Outwitted by Underlings by Galya Gerstman, author, Texting Olivia

When my son, Jesse, was very little, he used to try to flee whenever I’d detach his stroller seat belt. Once, on a trip to Italy with almost-two-year-old Jesse and his baby sister Miranda, my husband needed to use a restroom so he left me alone with them. We were in a covered walkway, a tunnel with shops. Both kids immediately started fussing. After two minutes of their whining in stereo I undid Miranda’s straps and picked her up to quiet her. I wasn’t suicidal enough to take Jesse out of his stroller, so I had to put up with his ongoing lament. It was when the whining suddenly stopped that I realized something was wrong. Jesse had managed to squirm his way out of the straps à la Houdini and, sensing his opportunity, shot away like the Eveready Bunny. I took a few steps to grab him but he was too fast. I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.

So I did the next best thing: I screamed. I screamed Jesse’s name and it echoed through the tunnel but the little speed demon wouldn’t stop. That was when I saw what was at the end of the tunnel. Cars were zipping past furiously, and I realized it was a highway. Now my screams took on a different timbre. My throat was raw, I was crying, and still he sped on toward a certain death.

Then a man appeared out of nowhere, stuck his arm out and deftly caught Jesse mid-stride, like a football interception. Now I wept with joy. The boy was saved! The man was my hero! But as he neared us, I saw he wasn’t quite normal, talking and gesticulating as if in conversation with someone, but looking off to the side. Where there was no one. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire!” I panicked. Would he just keep walking past me and hang on to my kid? Finders keepers?

No. Apparently he was crazy but not that crazy. Not enough to hold onto a kid who makes his mom scream till she bursts into tears. He deposited Jesse at my feet without a word and kept right on walking. I didn’t even get a chance to thank him. And only at that moment did my husband finally emerge from his 45-minute pee.

Then I discovered they made leashes for kids. Genius! I thought. I knew I would need some sort of technical (as well as pharmacological and divine) help if I were going to brave the mall with my two kids. I had tried it once with my parents in tow for logistical and moral support and yet again the kid had been too fast and we couldn’t catch him. Luckily, while I was howling, my father asked where was the nearest toy store, and found the boy there. Scarred as that had left me, I hadn’t attempted the mall, or mostly any public place, in a while. Until I found out about the leash. My savior.

I took it out to the mall for a spin, along with my spawn. With trepidation but also determination, I parked, pulled out Miranda’s stroller, attached her first and then took Jesse out of his car seat. His feet had barely touched the ground before he heard a sharp click. He looked down at the leash. Then he looked at me. The leash. Me. I saw understanding dawn in his eyes. I had bested him. I had won. Finally! Hallelujah! His face took on a grim expression. I steadied myself for the tantrum.

But none came. Not a peep. Instead, he threw himself down on the filthy parking lot floor.

“Jesse!” I said. “Get up!”

He didn’t budge. I tugged at the leash a bit.

“Come on!”

He remained taciturn and, most importantly, motionless.

“I said up!”

People were gathering. Pointing.

That was when Jesse turned his head to face me. Oh, you think you’ve won, do you? Now understanding dawned in my eyes. I couldn’t drag him, after all. What would that have looked like? A kid-shaped Swiffer. I felt like Wile E. Coyote with his Acme purchase guaranteed to get him that roadrunner, only to fail in a spectacular way, leaving him charred and defeated. The leash didn’t work! Outwitted yet again.

I had delayed motherhood partly in the belief that a more experienced woman would have an easier time raising children. My kids, however, have taught me otherwise. It didn’t matter that I was close to forty, that I had multiple academic degrees, that I had lived in foreign countries on my own. Children are a different kind of challenge. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, they turn a situation on its head. Nothing can prepare you for the trials of motherhood, nor even for its joys. It’s a learning curve no matter at what age you begin. Jesse was definitely teaching me a thing or two. Namely that it was me who had to buckle up for this bumpy ride.

 

Galya Gerstman was born in New Jersey. She obtained her BA in Creative Writing at Barnard College and her PhD in French Literature from Columbia University in New York. She taught at Tel Aviv University before moving to Costa Rica to marry and begin a family and a writing career. She has published articles in academic journals and humorous essays in Scary Mommy and other online media. Her novel Texting Olivia will be published by Pleasure Boat Studio in Winter, 2021. Visit https://pleasureboatstudio.com/product/texting-olivia/.