Fiction
A Secret Hardens
The babysitter’s secret behind the twins’ footprints.
I walked over to the Nelson’s place hoping to say hello to the twins. Mrs. Nelson answered the door. She explained the kids were still at their after-school practices. I was disappointed they weren’t home, but she insisted I come in for tea. She looked me over, saying how grown up I was, a “lovely young woman” she said. It had been a few years since I had taken care of her kids, and as I looked around I saw that little had changed since I was last here. We sat down in her dining room. Over her shoulder, on the sideboard, the framed photographs were the same. They still surrounded the small square canvas, no longer blistering white, of the artwork we did together, me and the twins, the artwork hiding something I never told her. My little inconsequential secret.
I was a pretty good babysitter by the time I took on the twins. I was a veteran of Ralphie, the most difficult five-year-old anyone could watch. Back then, I complained that he had to be the inspiration for Jack-Jack, the morphing baby from the recent blockbuster, The Incredibles. More than once, I considered tying him up to a chair, his screaming be damned. After Ralphie’s parents moved away, the Nelson’s asked me if I could help them out. After the Tasmanian Devil, I was sure I could handle the twins.
The twins were a little younger than I was used to, but they turned out to be pretty easy to manage, and I made almost double the money per hour, which was good because I only worked when their regular nanny wasn’t available, usually on weekends. Working did cut into my field hockey practices, but at my school that wasn’t a big deal. Participation, even if sporadic, is what counted with my coach, and I needed the money to save for college.
I had to be creative to keep the twins entertained, though. When they got bored, they turned cranky. Also, timing their naps was critical. Once one started crying, it wouldn’t be long before the other one joined the dissonant chorus.
I planned an art project for a Saturday when I had them for most of the day. The Nelsons were going out on a hike with some friends. The project was simple. Take a square canvas and imprint it with their footprints, one blue, one pink — the twins are boy and girl. They had recently started walking, and I thought we would surprise mom and dad with the canvas for their first birthday.
I went to the hardware store, the one with a small art-supplies section just past all the brass plumbing supplies, buckets of fittings, elbows, and valves, reminding me of Waterworks, the card game I used to play with Ralphie. Waterworks was also a perfect description of him when he got stuck on his turn.
I picked out a cute six-by-six white canvas, stretched and stapled over a wide wood frame, and two small containers of acrylic paint, one blue and one pink.
After the Nelsons left for their outing, I rallied the twins, who weren’t happy that mom and dad were leaving them behind. After they left, I reminded the kids that we were going to work on our secret plan. I fed them their lunch first, and then changed them. Full stomachs and clean diapers always help. They seemed to be primed, although I was pretty sure they didn’t understand the goal. I was, by far, the most excited of the three of us.
I set up in the dining room, putting an ounce or two of each color into two metal bowls that were once their dog’s spares when they traveled. Arrow, the dog, is with Cupid now. His full name was Broken Arrow which seemed an odd name to me, but the Nelsons explained a broken arrow was a peace gesture, and that it was also the title of a Neil Young song they loved — the Nelsons were die-hard fans.
I filled a regular bowl with water for cleanup. To ensure cooperation from the twins, I placed some Cheerios on a little tray that I put on the sideboard, reminding them that following instructions meant little treats afterwards. The twins loved Cheerios, twirling them to their mouths with their little fingers.
When I was about to have the boy step into the bowl with the blue paint, the cat knocked over the tray with the Cheerios, the tray tumbling between the table and the wall. That’s when the mayhem began. I rushed over to pick up the tray and scoop up the Cheerios so the cat wouldn’t choke on them, but the cat didn’t care if he choked on them. The sideboard with its ornate underside, made it difficult to get to the tray and the cereal. Some landed on the mesh shelf below, some fell to the floor.
I was fighting with Cortez — yep, from another Neil Young song — when I heard the girl giggling behind me. I peeked over my shoulder, spotting the boy wobbling down the hall. He had stepped in the paint bowl, leaving a trail of pink footprints on the tiles, and he was headed for the purple carpet in the den.
I left Cortez to choke on the treats, running to get the boy, avoiding his fresh tracks. I caught up to him in the den, scooped him off the carpet, now marked with a couple of ghostly pink footprints. I can easily clean those with the rug cleaner, I thought to myself.
I carried the boy down the hall on my hip, holding his painted foot away from my clothes. When I got back to the dining room, I almost screamed. The girl had stepped in the blue bowl and was fighting Cortez for the Cheerios. Her route to the sideboard clearly marked. And she had kicked over the water bowl.
For a second, I felt out of control with no way out of this mess, but I pulled it together. Experience. I ran for their twin-stroller from the foyer, and strapped each kid in. They weren’t happy about it, but soon they were enjoying my struggle with Cortez over the Cheerios on the floor. Just when I thought I had picked up the last of the little circles, I would hear Cortez crunching on one more.
With the twin’s legs now dangling from the stroller, I had the perfect setup to finish the project, wishing I had thought of using the stroller earlier. I pushed each kid’s foot into the bowl, and stamped it onto the canvas, pressing down every little piggy to get a good impression. I ended up with a perfect pair of little feet, exactly as I had envisioned it. The canvas was a big hit at their birthday party, Mrs. Nelson showed it off to the other moms. Since then, it has been proudly displayed among their monochrome studio portraits.
Their new cat, a tabby named Cinnamon, came out to rub against my jeans while we were having our tea. She reminded me of Cortez and our battle over the Cheerios. I was sad that he was gone, but I was glad the footprints still had their place on the sideboard.
When I first sat down, and saw the canvas behind Mrs. Nelson, I had it in mind to fess up, to tell her the whole story. But then she started complimenting me for my inventiveness with the twins, and for my caring and sincerity. The larger the halo she placed over me, the tighter my little secret wrapped around me, becoming mine alone. Revealing it would say more about me than the little prank it was meant to be, my little revenge for all the clean up they put me through. There was no way I could tell her that it’s Sarah’s left foot in blue, and Rodrick’s right foot in pink.
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