Ice on the Wings

I get to relive one day. That’s all. For me, a crash ended everything, but the full range of trauma runs through our circle. Every form of loss. An assault stole one woman’s child. For another, it was a cult. Disease. Suicide. Accidents. Plain old bad luck. There are endless ways to lose your baby.

We sit in the basement of the witch’s house, where we form an uneasy circle in our metal chairs. It looks like AA or some support group, but there is an unholy purpose lodged in our hearts. We are transgressing, going against God and nature.

It’s for a whole day, Becca would remind me whenever I got cold feet. One tender day.

Becca has been a devotee for years, but she has never been chosen. There is one meeting a year, and the witch picks only one mother at a time. If she looks you in the eye, you are the winner. You get to have your child back for the day of your choice. Most women choose birthdays. Smart women remember quiet days so they can have hours of delicious, uninterrupted time. I dream of seaside vacations, storytime, inside jokes.

You have to state the complete date, Becca told me the first time she invited me to join the circle. Day, month, year. Be careful. Memorize it.

And it will be an exact duplicate of that day? Every detail will be the same?

Down to the frosting on the cake. Down to the towels at the hotel.

You’ve spoken to past winners? I ask her.

Only one, she whispers. We’re not supposed to talk about this.

Did they say what happened? Is it like a dream? Will the other family members remember it later?

Calm down. They won’t remember anything. You, the mother, are the only one who will retain the experience. And that’s as it should be.

I don’t know if I can lie to my husband.

Don’t you think he lies to you?

I bristle but promise to come with her to the witch’s house on the next full moon.

Now I must choose the date. I look through all my pictures, something I haven’t been able to do since the day everything changed. Do I even have a favorite age, a favorite memory? I settle on the day we got on the plane to move out here. Many women choose a day from toddlerhood, when they could still carry their child in their arms, but I am drawn to the one day I always blame. We should never have boarded that plane. We should have stayed where we were, and then we would have been able to keep our little family intact.

Remember, Becca warns me as we approach the witch’s house, don’t even think of pulling a fast one. You can’t go back and change events. You must go through the day as it was. This is a chance to see your child again, nothing more.

What happens if you don’t follow the rules?

Why would you ask that?

Just tell me.

You’ll make things worse than they already are.

Do you know anybody this has happened to?

Becca purses her lips and refuses to answer. She shakes her head.

In my mind, I have relived the airport scene a million times, how I grab my daughter’s hand and march her out of there. Don’t worry about the luggage. It doesn’t matter. Our clothes can be replaced. Sometimes, I change my airplane behavior. I don’t let her leave my side. She isn’t out of her seat when it happens.

Or I join her in the aisle.

It’s okay if we die together. I’m easy to please.

You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you? Becca asks when we are seated and waiting.

The doorknob turns, and a tremor passes through our crowd of hopefuls.

The witch enters on one of the icy clouds I saw from the plane window that day.

Are you? Becca hisses. Promise me!

I don’t say a word. The witch glides right up to me; her feet never touch the floor. She looks me in the eye, but it’s her cruel sneer that surprises me.

She knows what I am planning before I name the date.

And I can taste the sweetness before the harrowing plunge.

*Originally published in And If That Mockingbird Don’t Sing: Parenting Stories Gone Speculative