Contest #114 winner 🏆

The Hallowed Ground

Submitted into Contest #114 in response to: Write about a clique that dominates your story’s social scene.... view prompt

129 comments

Fiction

“Karl told me about a playgroup in Maraetai. Why don’t you take her there?” My partner stares at me in the bathroom mirror.


I look away, the unspoken words prickling. “They’re not really my cup of tea.”


The baby stirs, sucking on her hand. She’ll need feeding soon.


“How do you know? You’ve never been.”


I watch my partner shaving, each pass exposing fresh, pink skin in a sea of white, and a stab of jealousy twists in my stomach.


“They’re for older children,” I say, pulling my dressing gown across my chest. “Not for little babies.”


“Think about it. You might make some friends there. You know, find your tribe or whatever.”


The razor tapping on the sink wakes the baby, and she cries.


“I have friends,” I say, carrying her out of the room.


I have friends.


I do.


Friendships take time to adjust after a baby.


#


I stand at the entrance to the playgroup, and look at the real mothers inside, bouncing babies on their knees, drinking coffee, chatting, looking happy. The capsule swings in the crook of my elbow as I wrestle with the baby gate, balancing a ridiculously sized bag of baby paraphernalia under my arm.


“Here, let me help.” An older lady with a grey bob and a grey expression opens the gate.


“Thanks,” I say. “Those baby gates shred any self-confidence left after the birth, right?”


Her powdered face remains impassive, and a tingle of apprehension crawls across my confidence.


“Tea and coffee are on the counter, next to the cake. Just help yourself,” she says.


The noise is assaulting. Weeks of daytime solitude have left me unprepared for the hustle and bustle of the room.


A handful of mothers sit on the floor playing blocks with their toddlers. A group of preschoolers squabble over a pram. Two mothers snatch a conversation, while one ignores the snotty nosed toddler clinging to her leg.


A small group of women are enjoying an uninterrupted conversation at a large table near the coffee. I weave my way through the snotty noses and tantrums to the hallowed ground.


“Hi, I’m Anna,” I say, resting the capsule and ridiculously large bag on the floor next to an empty seat.


“Lisa.” The woman gives a small nod.


She doesn't have baby vomit on her shoulder. My fingers creep to the crunchy white splotch on my jumper.


“Jenny.” Her clean, shiny hair cascades around her shoulders.


“Taylor.”


“Lou.”


“Amy.”


Lisa… Jenny… I clutch at the names, but they escape.


“That’s a lot of names to remember on three hours’ sleep,” I say.


“Isn’t your baby sleeping through the night, yet?”


“She’s only eight weeks old.”


Silence.


Another woman raises an eyebrow.


My baby stirs and I rock the capsule, hoping she’ll sleep for at least half a coffee and a piece of cake.


Her eyes edge shut. Success.


“The cake looks good. Do we just help ourselves?”


Several women nod.


The knife is heavy as I cut a piece of carrot cake, sliding it onto my plate.


“Breastfeeding always made me hungry, too.”


I pause, looking at the woman that spoke.


She nods at the cake on my plate. “I was always starving when I was feeding.”


I smile and dip my head, my greasy hair hiding my burning cheeks. I pick up a mug.


“The decaf is on the right.” Someone points to a tin banished to the edge of the counter. “Unless you have caffeine while you’re feeding?”


“No, of course not,” I say.


I sit and listen to their chatter, rocking the capsule with my toe, and hope the baby’s bottle isn’t poking out of the bag.


The bottle, the great thief of self-esteem.


My coffee’s devoid of all joy, but I sip it anyway, learning the intricacies of their reproductive systems and the state of their marriages, but not their names.


“How’s the cake?” asks a woman with plum lipstick.


I nod. “Good.”


She smiles. So does the woman next to her. But only with her mouth. Her forehead doesn’t move. Neither do her eyes.


I’m wondering if she’s had Botox.


I’m staring at her.


Silence.


Everyone is staring at me.


I realise they’re waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear.


“No.” If in doubt, deny.


The women seem shocked. The playgroup, the great social minefield.


One raises an eyebrow.


I glance at my baby sleeping in her capsule, her eyebrows so delicate. Will she wield them as weapons when she’s older?


“Sorry, what was the question?”


“I asked if breastfeeding was going well.”


I think of the bottle in the bag. I wouldn’t say it’s going great.


“Yep, it’s going well.”


