Nakit Baby

"That boy be nakit," the weird one says.
And the other looks and they both still their gaze, for they have never seen such a proud naked baby.

"Sheeeeiiiiit we should all git nakit like dat."  the lengthy one exclaims, sipping whiskey from a mason jar.  "I know datid feel real good in da Ganeveeal heat."  He smiles.  His teeth went on a pleasure cruise years ago and forgot to purchase a return ticket.  They are lounging on a hammock down in the Bahamas.  They win.  He loses.  Depending on how you look at it.

"What y'all said.  You gittin nakit?!"  A woman wearing cut off jean shorts and a tube top with sequins making out the shape of what appears to be a decapitated dolphin steps out from behind some small palm trees.  She has just relieved herself.  She had a large breakfast; an Old English 32oz bottled beer in a paper bag and a hotdog made last night by a seventeen year old gas station clerk.  The highlight of her breakfast was that both the cheese and chili dispensers were full this morning.  She got the most for her money; a hand full of change leftover from yesterdays earnings.

"Ain't no one gittin nakit!" the tall one barks.  "Now zip up yo zip, fo I take my pleasures."  He opens his toothless mouth and lets out an entourage of various laughing noises in no particular order expecting his friends laughter to follow.  It doesn't.  They win.  He loses.  Depending on how you look at it.

The weird one turns.  "Well, you'd haveta git nakit to take your pleasures wouldntya?"

The tall one ignores him.  "Let's go skinny dippin.  I ain't done that since I was young and dumb."

"You ain't young no mo but you sure are... uh... uh... I forgot the two things you said." says the weird one.

The female member of this trio has been sitting on the curb counting a stack of pennies.  She stands putting the sixteen coins in her pocket.  "I ain't never scared of gettin naykitwet, let's go." She starts walking swiftly down the sidewalk her hips awkwardly shifting from side to side.

"Naykitwet?"

"She want's to go skinny dippin.  Let's go!" The tall one calls back over his shoulder while running after her, his whiskey spilling from it's glass.  "Okay!  Imma commin!" 

The weird one looks back at the baby in the window one last time before taking off after them.  "Good idea little man.  Good idea."

Photo by Matt Whitehead.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

He Crawls

He finds his place in the room. He can not yet walk. He crawls. His head is heavy. He uses it to gain momentum. He’s a smart little thing. His shoes incorporate Velcro which is uncool in most elementary circles, but he doesn’t mind. He craves not schoolyard popularity. He crawls on. Carpet burns are avoided by perfectly fitting jeans. “When will his hair grow in?” wonders his mother out loud with full expectation of receiving an answer. “Is his hair red?” his father quietly retorts.

Both questions remain unanswered… among others.

Who is this little guy? What’s he thinking? Where is he going?  What will he become; post tiny shoes and jeans, post carpet and clean walls, post toddling? Where will he go? What type of food will he eat? Is he a vegetarian? I mean, this is a life we’re talking about after all. A human. A brand new heart beat. Everything he does, he does for the first time! And it’s all epic, at least to him...

What's he doing? Is he praying? Is he sleeping? Is he playing hide and seek with us all? Or perhaps he's trying to find a new world to explore between his legs underneath and beyond himself.

He rolls. He flips over and for a moment is dizzy. “What happened?” he thinks. “Where am I? What is this squishy stuff underneath me? Who are these people? Do I know them? I think I’m going to cry. That usually gets mom and her milk over here. Wait, that’s mom right there. Is she laughing at me? She is. Don’t laugh at me, mom. It’s going to make me cry. Wait, everyone’s laughing. I’m definitely going to cry now. Here I go, you guys are so going to get it… Wait, what’s that between my legs? Is that another world? I better check it out…”

Photo by Matthew Whitehead.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.