The Shadow Puppet Jim O. Neal
Sandra vividly remembered the day she realized, or admitted to herself, that something was wrong with Ethan. She was sitting on the floor of the living room with Ethan lying on his back on the carpet. Her husband, Will, was relaxed in his recliner watching a football game. Dylan, her older son, played by himself in his room. Over the sound of the announcers on television, she could faintly hear toy trucks crashing together. Ethan squirmed and looked around the room. He was nine months old, beyond the age that he should be rolling over and even sitting up on his own. “Come on, sweetheart,” she said, “let´s try again. You can do it.” Sandra picked him up under the armpits and sat him on his butt, held on until she thought he had his balance, then slowly let go. He immediately fell over, and would have bumped his head on the floor had she not caught him. “Damn it,” she whispered. “That was better. You’re getting closer,” but he wasn’t, and she knew it. She had already made the effort a thousand times with the same result so she returned him to his back, pulled up his shirt and blew on his stomach. She lifted her face to laugh with him, but Ethan gave no response, just kept on with his flailing. She tickled his ribs, his feet, under his chin, and got no laughter. She had great memories of playing with Dylan when he was this age, tickling him and listening to him giggle. She put her finger into Ethan´s palm hoping he would grip it. He didn´t. “Are you here, Ethan? Are you here with me?” She didn’t know what she was trying to ask him, but she
had to try to get an answer. She felt rejected and needed a connection that she wasn’t getting, but putting it into words was difficult. Will had insisted that they take him to the doctor months before because he was such a difficult baby, but they had reassured Sandra that there was nothing medically wrong with Ethan. Babies were difficult sometimes, the doctors told her. He would grow out of it. She believed them. Playing with Ethan on the floor that day, she finally let herself feel that it wasn’t right. He should be rolling around, sitting up, trying to crawl. She should at least be able to get a laugh out of him with a tickle. “Will, honey, I think something is wrong with Ethan,” she said. Will didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “No, Will, listen. I think I know what is wrong with him.” “Oh, what is it?” He leaned forward slightly. “Come down here. I need to show you.” Will pulled himself out of the chair and squatted down beside her. Sandra started crying as she tried to tell him. It sounded so crazy in her head but the closer she got to saying it the more certain she became. “He can’t feel me,” she said, starting to cry. “Hey, calm down. I’m listening. What do you mean he can’t feel you? I don’t understand what that means.” Sandra put all her effort into composing herself so she could get the explanation out. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and looked up at Will. “I mean that he can’t feel when I 35
