The Pick 2003


By Katharine Weber

She would not have to change a diaper, they said. In fact, she would not have to do anything at all. Mrs.Winter said that Charles would not wake while she and Mr. Winter were out at the movies. He was a very sound sleeper, she said. No need to have a bottle for him or anything. Before the Winters left they said absolutely please not to look in on the sleeping baby because the door squeaked too loudly.

Harriet had never held a baby, except for one brief moment, when she was about six, when Mrs. Antler next door had surprisingly bestowed on her the tight little bundle that was their new baby, Andrea. Harriet had sat very still and her arms had begun to ache from the tension by the time Mrs. Antler took back her baby. Andy was now a plump seven-year-old, older than Harriet had been when she held her that day.

After two hours of reading all of the boring mail piled neatly on a desk in the bedroom and looking through a depressing wedding album filled with photographs of dressed-up people in desperate need of orthodonture (Harriet had just ended two years in braces and was very conscious of malocclusion issues) while flipping channels on their television, Harriet turned the knob on the baby’s door very tentatively, but it seemed locked. She didn’t dare turn the knob with more pressure because what if she made a noise and woke him and he started to cry?

She stood outside the door and tried to hear the sound of a baby breathing but she couldn’t hear anything through the door but the sound of the occasional car that passed by on the street outside. She wondered what Charles looked like. She wasn’t even sure how old he was. Why had she agreed to baby-sit when Mr. Winter approached her at the swim club? She had never seen him before, and it was flattering that he took her for being capable, as if just being a girl her age automatically qualified her as a baby-sitter.

By the time the Winters came home, Harriet had eaten most of the M & M’s in the glass bowl on their coffee table: first all the blue ones, then the red ones, then all the green ones, and so on, leaving, in the end, only the yellow.

They gave her too much money and didn’t ask her about anything. Mrs. Winter seemed to be waiting for her to leave before checking on the baby. Mr. Winter drove her home in silence. When they reached her house he said, My wife. He hesitated, then he said, You understand, don’t you? and Harriet answered Yes without looking at him or being sure what they were talking about although she did really know what he was telling her and then she got out of his car and watched him drive away.

Copyright © 2003 Katharine Weber


This story drew me in slowly and comfortably with the familiar American teenage theme of babysitting. But even with this familiarity, Weber effortlessly sewed in a chord of peculiarity that began to set the story apart. A sound sleeping baby? No need for diaper changes, bottles, or…anything? I loved the flow and character build, and found myself easily recalling those teenage years of boredom, curiosity, and braces. I wanted Harriet to check on the baby, that she might hold it for herself and that I might get to scratch the questioning itch left from the opening paragraph. The final paragraph is what sold me on picking this story. I absolutely loved that Weber left so much unsaid. The reader leaves feeling as Harriet in the final sentence, answering Yes, though we aren’t sure what was happening, but we really do know. And just like that this masterful short is closed. For me it lingered for some time. I even went back and read it again. It was just as ominous and compelling the second time. Katharine Weber has demonstrated a firm handle on the craft of flash with this piece.
– Cameron Filas


This story has been made into a movie.

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