." It took the bright explosions of Herr Drosselmeyer's magic to rivet her nephew's attention. He bounced with excitement at the flashes of fire and smoke that signaled the presentation of gifts. He resumed his fidgeting while the party-goers danced their way off-stage. His interest revived when Clara fell asleep and the magic began. Scully enjoyed the wide-eyed shine in Mattie's eyes when the Christmas tree swelled toward the ceiling like a dream of surfeit. He stayed alert for the invasion of the Mouse King and his army. Scully thought that the Mouse King costume was too frightening for a show aimed at children. The dancer's sinuous movements made her think of a snake, not a mouse. His silvery body suit seemed to glisten with cool moisture. The ungainly head turned in slow, ominous surveys of the stage, as he commanded his mouse warriors against the toy soldiers. It was the oval black eyes that made Scully most uncomfortable. They should have glittered, hard and glassy. Instead they gleamed, humid and penetrable, like the eyes of a living creature. The Nutcracker Prince entered the fray with a brave leap. Scully noticed that he had long legs for a ballet dancer. Moving with the fluid grace of a smaller man, he reeled and bent under blows from the Mouse King's sword. Scully could hear the dancer's panting as the duel took on an edge of desperation. Even in extremity the Nutcracker's face remained stiff -- a mask of features exaggerated beyond human expression. She worried about the children in the audience and their terror. How could they be sure that the conflict was make- believe? The Nutcracker fell at last in a pose of agonized defeat, frozen in the white glare of a spotlight. Clara stood by, ready to save him with a thrown slipper. The Mouse King's huge head swung around toward the audience. Scully lurched to her feet. She squeezed Mattie's hand and whispered in his ear. "Let's go out and get you a chocolate-covered Oreo." Mattie blinked with surprise, but recovered quickly. "OK," he agreed. "He's scared. I'm taking him to the lobby," Scully murmured to Tara as they edged their way out. It was difficult to squeeze her pregnant belly politely past the people seated in their row. Scully knew her sister-in-law wouldn't aggravate the audience around them by delaying her for an explanation. Mattie pulled her up the aisle, bursting to release the energy he'd accumulated during the last half-hour. He skipped with joy on seeing the empty expanse of marble in the lobby. When he launched himself across it, he slid for a satisfying ten feet. The woman behind the refreshment counter gave Scully a knowing smile. Scully returned it mechanically, and approached her to buy the promised treat. Mattie instantly darted over to supervise. "I'm thirsty, Aunt Dana," he confided. "Can I have a Coke?" Scully was already regretting her impulse. Mattie's pale blue turtleneck would suffer from the chocolaty dessert. Soda was the ultimate anti-health drink. She didn't have the will to refuse. Her will had crumbled months ago, along with her hope. Since then she'd allowed events to sweep her along, like a scrap of paper in a gale. Which was really how it had always been, she reminded herself. She'd stopped fighting because she'd lost the illusion that she had the power to control anything. She'd be a terrible mother. Mattie ate two bites of the cookie before he decided to lick off all the chocolate. Then he took it apart and scooped off the icing with his fingers. Most of the cookie remained on the plate in crumbs when he lost interest and abandoned it. Scully grabbed his hands at the last second, before he could wipe the stickiness onto his shirt. She pulled out a wet wipe and worked until only an antiseptic lemon scent remained on Mattie's fingers. He took a long drink of Coke and headed for the brass railing that ran up the center of the lobby stairs. Mattie clung and shinnied along the round pipe as though he'd been born in a tree. Scully remembered watching Melissa perform frightening feats on the monkey bars when they were children. She hadn't been showing off. It had never crossed Melissa's mind that she was in any danger. She had perfect confidence in her skills. Misplaced confidence, as it turned out. She was dead, like Mulder. Scully tried to get comfortable on the marble bench beside the stairway. Her hips ached with the softening of her ligaments, and her high-rising uterus crowded her lungs and stomach. She no longer remembered why she had fought so hard for this pregnancy. Something coiled within her, waiting to be born. She had nothing to offer but an empty heart and a world of senseless suffering. A deliberate, flexing movement inside