Wonder of the Waves

by Jim Lombardo

  “I am Mama. You are Hannah. This is my mouth. Can you say…mouth?”

  “Mouff”

  “Mouth”

  “Mouff”

  “Close enough baby. And this is my hair,” Monica said, running her fingers through her long, shiny tresses. “Can you say…hair?”

  “Here.”

  “Hair.”

  “…Haaiiir.” The infant reached up to feel her own head, pleased that she had some of that alluring stuff as well.

  “That’s good, Hannah.”

  Sometimes the lessons were too slow for the child. Once, Monica was instructing her enthusiastically saying, “This is a nose,” while pointing at her own nose. “This is Mama’s nose. This is a nose!” The baby rolled her eyes, as if thinking, Yes, I know it’s a nose, Mommy…I get it. She was more interested in the thought that pointing, along with other hand gestures, could sometimes convey messages just as effectively as spoken words. She recalled seeing her father communicate with another driver on the road, using only his middle finger.

  Hannah always remained fully alert, whether in her bouncy chair or her parents’ arms. She never seemed to tire of learning about her world. But it was hard for her. Hannah was struggling with the fact that so many words shared the same sounds, such as: “Your school is cool.” It was confusing. She needed to use context, visual cues, and the words surrounding those individual words to try to figure out exactly what was being said. Some words had the exact same sound, yet had more than one meaning, such as: “Can I get you a can of soup?”

  Hannah was also developing emotionally and socially at unprecedented speed. She had already outgrown peek-a-boo, and was now enjoying more advanced toddler games with her parents such as the “Yes/No” game.

  “Is this Mama’s necklace?” Monica asked, turning her voice up markedly at the end.

  “Yez.”

  “Say, ‘yesss.’ Is this an apple?”

  “Yesss.”

  “Is this apple blue?”

  Hannah closed her eyes, shook her head back and forth, and giggled. “Nooo, no bwue...wed.”

  She was becoming adept at interpreting the expressions on people’s and even animals’ faces that revealed how they were feeling, such as joy, love, sadness, anger, fear, fatigue, and certainly after Doris’s visit, surprise.

  During this week, Monica received a call from her long-time mentor. The same woman who had warmly welcomed her into her Gloucester elementary school classroom many years before following Monica’s adoption.

  “It’s Miss Beauchamp,” Brian whispered, handing the phone off while covering the mouthpiece with one hand. “She sounds upset.”

  “Diana, how are you?”

  Hannah watched carefully as her mother raised a hand to her forehead.

  “Forcing you out? What’s going on? But you have tenure.”

  She observed Monica’s eyes as they became downcast and filled with liquid that began to spill out onto her cheeks.

  “They actually used those words? New direction? I can’t believe it, especially after all you’ve done for that school…after all you’ve given to the children. Oh, I’m so sorry, Diana,” said Monica, her voice trailing off and her lips trembling.

  Hannah sensed her mother was sad, and she empathized with her. A serious expression formed on the child’s face, her lips pushing out, as if pouting. Though her feelings of compassion were genuine — as she watched tears coursing down her mother’s face — she wondered why Monica continued to hold this object so close to her face when it was causing her such grief.

  Hannah’s emotional world was blooming. The baby was now laughing loudly at comical things. One morning, while taking a relaxing stroller ride with her parents through a wooded reservation in their town, Monica had fallen behind picking wildflowers. Suddenly a panicked scream shattered the stillness. Brian swung the stroller around, and the two saw Monica sprinting over a knoll toward them.

  “An animal’s after me!” she howled, waving her arms above her head in terror, flowers flying from her hands like confetti.

  Brian snared a stray stick lying near his feet to use as a weapon, and the three watched the top of the hill waiting for the beast to emerge. After a few seconds, a spunky chipmunk — cheeks bulging with acorns — scampered in their direction before dashing into brush beside the trail.

  “That was it?” asked Brian incredulously. “A chipmunk?”

  “Well…it was coming for me.”

