Mabel & the Jelly Rings
Assignment for the Creative Writing Specialization by Wesleyan University
When Mabel’s eyes found the jar of orange jellies, her pacifier fell out and into her lap. Chubby hands reached for the sugared, sunset-colored rings—their tangerine aroma like bottled sunshine within the glass. Mabel would’ve walked over and popped a jelly in her mouth if she could, but it was only yesterday that she’d stumbled for the very first time into Mother’s arms across the padded nursery floor.
Like a panda bear in a cage, she gripped the ivory slats of her crib—eyes widening. They soon welled with frustration, but only momentarily, before mischief sparkled bright. Mabel sifted through her baby-powdered memory of Mother, arms outstretched on the floor. She’d squealed with glee at Mabel’s newfound confidence in her knees, stumbling forward now instead of backwards onto her diapered bottom.
You see, the trick to walking—Mabel recalled—was just to cling to something sturdy until one gained balance. Then one could simply stumble, one sock-laced foot after another, until one got to where one wanted to go. Some huffing and puffing later, like a diver climbing aboard for air, a pair of ocean-blue eyes peered over the side of the crib. Mabel was up on her two little feet, standing in her crib to get the lay of the land.
Just as rockets explode swiftly into spaceflight, she propelled herself over the edge. One surprisingly soft landing later, and she was on all fours in the middle of the room. She padded over purposefully, like a tiger on the prowl. On the sepia screen of Mother’s monitor, however, she was merely a chunky cub rolling in the brush. The gap under the cupboard was filthy with forgotten fluff. A lost button from Mabel’s overalls lay blanketed in bits of dust.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Mother gripped her appliance in astonishment. She yelped and tossed her apron away. Up she flew, over the stairs and into the nursery, and, like a crow swooping in for the picnic table, scooped Mabel up into sweatered arms. It was only coos and giggles as Mother pretended her shock away. Once again, chubby hands reached for the sunset, Mabel gazing at Mother beseechingly.
Then sat Mabel, bibbed in her high chair, watching Mother stir the stew while she gummed on a tangerine ring like a bunny munching on a sweet baby carrot.