her lifted the fabric of her black, knit smock. Her gaze moved beyond the mound of her belly to the green-veined marble floor. Several obstetricians had examined her sonograms and blood test results. They'd done independent analyses of her amniocentesis results. All she could think of were the thousands of ways she could be duped into believing whatever someone wanted her to believe about this pregnancy. She remembered the teeming carp in the stagnant pond out by the base shooting range. They lunged to the surface for bits of bread with one, rippling movement of their muscular bodies. She and her sister and brothers threw stale bread to the fish while they waited their turns. Only one at a time could practice shooting under their father's careful supervision. Bill told her that the carp never stopped growing. They just kept eating, and getting bigger and bigger, until they died of old age. Even after the birth she wouldn't be sure if there had been a switch of babies. Or creatures. The changeling legend in reverse. She hurried over to attend to Mattie when he swung down from the railing and started coughing. The chocolate and Coke came back up in a few miserable heaves, streaking his shirt with wet brown stains. Scully alternated between drying his tears and using more wet-wipes to scrape as much mess as possible off his shirt. Then she looked at the floor and estimated that she'd need three paper towels to clean it up. A sweet-faced, gray-haired usher hurried over with a wet sponge. As she swiped systematically at the marble, she tried to distract Mattie. "Do you want a baby brother or sister, dear?" she cooed. Mattie burped in answer and Scully thrust a tissue under his chin. "He's my nephew," Scully corrected quickly. "I don't know what it's going to be." "How nice and old-fashioned. You're going to be surprised," the woman murmured approvingly. "Thank you so much," Scully responded with automatic courtesy. "I shouldn't have let him hang upside down after eating." "Never mind, dear. You'll learn." Mattie still hiccupped, and his lower lip quivered. "Let's go look at the pretty things," Scully suggested to her nephew. She stretched her mouth in a smile at the kind usher, and led Mattie across the lobby. Pink and lavender netting swathed the counter opposite in a display as sumptuous as a Victorian valentine. The merchandise was all aimed at young females - - leotards, leggings, shoe bags, scarves, and jewelry. Most items came in pink or lavender. Mattie liked the ballerina in the jewelry box because she moved. She wore a real gauze tutu, and twirled over a mirror to a digital version of "The Dance of Sugarplum Fairy." Scully had resigned herself to buying Mattie a distraction, but his choice made her pause. She thought of Bill's face when he saw his son enthralled by a dancing doll in a pink jewelry box. "Look at the nutcrackers, Mattie." She led him around the corner to look at the row of bright figures, vivid in uniforms of glossy red or blue paint. They glared at nothing, faces bold with shiny black eyebrows and whiskers. "Aren't they fierce?" she encouraged. When her nephew cautiously inserted his pointer finger into the mouth of one, Scully gently lifted the lever in its back. Mattie jumped and pulled his finger back with a giggle when the mouth closed on it. "Can I have one, Aunt Dana?" he asked, while he pressed a finger against the sharpness of the small wooden sword in the nutcracker's fist. "Have you been a good boy?" she asked, her hand already reaching into her purse for the money. He nodded, pumping the nutcracker's lever up and down until it pinched his finger into redness. The nutcracker conducted battles up and down the stairs, and around the marble benches, until intermission brought a crowd into the lobby. When Scully's mother and Tara found them, she saw their faces tighten with concern at the sight of Mattie's stained shirt. "What happened, Dana?" her mother spoke first. "Is Mattie all right?" "It was just an accident, Mom. He spit up some Coke. He's fine now." Tara knelt beside her son, trying to comfort him with a hug. He resisted, intent on his one-soldier military campaign. "I'm sorry about his shirt, Tara," Scully apologized. "Oh, don't worry about it. It'll come out. He'll be too big for that shirt in a few months anyway. Don't give it another thought." Tara was well into the second week of her visit to her hustand's family. She still tiptoed around Scully as carefully as if she were touring a spider web museum at close quarters. Tara had attempted a few, casual half-hugs around Scully's stiff shoulders. She left magazines lying open to stories of human triumph over adversity. Her Christmas gift to