Childproofing for a Sweetheart

The house was a buzz of life, aided in no small part by a bundle of joy named Allie sweetheart. Allie was nearing her fourth birthday and nearly old enough to be sent off to preschool, or so her mother told her. For now, she played the day away, sucking on watermelon—as to not eat the seeds—and dipping her feet in the kiddy pool at every opportunity. 

On this particular day, Allie’s mother had promised to make pasta. Pasta—fancy and covered in flowers. Her family would read her mother’s cookbook in a language Allie didn’t quite understand, but that was okay: Allie had her own language one she only spoke. Her family always made a fuss when she spoke it though, then the cookbook was closed and Allie could once again enjoy her flowery meal. 

Allie walked in, her mother smothering her with kisses she brushed off. 

“I’m starting the pasta,” Her mother said, with a burst of energy. Allie felt her mother’s eyes follow her.

Allie settled down on one of the low chairs, it was only very recently she had even been allowed in the kitchen. Before then there had been a gate. Allie thought it looked like the screens and nets set up for the mosquitos. Mosquitos were nasty, itchy bad guys, but Allie felt sad for them, always locked outside the green-tinted windows with no family to come back to. 

That might have been why, last Thursday her mother took down the gate with Allie sobbing not two feet away. Now Allie stays in the kitchen and watches her mother cook all those delicious foods that her sisters tell her will get rid of her chub.

“Can I help?” Allie asked, interrupting her mother’s humming.

“How about you wash the dishes, Allie dearest?” 

She set Allie atop a wooden step stool, handing her a pair of yellow gloves and placing the tips of her fingers against the metal of the pasta pot.

“Cool to the touch, I’ll bring you the strainer after I start the ragu. Allie sweetheart.”

Allie frowned at the work. The pasta left a starchy film at the bottom of the pot that’s hard to scrub off. The starch, too sticky. Allie’s arms, too short. She looks over at her mother jealousy. All the fun stuff. All the stories. 

Her mother noticed her stare. “Allie my love, want to know the secret?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, it’s simple really we add some oil olive to keep the pasta from sticking and we make sure not to forget the fresh basil.”

“From the garden or from papa’s head?” Allie asked, so enthralled in the story that she missed her sister’s entrance.

“Beh, It’s more complicated than that.” Her sister said holding a stack of papers. “Don’t you even think eating plants is kind of like cannibalism.” 

Allie’s mother dropped the lid back on the ragu.

“You’re home?” She said, reaching out to confirm Jules was really there. Her blow landed squarely on Jules's left shoulder.

“Ow”

“Go, put on shoes and tell me what you did this time.” 

“Nothing, honest,  they said everyone had to go home. A swarm is moving in or something.”

This time the lid missed the pan and dots of red ragu splattered the painted cabinet face. “I told your father they needed the net.” Allie’s mother said, moving quickly to the door. “Clean up, there’s cauliflower in the oven, watch Allie, and for regrowth’s sake put on some shoes before you ruin the hardwood.” Slam, a light breath funneled the shut.

Jules shrugged, settling to shimmy her way to the fridge with aid of throw carpet. 

“We’re making pasta, Jules,” Allie said smiling at her sister’s chicken stuffed face.

“You know we’re kind of made of pasta.” She said, a malicious smile on her face as she crept towards her sister. Jules grabbed her sister’s suddzy wrist leaning closer with her mouth open. “I could take a big big bite, gobble you up like bolognese.” She dropped Allie’s wrist. “But, you’d spoil dinner.”

“You’re a meanie” Allie stuck out her lip, tears welling in her eyes.

Jules sighed, “Allie baby cheeks, you got your shoes all wet.” 

“No, you did.” Jules pulled the wet socks and shoes off of Allie. 

“Allie, you know how mad dad gets about wet floors.” Jules glided over to a rack of towels, her feet still bare and the ground warping where she stepped.

Suddenly, Allie smelt something foul, it made her want to vomit. This time the tears spilled in steamy lumps down Allie’s bumpy skin.

Jules opened the oven, obvious disgust on her face as the smell filled the kitchen. “Mom’s burned the vegetables.” She unlatched the window throwing the baking sheet out, “The mosquito net!” Jules realized seconds too late. Allie gaped at the open window, her tears now little flowers.

Jules covered her mouth, rushing out of the kitchen the wood losing its color wherever her foot fell.

Allie sat in silence, the house creaked around her. Then, buzzzzzzzzz. A mosquito circled her, finally settling to rest on her arm. Allie pushed the stool closer to the window, hoping to get the mosquito back out. Her mother did not like mosquitos. Except, suddenly the stool grew, green sprouts from the back winding from foot-shaped roots. Allie lost her balance and fell tumbling out the window like the pan of cauliflower.

“Did we always have that tree,” Joelle asked her walking partner Janice. The pair stopped to look down at massive spruce reaching up to the third floor of the apartment complex. 

“I can’t say we have. It looks white me.” Said Janice.

Just then a small bundle of joy, the very same Allie Sweetheart peaked her head above the top of the branches. She waved a hand happily to her neighbors.

The pair waved back, floating to Allie’s height. 

“Hi, Darling are you alone?" Joelle asked.

“Nope, my sister’s right there.” Allie pointed to the wall of various apartments.

Janice and Joelle exchanged a look. “Maybe we better call the police.”

“Tell us your name again.” The officer hovered next to Allie, along with the two women from before.

“Allie Sweetheart.” She said, looking more and more upset. 

The officer pulled Janice and Joelle aside. “I can’t find anyone by that name that lives in this apartment, she said her sister attends the middle school around here but there's no Sweetheart there.”

“What can we do?” Janice asked.

“Not much, she might need to come down the station with me.”

The group turned back to Allie, who peeked out from the tree two inches more. In fact, she had been growing the entire time, just no one had noticed. Mosquitos took rests landing on her arms, protected from the wind. The officer floated above Allie avoiding the rustling branches.

"Allie, we're going to take you to the station and try to find your parents." Allie nodded, and Janice picked her up gently. Suddenly the rustling of the branches wasn't just branches, but the entire tree. The tree continued to shrink until it was a white speck on the ground far below.

A green man waved an arm and Allie called out "Papa" before slipping out of Janice's grip. Joelle and the officer dove, but a single white vine reached Allie first, cradling her fall and setting her down gently.

The two women laughed and the officer frowned as Allie ran into her father's arms. A length of mosquito net settling atop their heads.