  “Okay, but, not exactly Bigfoot, Monica. More like Alvin.”

  The three looked at each other in silence for a few moments, until Monica couldn’t contain her sheepish smile.

  “Alright, I’m embarrassed now.”

  Hannah replayed the mental images of her mother running in fear, and then considered the culprit, a tiny furball of an animal. Just as her parents began to laugh about it, she tossed her head back and joined in heartily.

  The baby began trying to make Monica and Brian laugh, by making funny faces, or imitating people. Once, after Brian had just finished complaining about Doris’s chattiness, Hannah started up with an impersonation of her, “You da cutest ’ting, da cutest ’ting, da CUTEST ’TING!” Louder and louder, just as Doris had done.

  Her connection to her parents and affection for them continued to deepen. She began watching and appreciating their behavior, even subtle things, like the way Monica would gently sing to her while lotioning her up after a bath, and how her mother would always kiss each toe sweetly before putting her socks on. After nursing one time, Hannah’s eyes softened as she gazed up at her mother, and with some milk dribbling out the corner of her mouth, she sighed, “I lub mamas.”

  Hannah achieved another milestone one morning a few days after the aunt and uncle’s visit. Monica said to Brian, “We need to get the lasagna tray back to Aunt Doris soon. Remember she was going to cook for her book group Monday.”

  The baby registered that sentence and then replayed Doris’s entire visit in just five seconds. She noticed that one aspect was inconsistent. Although she didn’t understand days of the week yet, “book group Monday” did not match what Doris had said, which was, “book group Friday.”

  Her head spun toward her mother. “Book gwoup Fwiday.”

  Monica cocked her head. “She’s right, Bri’. My aunt said the book group was Friday. Yeah, Monday was her hair appointment. Thank you, Hannah.”

  Although the child was not clear as to why this correction was valuable, she recognized that it was appreciated, and basked in her accomplishment.

  Chapter Twenty

  Common Knowledge

  A week after the relatives’ visit, the sun was settling peacefully behind a cluster of pink and purple clouds nestled along the horizon when the front doorbell rang.

  “Aunt Dowis!” warned Hannah loudly.

  Brian raced to the living room window and surveyed the road below. The front porch was obscured from view, but parked in the street was a white van with “GLS Channel 3 News” on the side with a logo featuring a captain’s wheel.

  “Oh, no. Aunt Doris, what have you done?” he moaned. “I’ll be right back.”

  Brian stormed down the front stairs and swung open the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi there, I’m Rebecca Schoen with Gloucester Cable News. Is this the Blake residence?” inquired a 40ish woman with a faux-friendly demeanor. She was professionally dressed and made up, and held a microphone by her side. A technician holding a portable camera on his shoulder stood nearby.

  “I’m Brian Blake, what can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, Brian, ahhh…we were hoping you could say a few words about your daughter, Hannah. Or maybe she could say a few words?” She followed up with a nervous laugh.

  Brian winced. “Look, um, my daughter has some medical stuff going on. I don’t know what you’ve heard.
Actually, what have you heard?”

  “Well, Brian, there’s a rumor out there that your baby can somehow…speak? We thought perhaps it was just a prank, on me, or the station…it wouldn’t be the first.”

  The woman paused but Brian didn’t respond.

  “Maybe you’re doing some kind of ventriloquist trick with your baby? We’re here to check it out.”

  “Look, I really can’t talk about it, we need privacy, okay? I’ll comment later maybe, but—”

  “We’ll pay you,” the reporter interrupted with sudden seriousness, now sensing this was not merely a hoax.

  Just then another larger news van with an antenna dish on top pulled up behind the GLS News van. Brian spoke quickly. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk, ma’am. I need to get inside now.”

  Brian lurched back and slammed the door on the woman as she desperately tried to continue the conversation, nearly getting her microphone smashed in the process.

  Back upstairs in the living room, he peered through the drawn window curtains periodically to see the collection of news vehicles growing. Brian phoned downstairs to reassure the Silvas there was no danger. He apologized, told them to try to stay inside, and promised to come down and explain everything when the news people departed.

