Mary Ann was a mother of her own now, and liked to lay her baby on the floor in the living room. She’d lay beside him on her stomach and press her face into the dusty blue carpet. She’d listen to her son wriggle, kick, and coo, his saliva-covered fists shoved between his gums.
And Mary Ann? Mary Ann would let the rough carpet become a gentle waterfall that she would part with her nose. She’d fall through the blue darkness, dark blueness, and land in a bikini in a cool jungle tide pool, her hair held back with flowers. People would be dancing in the water, dressed all in red and laughing. Fruit trees shade the sun.
She would be welcomed with open arms, her crying son eons away. And yes, her son would be crying now. And yes, she would have to leave soon.
The only blue in her house was the carpet and all the baby boy clothes. She wanted more blue, blue curtains along the windows and shower, blue dishes, blue walls. Blue could be so expensive, nowadays.