A Simple Remedy

by Aleesa Kruse

In a cramped apartment overlooking a river lived the broken family of Mary Ann and Roger Kavinsky. The apartment was dismantled and unkempt; to a stranger, they’d think of the Kavinskys as slobs. In reality, the Kavinskys were lost. The apartment consisted of two bedrooms, the master and an empty nursery. The nursery was the cleanest part of the home, but upon entering that room, the air got heavier. Inside, the walls were painted a pleasing yellow, yet it was a grim sight to see. It once belonged to the Kavinsky's baby son, who had passed earlier that year. Unwilling to lose any memorabilia they had of him, they left the room untouched. The only thing they dared to remove from the room was a small green baby blanket. There wasn’t much that was special about this blanket. It had a small elephant rattle on one end, and opposite the rattle was a minor juice stain. Still, this blanket meant everything to Mary Ann and she kept it on her at all times. 

Mary Ann believed herself to be seriously ill, since the passing of her son. She quit her job and put herself on bedrest in fear of this unknown illness she believed she had acquired. Mary Ann carried the blanket around with her everywhere and smelled the small stain as a temporary remedy to whatever illness she thought she was feeling that day. To her, smelling the stain was a huge relief. Like some sort of magical medicine that no doctor would understand the workings of. It was the only thing that made Mary Ann feel human and reconnected to the world. Even if it was for a brief period of time. Many people pitied her and her need to smell a juice stain to remedy an imagined illness that felt very real to Mary Ann. Roger was the only one who didn’t pity her anymore. 

Mary Ann’s grief stricken husband, Roger, was responsible for all her needs. Roger, although a young man, appeared to have aged significantly in the seven months since his son's passing. Roger overworked himself to pay off the bills, and when he got home, he spent the majority of his time being a caregiver for Mary Ann. He was a shell of a man on the verge of breaking. But he held it together because his wife needed him. 

In the beginning of Mary Ann's supposed ailment, Roger took her to every doctor and had them run every test. He feared losing her to sickness like he did his son. The only diagnosis the doctors could give her was that she was grieving and depressed. Mary Ann, however, was convinced that she was extremely sick and this wasn’t just grief. She refused to take antidepressants or any other medicine they prescribed that would affect her mental state. In her mind, her mental health was not the root of the problem; it was that she was physically sick. She didn’t want to risk losing herself to medicines like the antidepressants. Eventually the couple gave up on doctors and Mary Ann began theorizing her own cures. 

Roger exhaustedly stumbled into the bedroom with a glass of water and damp rag in hand. Mary Ann was laying in her usual spot. Roger placed the water and rag on Mary Ann’s nightstand. She rolled over and placed the damp rag on her forehead. Roger turned off his lamp and carefully rolled into bed next to her.

“Roger?” Mary Ann said weakly. 

“Yes, dear?” Roger words slurred in exhaustion. 

“I feel it getting worse.” 

Roger layed wide-eyed facing away from her. He didn’t want to confront her fears tonight. He was exhausted and couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I need my baby, Roger. If I have my baby, I’ll get better. I know I will.” Mary Ann spoke in a soft voice. Her words were very practiced. “I had bad chills today,” she continued. “I lost my appetite and-” 

Roger cut her off and in a monotone voice, he said, “We’ve run every test under the sun, Mary. You’re not sick.” 

Mary Ann grabbed his shoulder. Roger shrugged it off. “What about the red spot on my cheek yesterday? That's not nothing, Roger. And his binkie only does so much for so long.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Roger grumbled. 

“I need my baby. If I have my baby, I know I’ll be better.” 

A wave of anger washed over Roger. He sat up straight and flicked the light back on. Quicky, he turned to face Mary Ann who was faintly removing the rag from her forehead. 

“You want a baby?” Rogers' voice increasingly got louder and angrier. “I can give you a baby! It’s not that hard! Do you want me to give you another baby?!” Roger yelled. Mary Ann flinched and moved away from him. He had never yelled at her before. She squeezed the baby blanket tightly and clutched it to her chest. Something about her gripping the blanket made Roger angrier. He reached over and yanked it from her hands. She let out a small whimper and kept her hands held to her chest. She was scared of this unseen side of her husband. 

Roger was now on his feet and out of the bed. “This! This isn’t some remedy for your non-existent illness,” he waved the blanket in the air. “It’s a juice stain on a blanket for christ's sake!”

