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A few months of school passed and the novelty of a new year began to fade. But Ms. Evan’s class still had cause for excitement; it was announced that they were to inherit a chicken egg incubator in order to witness the miracle of the life cycle. Sadie listened carefully as her teacher explained that it was important to keep the eggs nice and warm in order to hatch, around 100 degrees to be exact. It all made sense to Sadie. So much sense that the first thing she did when she got home was take an egg from the fridge, wrap it in a blanket, and place it in the cradle that Anne had previously been evicted from. No more cold babies. Sadie checked on her egg constantly, sure that it would yield a cute little chick at any time. She was ready to be a mother. But her hopes began to fade with every passing day, and a familiar fear crept into her heart. A few weeks passed, and she came home from school to see to something that she had not witnessed in what felt like forever. Her mother, standing in her room. On her face was a look of utter confusion, and in her hand was an egg. Apparently she had been cleaning Sadie’s room. “Sadie, what is this?” “I promise I’ll feed it every day,” Sadie said earnestly, but her eyes began to fill with tears, “It just has to warm up some more.” Her mother’s expression went from perplexed to pity, and gently she said, “Honey, that egg is never going to hatch--” “I know,” Sadie cut in, now struggling to get her words out through sobs, “it has SIDS.” This was followed by a long moment of silence. Sadie feared that she had made her mother angry at her, more angry at her than she had been since Gabe died. She feared that as a way to punish her she would go back into her room and never come down, this time for good. But instead her mother knelt and looked Sadie in the eye, and explained that the eggs we eat can’t hatch because they’re not fertilized, and that they can’t have SIDS, and then told her that yes, sometimes babies die and nobody knows why, and that she doesn’t have an explanation for that because there isn’t one. And then she hugged Sadie, tight. “Can we throw this egg out now?” she asked, still wrapping Sadie in an embrace. “No, mamma, please.” Sadie begged, with her face buried in her mother’s shoulder. Despite making it abundantly clear that her egg was never and would never be alive, she understood Sadie’s need for closure despite having none of her own. So she watched from the edge of the deck as Sadie buried her sweet egg in their backyard, among all of the weeds.

MACLEOD

OAR

147

Profile for Oakland Arts Review

Oakland Arts Review Volume 4  

Oakland Arts Review Volume 4  

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