Changing a paragraph
One night I dreamed in 12-point double-spaced paragraphs. Reality existed in the form of a written narrative, its paragraphs floating at waist height between rows the width of cubicle aisles. Sentences were written in letters about eight inches high, and laid down flat, as though displayed on a sheet of paper as broad as my horizon.
I deleted one paragraph and a howl went up in the distance as, somewhere, an entire civilization disappeared.
As I walked among the double-spaced aisles, I noticed that one of the paragraphs contained a crib. An orphan child in a soft white gown was sleeping hunched up on her stomach in the crib, with sheets but no blanket, and without any toys. She awoke when I approached, sat up on her knees, and began speaking to me in long, complete, complex and beautifully constructed sentences. She had a wide, smiling face and a mass of curly dark hair. I was in awe of her speech. She could not have been as much as two years old. I understood that she was isolated in this institution, not mistreated but simply neglected, lonely. I wanted to take her with me.
These are my paragraphs, I thought. I can do that.
But as a mother I was instinctively cautious.
“Are you wet?” I asked.
“I could use a change,” she said.
With the expertise of long practice, I pulled up her gown and began to remove her diapers.
“It feels a bit thick, actually,” she said, just as I uncovered the matter for myself.
It was an appalling mess, but I’d seen worse. “I’ll have you changed in a jiffy,” I said, deftly grasping her ankles with one hand and reaching for a tub of wipes with the other. Several nearby paragraphs nodded approvingly.
The cleanup took a good deal longer than I had expected. There were several surfaces involved, and numerous crevices, not to mention sheer quantity. But eventually the paragraph was changed and clean and in a fresh gown. I clasped her to my chest like a holy child and began to walk among the other paragraphs, knowing that she would bless them.
© 2008 Meredy Amyx.
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