My baby stirs. She sucks on her hand. My stomach twists. The timing is not ideal.


I stand. “I need to feed her now, actually.”


I pick up the capsule. And the ridiculous bag. The bottle falls and rolls along the floor.


Plum raises an eyebrow.


Botox picks up the bottle.


“Is this formula?” she asks, brandishing the bottle like I’m feeding my baby vodka.


"No, it’s expressed…” I trail off.


This group of women sitting around the table, staring at me, they are not my tribe.


My tribe supports mothers. My tribe recognises a woman doing her best. My tribe lifts women at their most vulnerable, it doesn’t tear them to pieces.


I grab the bottle.


And make a scathing retort.


I leave their gaping faces and stagger through the blocks and snotty noses to the insurmountable gate.


It won’t open.


I clatter and scramble over the gate with my howling baby and ridiculous bag, leaving the gate openers and the hallowed ground in my wake.


It’s quite the exit. They’ll have something to discuss for weeks to come.


#


“Did you go to the playgroup today?” My partner shovels her fork into the mashed potato. She always eats her meat last.


I nod.


She puts down her fork. “Did it go okay? Did you find your tribe?”


I think of the ladies at the table, the shock on their faces, their eyes wide in disbelief.


“No, it didn’t go great.”


 “What happened?”


“I got hassled about breastfeeding.”


Her jaw clenches as I tell my story and I feel a truth pushing through the hidden space inside me.


“So I made a scathing remark and left.”


She leans forward, her mashed potato abandoned, present and listening.


“What was your scathing comment?” she asks.


My partner. Supporting me. Seeing me. Lifting me at my most vulnerable.


I pick at my nails. “I told them I gave up breastfeeding because it interfered with my cocaine habit.”


She looks at me, her eyes wide and mouth gaping.


“You didn’t?”


“I did.”


A smile plays on her lips, and then she laughs.


I laugh, too.


The weight of the day evaporates, and a truth emerges. We're two sleep deprived women, and we're doing our best.


I’ve found my tribe. She’s sitting right next to me.



October 08, 2021 08:45

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129 comments

Renda Brooks
20:00 Nov 03, 2021

Humor and a look into motherhood with all it offers. Well done.

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Beth Jackson
23:41 Nov 03, 2021

Thank you so much, Renda! :-)

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Renda Brooks
23:45 Nov 04, 2021

You're welcome.

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22:12 Oct 28, 2021

The ending made me understand the whole writing. I kept wondering why she was ashamed of the bottle. Motherhood is really tough.

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Beth Jackson
00:00 Oct 29, 2021

Thank you for taking the time to comment! I appreciate it! :-)

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Eden Weathers
15:54 Oct 25, 2021

Congrats! I enjoyed this. You captured the sleep deprivation and judgements, even if unintended, from the moms who have it all figured out so well. I have three nearly grown children, but this took me back. You have to have a sense of humor to raise kids.

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Beth Jackson
17:16 Oct 25, 2021

Thank you so much for your lovely comments, Eden! :-)

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Kanika G
13:17 Oct 25, 2021

I loved this story, so wonderfully written. I could totally visualize the whole story including the characters Plum and Botox. :) Well done!!

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Beth Jackson
17:17 Oct 25, 2021

Thank you so much, Kanika! :-)

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A.Dot Ram
18:06 Oct 24, 2021

I recognize so much in this story! Trying to manipulate baby gates on the hours' sleep...You had so many great lines: "learning the intricacies of their reproductive systems and the state of their marriages, but not their names." So true! The paradox of playdates 😂. And then the way you describe them without names. And this one--"I glance at my baby sleeping in her capsule, her eyebrows so delicate. Will she wield them as weapons when she’s older?"--a perfect encapsulation of the week's theme. Belated congratulations.

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Beth Jackson
23:58 Oct 24, 2021

Thank you so much! Those baby gates… and collapsing pushchairs… Thank you for taking the time to comment! I really appreciate it! :-)

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23:15 Oct 22, 2021

Ah, Beth, nice work! So much of this rings true, except, ouch, not the really mean mother clique part, luckily! But I have definitely felt the awkwardness of trying to break into a play group, even if the people there aren't being mean! I love the title...that's always the hardest part for me! I love the part of about the eyebrows as weapons, and I love part about the baby vomit on the shirt! Especially with my oldest, I was always covered in spit up. So many great descriptive passages here that are relatable to many of my experiences. And...

