Growing Grounds

Chapter 14: A New Friend

Her belly growled. The sound was loud and ugly in an otherwise quiet and beautiful place. Reaching down beside her knee, Tammy pulled at some tall, wispy grass. The babies moved suddenly. Tammy let go of the grass to touch her tummy as she had before but the babies stilled. She reached for the grass again, and the babies moved suddenly and sharply, as if startled. Then the movements were like those of unfed kittens, flipping and flopping, walking over each other to get to mother’s teat.

Tammy let go of the grass a second time, and for a second time, the babies stilled. Did they want her to eat the grass? Did they want her to not eat the grass? She didn’t think it would hurt them if she did eat it. Just a taste. To get rid of the mind-numbing urge to grab handfuls of greenery and cram it in her mouth.

Patting her tummy lightly, Tammy spoke aloud to the babies, “You let me know if you don’t want Mommy to eat the grass. If you like it, you have to figure out a way to let me know that, too.”

Yes, her twins were special. They had already led her to the cleanest water in the world and away from that tainted, sewer water that the government sold them. Now, she thought, they were leading her to a new way of eating. A cleaner menu to choose from.

She grabbed the grass and pulled a few stalks. The babies moved, and again, Tammy thought of hungry kittens. She raised the broken grass to her face and inhaled. Her saliva glands constricted, flooded her mouth, pained, and then she was chewing on the grass. If she had any ideas of how grass tasted, she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t remember ever having wondered about such things when she was a child—she’d usually been too worried about Cindy having an episode or her mother embarrassing her to worry about such silly things that most kids thought about, pondered, joked about, and tried.

When she was a teenager, Tammy had been introduced to mustard greens and collards by a friend. Tammy hadn’t loved the greens, but hadn’t hated them either. They were bitter and smelled bad. Though she didn’t go out of her way to cook them, she didn’t shy from eating them if someone else cooked them.

The forest grass was not like the greens at all. The aroma was high, fresh, and green, and the taste was better than that of any vegetable Tammy had ever tasted. She could eat the grass for a main course.

The babies continued to move about. It would take a little time for the nutrients to get to them, Tammy supposed. And what about the flavor? Could unborn babies taste food their mother ate? Tammy thought probably not. Unless, that is, the unborn baby could process taste by means of osmosis somehow. She thought that unlikely, too. But it was fun to ponder.

As she pulled another few stalks of grass, Tammy looked at the burbling stream. That icy goodness would add to the ecstasy of the grass. Cupping water into her hand, Tammy drank until she had her fill.

The babies quieted, their movements slowed and reminded Tammy of those same kittens after they had eaten. With full little tummies, they would snuggle with their siblings and sleep.

Tammy lay back on the grass, letting the sunlight bathe her in its warmth. November in the country was unlike weather in the city, where it was hot until December, sometimes late December. It almost seemed as if Mother Nature was bipolar out in the mountainous countryside. One day, Tammy would be chilled all day, never quite getting warm enough to be completely comfortable; the next day, she would sweat upon the slightest exertion. The color of the sky even changed in November in Tennessee. The high, clear blue resting over the lush, thick greenery for a last hoorah before autumn kills the leaves, burns the grasses brown, and cleans the slate for winter.

Today, Mother Nature was warm, blue, and green. Tammy dozed on the bank of the stream. She dreamed of her babies. She was sitting on a tree stump that had been carved into a seat just for them. Her twins, a boy and a girl, sat on her lap, cuddled to her chest, their reddish-blond hair glistening like new pennies in the sunlight.

The harsh caw of a crow in the distance pulled her from her warm and love-filled dream. Angry at the rude, rash intrusion of the bird, Tammy pushed up into a sitting position. Scanning her surroundings, Tammy saw no crows. She also saw no magical creatures, and she whimsically thought this was unfortunate. Using the large rock, she pushed slowly to a standing position, careful of the head rush and dizziness that followed such a drastic position change.

The crow called again. This time closer. Furrowing her brow, still angry at being interrupted by such a horrible noise, Tammy picked up the water jug and turned to leave her little magical nook in the woods. The babies stirred and settled again. Absently, Tammy pulled moss from the rock as she walked up the slight incline. Topping the gentle knoll, she assessed the forest again.

To her right, the sunlight filtered through the canopy and fell to the forest floor in lacework patterns that mesmerized her. There seemed to be a pathway of lacework light and shadow in that direction. The rest of the forest looked dark and gloomy compared to the lighted pathway. The light crawled off into the distance, disappearing far from where Tammy now stood.

The crow called from the top of the tall pine tree beside Tammy. “Dammit! Go away! Next time I’ll bring the broom with me.”

Tammy started back the way she had come, tossing a glance to her right, at that lighted path. She would venture down it another day, when she had more time, perhaps, and when the crow wasn’t following her, squawking and scraping her nerves.