  Eventually the spectacle in front began to attract ordinary passersby, and cars began parking along both sides of the road, snarling traffic.

  “What’s going on?” asked a woman walking a frisky Boston Terrier.

  “There’s a newborn living in there who can talk.”

  The knocks on the door were getting louder and more insistent, and the doorbell rang over and over again. With each ring, Hannah looked away from whatever she was concentrating on and yelled, “Oh, no. Aunt Dowis!”

  As darkness fell, the front yard resembled a carnival scene. Brian decided he should call the police to get some help. Unfortunately, the dispatcher used the wrong code to identify the nature of the emergency. Within a few minutes, the sound of insistent sirens could be heard approaching, culminating in the arrival of a mammoth fire truck along with a string of police cars that were forced to park a few houses down the street due to gridlock. Firemen, a couple carrying over-sized axes, jumped from the ladder truck and pushed their way through the throng of reporters and curiosity seekers. They made their way up onto the front porch, and one began rapping heavily on the Blakes’ front door. Just as Brian began opening the door for them, the sagging porch buckled under the weight of the crowd and crashed with a thud about three feet to ground level. Pandemonium ensued with a swarm of reporters and cameramen jockeying with each other to collect their equipment and get back on their feet. Amongst the commotion Brian spotted a recognizable face. “Pretty Boy? What the heck are you doing here?”

  Looking up in exasperation was one of the co-captains of his high school football team who Brian had not seen in years. Andy Pereira was known as Pretty Boy to his teammates back in the day. This was a nickname he was forced to suffer after his mother had lined him up with modeling gigs in high school, which had led to him being featured in department store ads.

  “Blake! Dude!”

  Brian put out a hand to his old teammate, and hoisted him up onto the doorstep in one motion.

  “I’m working for an Ipswich news station, Brian. I’m here about your baby. It’s all over social media.”

  “Where’s the fire?” a fireman shouted up.

  “There’s no fire. I just called for the police.”

  Brian and Andy reached down to help a policeman and policewoman up through the doorway, while the other officers remained outside to control the crowd and help everyone mired in the collapse.

  “Come upstairs, and I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Brian.

  He led the officers and Andy up into the living room, where Monica was sitting anxiously in a glider rocker in a corner away from the windows with Hannah cradled in her lap.

  “What’s happening, Bri’?”

  “It’s okay, honey. Officers, I’m Brian Blake. This is my wife Monica and our daughter Hannah.”

  “Hi, I’m Sergeant Lou Gagne and this is my partner, Officer Rosalyn Ortiz.”

  Andy chimed in as well. “I’m Andy, a friend of Brian’s.”

  The sergeant studied the man with a suspect look in his eye. “Wait a sec, you’re Andy Pereira with WKJP, right?”

  “Yeah, ah…but nothing here’s on the record, okay?”

  Brian offered his guests a seat, and then started to explain. “Thank you guys for coming. It’s about my daughter Hannah here. She’s two months old, and I guess there’s some gossip out there about her having special abilities or whatever. Anyways, that’s why there’s a crowd outside. But we just want to be left alone. She had a seizure a few weeks ago, and the medical tests showed that she’s…different. We’re trying to protect our baby, and we need privacy, for her sake. Can you keep everyone away?”

  Outside, the sound of additional cruisers arriving punctuated the ruckus below. Sergeant Gagne’s radio crackled to life: “415 in progress, 421 Washington. Need medical.”

  “What do you mean by different?” inquired Officer Ortiz.

  Brian hesitated in responding, but realized he was only delaying the inevitable. He answered as if confessing. “She can talk.”

  “She can talk?” Gagne asked cynically. “How old is she again?”

  “Two months.”

  “Two months? Are you kidding me?” said the sergeant. “Look, I don’t want to burst your bubble or anything. I’m sure you’re proud of her and all, but come on, we’ve got half the equipment in Gloucester over here because your baby can sound out a word or two?”

