Cracks - Part 1

ONE

Chalco, Nebraska

Mason is surprised when the first crack appears.

It’s Tuesday morning, he’s at home. Nothing special. He’s just playing with the blocks.

He’s not the best at stacking them – Mommy’s the best at that – but he is the best at knocking them down.

And so he’s hard at work, balancing the chunky blocks on top of one another. Making a tower, making something to smash. Mommy is sitting on the couch, talking on the phone, tapping at her laptop keyboard.

Sometimes she comes over to visit Mason, crouching beside him and admiring his progress. And sometimes she stays on the couch, but she talks to him, encourages, and praises him. And even sometimes she talks about him on the phone.

“Oh, he’s doing great…I swear, there are times the toddler’s got better focus than I do! He’s been busy working on those blocks for twenty minutes, I haven’t heard a peep!”

Mason knows when Mommy is talking about him. Something in her tone, and when he looks up, something in her face. She winks at him, flutters her fingers, and Mason offers a clumsy wave in return.

But mostly Mommy’s just working. She has her job, and Mason has his. Building and smashing.

It’s just an ordinary Tuesday morning.

And then the crack appears.

Mason holds a block in his hand. The crack isn’t something he can see, and yet…

Green. The block is green. This is new information. Mason doesn’t know his colors, just like he doesn’t know his numbers. His letters. His most things.

But the block is green. And Mason is not only sure of the color, he’s also pretty sure he can spell it.

G – R – E – E – N.

He doesn’t say the word out loud, but he can feel it, a weight of knowledge of his tongue, ready to be announced.

Mason looks up at Mommy. She’s busy typing, with that frown on her face which means she’s trying to remember something, trying to make sense of a conversation or message.

Mason holds his block in both hands. He’s not in trouble. It’s okay to know about green.

Isn’t it?

Mommy won’t be mad if Mason knows his colors. Will she?

He lets the block fall onto the carpet. He reaches for a different one.

This time, the color is a mystery. Is that better? He puts the block to his mouth, presses it against his lips. It tastes like the others. They’re just blocks, just for building and smashing. Mason doesn’t have to worry about colors.

He nods, sways a little, and looks down at himself. Still wearing his pajamas, because why not? They’re not going anywhere today, Mommy said so.

He doesn’t worry about the color of his pajama bottoms, or the different color of each of the sharks decorating his shirt.

Mommy Shark, Daddy Shark…and Baby Shark!

His diaper is hidden, thick and crinkly but covered up. And wet. Funny to think, Mason’s diaper is there, he can feel it, even though he can’t see it.

The diaper is still there, cushioning his rear, soaking up his pee.

And even though he can’t see it, Mason knows with an abrupt, crystal clear certainty, that his diaper is white.

The second crack appears.

It’s a bigger one; a rainbow of understanding.

Daddy Shark is blue. Mommy Shark is pink. Baby shark is yellow.

All the colors are in Mason’s head. He looks at the blocks littering the carpet. He knows his colors.

Is this okay?

Mommy always says that Mason is smart. That he’s a smart cookie.

He looks up at her, and this time Mommy is looking back.

She smiles. “Hey, buddy. You hungry? Wanna snack-snack?” Without waiting for a response, Mommy stretches her arms above her head, puts the laptop aside and stands up. “Let’s have a snack-snack. Mommy really needs some coffee.”

Mason isn’t hungry. He has switched appetite for colors, for anticipation. Because there might be more cracks. There might be a flood.

Or maybe not. Perhaps this is it. But which is better? Mason wants to be a smart cookie, but what is he supposed to be smart about?

He gazes at Mommy as she bends down and picks him up. He knows the shape of her face, the scent of her brown hair.

Mason giggles. Another color. There must be lots of them. There must be at least…

This is a crack. Mommy carries Mason to the kitchen, and he holds his hands in front of his face, counting fingers.

Colors and numbers. Will there be more? Mason feels a thrill of possibility. Seated in his highchair, he looks around the kitchen, eager to fill in the gaps. So many objects, there must be names for all of them. He watches as Mommy puts a pod into the coffeemaker, as she peels and slices a banana into bite-sized chunks.

Coffee for Mommy, banana for Mason.

These aren’t cracks. He knew these words already.

“Nana,” he says. “Nana, nana, nana.”

Mommy beams at him. “You’re so smart!”

Mommy talks to him; she provides a commentary of everything she’s doing. And when she puts the plate of fruit on Mason’s tray (red) and sits down at the table with her mug of coffee (brown), she starts to talk about the future.

“Gotta go to Family Fare this afternoon, bud, ‘cause we are running low on a bunch of stuff. Gotta get us some groceries!” She sips her coffee and then says, “’Cause you’re my hungry boy!”

Mason lifts a chunk of banana (white…but kind of yellow) into his mouth. He is Mommy’s hungry boy. And he is Mommy’s smart cookie.

So why is he feeling anxious? Why is he afraid of the next crack?

“You gonna dance with me at the store, Mason?” Mommy asks. “They always play those old songs from the 90s when we’re there.” And there’s rhythm in everything, dontcha know. Even in the wheels of the buggy!” She performs a little shuffle in her seat, and Mason giggles. Because Mommy is funny.

And then he frowns. Because he doesn’t want to dance, whether they’re picking up groceries at Family Fare or having a wriggle-and-giggle party in the living room. Even as he looks down at his pajamas and thinks of the song about the sharks - Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo - because there’s something bigger than all of this.

“Take a bite,” Mommy prompts, pointing at the rest of the banana. “Finish your snack, sweetie, and then Mommy’s gonna change your diaper, and you’re gonna have milkies and then Mommy’s gonna put you down for a nap.”

Mason takes a piece of the white (but kind of yellow) fruit and puts it in his mouth. He chews with his teeth (six teeth, two on the bottom and two on the top, Mommy’s been talking on the phone about Mason’s teeth). Because he’s a good boy, he’s a smart cookie, and he understands that Mommy knows best. And it’s good to have a full tummy, it’s good to have a dry diaper, and it’s the very best to have milkies.

So when the crack comes, Mason almost feels disappointed.

He looks down at his chubby fingers and the remains of his snack.

Nanas are nummy.

Bananas are yellow on the outside and kind of white on the inside.

They are also high in potassium and can help to lower blood pressure.

This is more than a crack. He looks up at Mommy.

This is a canyon. And he might be in trouble. He might be about to land himself in hot water.

But he doesn’t want to play with blocks anymore, he doesn’t want Baby Shark, he doesn’t want diapers. He doesn’t even want milkies, not really.

“Hope,” says Mason. And when his wife looks at him with a confused expression, he says her name again, puts it beyond doubt.

“Hope.”