Walking out of the forest, still cursing the crow, Tammy realized that she was chewing on moss. She didn’t remember getting any moss. She definitely had no memory of putting it in her mouth. How much had she eaten? No idea. Eyeing the remainder of the moss in her hand, she considered eating it, but instead tossed it into the grass and kept walking.

Every few steps, Tammy looked up and back, watching for the crow. He had stopped squawking at her when she left the forest but that didn’t mean he was gone.

Tammy enjoyed the exercise of walking across the open, grassy field and she enjoyed the view even more. Mountains crouched close on three sides and on the fourth side, Tammy looked there now, she could see for what seemed to be miles before the view was interrupted by a tall, jagged mountain range.

Matt was not home yet. Tammy mounted the porch steps and screamed as the crow stepped from behind the pillar post and cawed, wings outstretched, and hopped toward the steps.

Tammy stepped back onto the ground. The crow folded up its wings, shook its black head, and turned away from her. It walked to the front door, turned sideways, training its shiny black eye on her, and made a short barking caw.

The crow watched her warily as she walked up onto the porch, but he did not shy away. He stood between her and the door.

“Tam-me! Let me!” He used his beak and knocked on the door and then looked up at her expectantly.

“You want me to let you into the house?” Tammy was glad she had no neighbors within sight to witness her talking to this bothersome bird.

The crow cawed and flapped his wings, bobbing up and down, but not moving from the doorway.

Looking out the driveway, Tammy felt guilty, and a little bit stupid for talking to a crow in the first place, but now she was actually going to let it go in the house with her.

Opening the door, Tammy watched the crow bounce over the threshold and into her house. Maybe Daisy Lawn would have a room close to Cindy’s room. Tammy stepped inside and pushed the door shut.

Mr. Crow hopped into the living room, danced his way around furniture, found the chair in its corner, and flapped his wings. Then he flapped hard enough to gain the air, and landed on the armrest. Immediately, he settled. His caws lost their harsh edges and much volume; he almost sounded as if he was cooing.

Unsure what to do, Tammy took the water jug to the fridge. On her way back to the living room, she stopped to use the bathroom—that pure, clean water ran straight through her, it seemed. Just as she sat on the toilet, she heard gravels crunching and the familiar rumble of Matt’s truck.

Damn! He’ll have a fit over that bird! She was stuck in her current position until she finished. By then, it would be too late to get the crow out of the house before Matt saw it.

That was when Tammy heard the voices of her unborn babies for the first time. The sound came from within. Not in her head, but from within her blood, her organs, the fluids that made up most of the human body. The voices traveled up from her tummy, through her, and she heard them with all of her, not just her ears.

Keep him, Mommy. Keep the crow.

Tammy sat there on the toilet, stunned. The babies were special, yes. The babies were different, yes. The babies were already moving about, yes. But had she just heard their voices? That was a whole different kind of impossible. That was crazy, wasn’t it?

It’s the moss; it’s making me hallucinate. Maybe that crow isn’t in the house, either. Hallucinations, brought on by the moss, that’s all, Tammy thought.

Not the moss, Mommy. You can hear us now because you have partaken of our world, whispered the little girl.

In the voice of her little boy, she heard, The water, the grass, and the moss.

Tammy whimpered. She was truly hearing two distinct voices, and not hearing just with her ears, but her entire body from her tummy up to her head. She whimpered again, unable to cry, numb with the addition of this new level of crazy.

The front door opened and Tammy gasped, dragged back to reality—that might possibly consisted of a wild crow and an unhappy husband. Possibly. How could she be sure of anything after today?

Matt called out for her. “Tammy? You up? I’m back.” His footfalls coming closer.

Finding her voice, Tammy cleared her throat, stood, and called, “In here, Matt.” She chuckled as she soaped her hands. Over the water, she said, “You know us pregnant women can’t pass up a bathroom.”

The footsteps halted outside the bathroom door. “Yes, so I’ve heard. Just terrible they say. Did you sleep well?”

She opened the door and tried to smile naturally, but she felt the smile twitching, trying to die on her face. Nodding, she said, “Yes. Thank you for letting me sleep late. It felt wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so late, even on a Saturday.” Tammy tiptoed a little and gave her husband a kiss.

Matt wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. Over his shoulder, Tammy watched as the crow hopped out of the living room, into the hallway, and started that weird bobble-sideways walk toward her. She gasped and Matt released his hug.

Before he could question her, the crow let out a deafening squawk. Matt, startled, nearly pushed Tammy into the wall when he jumped.

Tammy covered both ears with her hands, that sound in the confines of the hallway was unbearable.

Matt spun and kicked out at the crow. This set off a cycle of kicking, cursing, squawking, and flapping that progressed at a snail’s pace down the hall toward the front door. Tammy knew Matt was going to try to put the bird outside. She also knew this would not happen.

Mr. Crow had found a new place to dwell, at least for a while.