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Beth Jackson
23:57 Oct 22, 2021

Thank you so much, Rachel! Your feedback is always super, super helpful! I really appreciate the time you take to write it as well as your insights! Thank you! Yes - you’ve got it with the capsule - I’m super curious tho, what do you call it in America?

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01:50 Oct 23, 2021

Just a car seat...maybe a bucket car seat if you wanted to distinguish it from a convertible one.

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01:51 Oct 23, 2021

And I neglected to say- congrats on the win!

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Beth Jackson
03:17 Oct 23, 2021

Car seat! Got it! Thank you! It was very exciting! :-)

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R.S. Louvierre
10:18 Oct 19, 2021

Good story-telling. I was there, in the characters head and seeing the events unfold. Kind of close to home for me, being the eldest of six, I recall my mother going through similar interactions with snobby moms. The "cocaine habit" made me laugh because it was something I myself have said and could imagine my sister saying. Great job!

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Beth Jackson
06:16 Oct 20, 2021

Thank you so much! :-)

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00:01 Oct 19, 2021

Love this short story. Well dome. It grabbed me right away

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Beth Jackson
00:22 Oct 19, 2021

Thank you, Annemarie! :-)

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Selena Collins
22:47 Oct 18, 2021

As a mom who always struggled to find my people, this had me in tears, first just relating to the characters' earliest feelings and then with joy.

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Beth Jackson
00:24 Oct 19, 2021

Thank you for your beautiful comments, Selena. Finding your tribe can be such a journey. 💕💕

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Nora K.
19:09 Oct 18, 2021

Congrats, Beth! This is fun, illustrious, straightforward. Motherhood is complicated. Thanks for sharing.

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Beth Jackson
00:25 Oct 19, 2021

Thank you for your kind comments, Nora! :-)

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Trevor Caswell
14:28 Oct 18, 2021

Love the build up of tension. Your character's anxiety and doubt really speak to all of our insecurities when walking into an unfamiliar setting. Sometimes the new environment helps us come to appreciate the blessings we already have.

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Beth Jackson
00:25 Oct 19, 2021

Thank you for your kind and thoughtful comments, Trevor! :-)

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Andrea Hanssen
13:45 Oct 18, 2021

Wow. That retort. Beth Jackson, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I applaud you.

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Beth Jackson
00:26 Oct 19, 2021

Thank you, Andrea! I appreciate it! :-)

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19:31 Oct 17, 2021

"i told them it gave up breastfeeding because it interfered with my cocaine habit." ... YES, QUEEN, YES-

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Beth Jackson
23:43 Oct 17, 2021

Lol, thank you!

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Allie Guilderson
04:07 Oct 17, 2021

This was beautiful. As a mother of 3 I can attest how hard it is to find your "tribe" after having children. All your friends from before are suddenly not your friends anymore, or atleast not as supportive as they once were... it's hard. I really loved this story.

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Beth Jackson
23:43 Oct 17, 2021

Thank you for you lovely comments, Allie :-)

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Fiery Red
03:49 Oct 17, 2021

This story is too good. I was captivated by it and couldn't stop reading till the end. I liked your ending the best. A sarcastic remark to shut them all up. Great writing!! Keep up the good work.

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Beth Jackson
23:44 Oct 17, 2021

Thank you! :-)

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Unknown User
17:23 Oct 10, 2021

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Beth Jackson
00:24 Oct 11, 2021

Thank you so much for your kind comments! I really appreciate it! :-)

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Rama Shaar
05:22 Jun 15, 2022

I love this! You captured the subtle condescension of some women so brilliantly. Women should really try to support each other more, but perhaps with all the pressure and feelings of inadequacy they think they can only rise by pushing other women down. Great read!!

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Heather Z
13:21 Jan 17, 2022

I truly enjoyed reading this story. “Plum” and “Botox.” I loved that. LOL! Your story was an excellent portrayal of the challenges of womanhood and motherhood…especially the social challenges. We all need to lift each other up but unfortunately that doesn’t always happen. Loved the twist and humor at the end. Glad her partner was the support she needed. Well written piece. Great flow. Cheers on your win!

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Beth Jackson
17:20 Jan 17, 2022

Thank you, Heather! :-)

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07:38 Jan 01, 2022

i did a story just like you to twinxys

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Unknown User
00:25 Oct 29, 2021

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Beth Jackson
00:58 Oct 29, 2021

Thank you!

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