Second Life

Marigolds are in full bloom in the garden. There is a fountain in the corner where the pigeons find relief in the cold water, pruning their feathers as the sun scorches the grass. Elisabeth is stretched across a picnic blanket, colouring in pictures with her crayons while the breeze catches the golden strands of her hair. I find peace, watching her from the kitchen window while I soap the dishes, but the guilt soon creeps up on me when I catch a glimpse of the indentation on my bare ring finger. The kitchen is swallowed by darkness as a plane passes the sun, and Elisabeth screams out, and it stops my heart. I’m running, calling incomprehensibly, tripping over the step to the grass. Her small hands are covering her ears. I reach her just as her head hits the ground; scoop her body into my arms. She is heavy and her skin is ice. This is not uncommon, but each outburst unsettles me more than the last.

As I carry her through the kitchen and into the hall, we pass countless photographs. There is one of Elisabeth blowing out the candles on her sixth birthday cake and her smile is radiant. She looks the same today as she did back then, and that was five years ago. Descending the creaking stairs to the basement, I pull a cord and an overhead light springs on. I lay Elisabeth across a metal table, trays of tools surrounding us. Delicately brushing her fringe from her forehead, I see a screw embedded in either temple, and I grab a screwdriver to take off her faceplate.

The first time Elisabeth malfunctioned, I took her to an engineer. I was told that since her machine is old, I should expect any day to be her last; that I should invest in a newer model. I had not returned to the shop since, choosing to aid Elisabeth at home. No matter how many hours it could take to restore her, it will be worth it. I will not lose my child twice.