“It makes me feel better,” Mary Ann whispered. She raised her voice, “How would you know if I’m sick or not? How would you know that the binkie doesn’t help?” She lowered her voice to a whisper again, “But I need my baby to cure me.” 

“Enough with the baby! That's not a cure!” Roger threw the blanket to the ground. “And, goddammit, if it is, then I can give you another one! I can give you twelve! Hell, I can do it right now if you want!”

“No. I need my baby, Roger,” she corrected. “He’ll help the sickness go away.” There was a day-old glass of water on Roger's nightstand as well. He reached for it in a quick motion then threw it against the wall. The glass loudly shattered and the crash of the glass against the wall filled the dead apartment. The room then went silent again for a moment. 

Finally, exasperated, Roger spoke, “Your baby is dead. Your baby is dead. My…my baby is dead.” Roger’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor. For the first time in months he began to sob. And although the shattered glass was being embedded in his legs, the physical pain could not compare to the mental anguish he was experiencing.

Mary Ann lay still in the bed. “I need my baby to get better. You’ll see. I won’t be sick anymore with my baby. I need my baby to get better,” she repeated. Roger’s head fell into his hands and he rocked himself back and forth on his knees. They both sat like that for a long time. Suddenly and silently Roger stood up. He walked stiffly out of the room. 

The disheveled apartment held a large storage closet by the front door. Inside the closet Roger kept his tools for work. Among these tools was a large shovel. Roger grabbed the shovel, hesitating briefly, then left the apartment for his truck. 

After placing the shovel in his truck, Roger re-entered his home. Mary Ann still hadn't moved from her position and was still mumbling to herself. Roger mechanically moved into their bedroom. Slowly, he moved over to the side of the bed where the shattered glass and the baby blanket lay on the floor. He picked up the blanket and brushed it off. Roger took a minute to observe the blanket. It held no significance to him. It was cheap and one could buy it anywhere. It was almost impossible for Roger to relate it back to his son, except for the juice stain. He didn’t understand why it had such an impact on Mary Ann. Roger placed the blanket in his back pocket. 

Rogers face was hard as stone as he moved towards Mary Ann. In a commanding voice he said, “We’re leaving.” 

This knocked Mary Ann out of her state of mumbling. “Why?” she asked.

Roger just stared at her. His face was frozen in a cold and dead expression. He looked to be a monster of the man he once was. Mary Ann dutifully stood up and Roger led her out the apartment to his truck. She asked no further questions. 

They arrived at the cemetery at ten o’clock. Mary Ann appeared shocked and confused to be there. Still, she remained silent. The young couple walked through the graves together. Mary Ann's hand in Rogers left and the shovel in his right hand. It was a bleak but beautiful sight. 

Eventually, they stopped before a small headstone. Engraved was the name of Leo Kavinsky. The eleven month old son of Mary Ann and Roger Kavinsky. Wilted flowers sat in a vase by the headstone and a dirty teddy bear was slumped over by it. 

Mary Ann fell before the grave. She wasn’t sure how to feel about being here or why she was here. She used to sleep by this grave, but she hadn’t visited it in months. Roger began to dig. 

Hours passed by. Eventually, Roger uncovered a small wooden box. He pulled the baby's casket out of the ground. Leo was buried in a cheap pine box much to the dismay of the Kavinskys. They couldn’t afford to give him the burial they wanted. Roger began to pry the casket open carefully with the end of his shovel. 

When it was opened Roger was taken aback for a moment. He was looking at his son, but the baby didn’t look much like his son anymore. In fact, Roger was horrified at the sight. Their son was in a state of decay that was beginning to make him unrecognizable. He took a deep breath and gently removed the small baby boy from his resting place. He placed the corpse in Mary Ann's arms. 

Mary Ann released a joyous laugh and cradled her baby. She rocked him back and forth while stroking his face like she would have when he was alive. Roger pulled the blanket from his back pocket and placed it on top of his son. Mary Ann took the blanket and tried to play with it with her baby. She let out another giggle. 

“Oh Leo,” she smiled. “Mama is gonna get so much better.” 

Roger sorrowfully laid himself down by the open grave. He was a fractured man. Letting the exhaustion and depression overcome him, he fell asleep.