Scully had been an inspirational book called "Embraced by Angels." "There's goodness out there too," she whispered anxiously, as Scully removed blue foil wrapping paper etched with silver angels. Scully had smiled her appreciation for Tara's good intentions. She spared her sister-in-law the truth about angels, and why seraphim weren't comforting icons for a mysteriously pregnant woman. At least Tara knew better than to tell her that everything would be all right after the baby came. Mattie stuck his lower lip out at the prospect of returning to his seat for the rest of the ballet. Tara watched Scully's face for cues. Scully shrugged. "I don't mind staying out here with him. My legs were starting to cramp up anyway." Her mother and Tara nodded in understanding. Mattie continued his play during most of the second act, thoroughly polishing the marble floor with the knees of his Dockers. Finally he retired to a spot on the bench next to Scully, and demanded a story. She stumbled through "Goldilocks and the Three Bears," making frequent mistakes with the voices. Baby Bear muttered his disappointment over his empty porridge bowl in a low, throaty growl, and Mama Bear squeaked in protest at her unmade bed. Mattie didn't notice. His eyes drooped. He leaned heavily on Scully until he fell into his mother's arms at the end of the show. The walk to the car was a cold bustle through chilly darkness around half-frozen puddles. Tara carried Mattie, who lacked the energy to complain about being babied. The adults shivered at their contact with the frigid fabric of the seats. They exclaimed at the outrage of cold weather in winter. When the heater kicked in, the conversation shifted to the lateness of the hour, and the amazing lack of traffic at eleven P.M. Scully didn't make a fuss when Tara let Mattie ride on her lap, instead of strapping him into his car seat. When Scully pulled into the driveway, her mother made her usual suggestion. "Dana, honey, it's so late. Why don't you just spend the night, instead of driving back to Georgetown?" Tonight Scully heard a different answer than the usual come out of her mouth. "No thanks, Mom. I'm not sleepy." "But honey, I hate to think of you there all alone . . . Wouldn't you sleep better with your family around you?" Scully couldn't argue with her. She sat silent behind the wheel, while her mother helped Tara struggle out of the car with her sleeping son in her arms. It was the first time Scully had resisted a direction from anyone since that night in Montana. Mattie woke up when Tara shifted him to an upright position. First he grumbled sleepily. Then he raised his voice in a penetrating whine. "Where's my nutcracker, Mommy? Where is it?" Tara bent awkwardly through the open door and glanced over the empty seat. "Maybe you dropped it on the way to the car, honey," she suggested. "Hush. Never mind. You got lots of new toys for Christmas. You'll forget all about it." "No. Nooo. He's lost," Mattie wailed. "What if he's scared?" Distracted by the need to pacify Mattie, her mother forgot to press Scully to stay the night. Scully found herself retracing her way through the maze of empty suburban streets, and didn't remember saying her goodnights. The drive on the highway to Georgetown passed smoothly, like a long slide down a familiar chute. Scully had told her mother the truth. She wasn't sleepy, although she always slept poorly now. It had been a great relief when the discomfort of her pregnancy made deep sleep impossible. Once in a while, during the first weeks after Montana, she fell so deeply unconscious that the pain of her loss seeped away into some hidden mental reservoir. When she woke, it was with a disorienting shock of dread. Each time, the horror of that night came flooding back like an acid infusion into her body and brain. Now it was impossible to find an easy position in bed. She woke frequently, and sometimes had to do stretches in the middle of the night to relieve muscle spasms. She never forgot, so she never had to remember. Scully found a parking space on the street half a block from her own apartment. She sat in the dark cage of the car, not moving to leave it until cold began to creep up her legs like a seepage of icy water. As she turned to shut the front door, a flash of red on the floor in the back seat caught her eye. Mattie's painted toy stuck out from under the front seat, just a tiny bit. Scully yanked the back door open and grabbed the nutcracker, as though he lay in imminent peril. She clutched the staring wooden figure to her chest, warming it in her hands. But all she could think was "He's lost. He's lost, and so am I."
End
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