  “It’s more than a word or t—”

  “I think the best way to defuse this situation is simply to let Andy report the thing for what it is, and then just let everything blow over.”

  “Sergeant, you don’t understand,” replied Brian, “that’d only cause more problems for us.”

  Gagne raised his eyebrows, then stood up and approached Hannah. He knelt down on one knee very close to her, and his voice assumed a gentle tone. “Hi, Hannah. Mommy and Daddy say you can talk. What do you say to that? Can you say, ‘Mama’?”

  Gagne heroically tried to get her to say “Mama” over the course of a full minute, using every variety of baby talk, until the child felt as though it was time to throw the man a bone.

  “Mmmm, Ma…ma,” said Hannah, deliberately sounding infantile.

  “Woah, she did it. Well, how about that!”

  Monica and Brian feared where this was going, but decided to let it play out. No one would believe them otherwise.

  The policeman continued his delicate interrogation of the tiny perp. “Will you talk to Sergeant Gagne more now, and tell him you’re gonna be a good girl? I’m Gagne. Can you say ‘Gag-nee’?”

  After pretending to struggle for a few moments, Hannah said softly, “Ga-ga.”

  The sergeant pulled back from the baby with feigned astonishment. “Gaga? My God, she...she thinks I’m Lady Gaga!” he said, snickering.

  Officer Ortiz and Andy smiled and nodded in agreement. In their minds this was ahead of a baby’s normal development, but nothing that would justify a media onslaught.

  Now quite confident of himself, Sergeant Gagne turned back to Monica and Brian.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Blake, you’ve got a wonderful daughter, but all this hoopla is going to peter out faster than you think. We’ll maintain a presence out front tonight. But I don’t anticipate any long-term problems…”

  As the man spoke, the baby began to study him, examining his features, his funny hat and his shiny badge. She worked her way down his body until she came to his holster, which stored a hefty Glock 22 pistol. Hannah stiffened her legs and body, jerking her head backwards. With a look of sheer terror on her face, she interrupted the
sergeant’s discourse, loudly warning, “Dadda! Dadda! Gag-nee got gun!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Prime Time (5 months old)

  “Two minutes!” came the WKJP producer’s advisory.

  The makeup artist was hurriedly applying finishing touches of blush to Hannah’s cheeks. “Hold still, baby,” she said with exasperation as the child peered around the room inquisitively while perched on a stack of books that raised her head to an appropriate level for the live televised interview. She was dressed in a teal-colored dress with delicate white embroidery in a checkerboard style, extending down to her pudgy mid-calves. On her feet were white frilly socks and mini black patent-leather shoes. The child was showing off a beautiful beaded headband, but it was itchy and she was yearning to yank it off.

  After three months of dogged solicitation by the media and public, Monica and Brian had finally agreed to make an appearance with Andy at his news station. Brian leaned back in amazement, observing the frenzy that surrounded them, as the news studio’s workers scrambled about. How surreal is this? he thought. Meanwhile, Monica sat with her lips pressed tightly together, blinking repeatedly under the intensity of the studio lights. Hannah was sandwiched in-between her parents, taking it all in.

  “Remember, I’m a friend. This’ll be a breeze,” Andy whispered in Monica’s ear.

  “And that will do it for sports. Alright, now the story you’ve all been waiting for. I am handing it off to Andy Pereira who has a very special guest with him. She may not be big in size, but she’s certainly been making some big noise lately. Andy?” The scene switched to a casually furnished green room, and the camera’s red light snapped on, indicating they were live.

  “Thank you, Glen, and welcome everyone. I’m here with Brian and Monica Blake of Gloucester and their five-month-old daughter, Hannah. Up to this point, as most of you know, Hannah has been at the center of wild rumors and speculation. But today we’re finally going to witness one of the most amazing stories in a long time, maybe of all time.”

  Andy pivoted to address the family. “Thank you so much for being here, and giving WKJP this first exclusive interview. Beginning with you, Brian and Monica, can you describe what it’s been like these past five months?”