A Lullaby

(Set when Charlie is about three weeks old)

It is dark; the only light comes from the moon shining through the window of the nursery. There is a small night light plugged into the wall, but she doesn't turn it on; the light seems to scare her son, and she wants him to sleep. Abigail knows that there is still laundry in piles on the bathroom floor, in front of the washer and waiting to be done. She is aware of the fact that the kitchen sink is filled with bottles she hasn't cleaned yet-that was meant to be done tomorrow, anyway. Her shiny brown tresses fall in messy strands around her face, and she is wearing a pair of Sammy's old sweatpants and a t-shirt too large for her. Altogether, she is a beautiful mess, it seems.

She sits and rocks in the chair next to Charlie's bassinette, holding him close in his tightly wrapped blanket. His mouth is open in an 'o' shape, and he is stuck between fits of crying and yawning. It frustrates her, these moments. For the first two weeks of his life, Charlie Lieberman would sleep through the night with no trouble. Her thoughts of having it easy were all false, it seems, for now he would hardly sleep at all. She yawns, her face matching his almost perfectly, and he follows suit before resuming his pitiful whimpering again. She sighs, moving a hand to push the disheveled strands of hair from her face. Not knowing what else to do, she begins to hum. At first the sound is light, and young Charlie has to strain his ears to hear the delicate, pretty sound. It's familiar, something he hasn't heard since he's come into this world. He pauses in crying, it seems, to listen more intently.

Abigail pauses, looking down at Charlie in a sort of astonishment. He is still whimpering, yes, but his shrieking has dissipated and no longer rings in her ears. When she stops his crying slowly crescendos, and she quickly begins again when she realizes it. Her humming turns to singing and he is completely soothed, curing himself closer to her chest and snuggling farther into his blanket. She looks down at him and smiles, still singing her soft lullaby. He looks too much like his father, she thinks, but it is a beautiful similarity, one that she will never be able to shake. A bit of wind blows through the cracked window of the nursery and Abigail shudders slightly, a chill running down her spine.

"Hello you," Sammy announced himself as he entered her room and she jumped a bit, pausing in the task of painting her nails. He grinned. "Did I scare you?"

"Not at all," She replies, continuing to paint. The radio is on low-volume, her windows cracked open while a slight breeze makes the curtains billow. It plays at her hair and she smiles a bit, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Sammy simply stands and watches her for a while, taking in the sight. Something, however, is missing.

"You've stopped singing," He remarks, finding an empty spot on the edge of her bed to sit.

"I don't sing in front of people regularly."

"You sang in the musical"

"That's different." She bends her head over her toes, making sure the lines of polish are perfect. In reality, she does not care too much about the polish. She is simply embarrassed.

"Well, we're not really in public," She looks up at him and rolls her eyes and he simply stares back. Maybe, he thinks, he's pushed the issue too far.

"I just don't like to."Her response is a bit curt, and he takes the hint that she might want to be alone. He ducks to kiss the cheek of her bent head and begins to back out of the room, pausing only to listen to her soft humming again.

"I really do love your voice, Abigail." The volume of his voice thins as he walks away, but she just manages to catch what she is saying. Her grin is girlish, but she hides it in her nail polish. His compliment never leaves her mind.

While rocking she closes her eyes, suddenly soothed by the calm of the moment. This is the first time he's slept the entire week. Soon she stops singing, too drowsy to continue. Charlie's eyes are closed now, his breathing level and matching hers. His warmth feels comfortable in her arms, and she does not want to let him go yet. Abigail, memory of Sammy's compliment still clear in her mind, begins another verse of her song. She is sure she can feel Sammy's same smile watching them both, her singing softly while their son sleeps peacefully in her arms. They are content.