Room 407, Friday Night

[shippedtomaine]

Pretending to have parents who gave half a damn in class earlier had been a mistake, Emma realised, since now she couldn't stop thinking about it. Her mind wearing familiar grooves as she sat looking out the window, baby blanket in her lap. Why bother making something like this for a kid you were just going to toss aside like litter?

Maybe far away
Or maybe real nearby
He may be pouring her coffee
She may be straightening his tie!
Maybe in a house
All hidden by a hill
He's sitting playing piano,
She's sitting paying a bill.

Oh, great, now she was singing again. At least, whatever was making her do this had a sense of gender equality.

Betcha they're young
Maybe not that smart

That was pretty much the only reason Emma could think of that they'd pick a road over a hospital.

Bet they collect things
Like ashtrays, and art!
Betcha they're good
Why shouldn't they be?

Again, that whole part where they left a newborn beside a road maybe?

Their one mistake
Was giving up me.

So maybe now it's time,
And maybe when I wake
They'll be there calling me "Baby"...
Maybe.

Betcha they read
Betcha they sew
Maybe they've made me
A closet of clothes!
Maybe they're poor
Don't have a dime...
Don't really care
As long as they're mine!

Emma hadn't known she was capable of belting like that, and she didn't want to admit the sentiment behind the words was the least bit true. She sagged back against the window frame.

So maybe now this prayer's
The last one of its kind...
Won't you please come get your "Baby"

Maybe

As the last notes died away, Emma fairly lunged for her bag to hide put her blanket away. No one needed to have heard that. If this singing didn't stop by tomorrow, she was getting out of here first chance she got.

[Closed door, open post.]