Open Casket

I had dressed to make sure I'd blend in. A respectable black dress. Nice, neat hair. And the simplest of all.

A mourning face.

I knew those there wouldn't think I had any right to join them in their grief. In their eyes, I was a murderer. It's funny how life can turn out that way, isn't it? Last week, I was the most coveted babysitter in my village. Now I was a murderer.

Let me take you back to my Saturday night. The most neurotic mother on the street, asked me to look after her beautiful daughter. Nina. A gorgeous little girl. Short black curls, olive skin, big brown eyes and a permanent smile. Her mother had been hasty to leave me alone with her, as usual. She left a long list of numbers, recited the child's allergies, told me when to give her a bath. As if I hadn't heard it all before.

The night started of simply enough. Nina watched her favourite show, Dora the Explorer, squealing with delight whenever she learned a new Spanish word. Calling out things to me, such as “Ava? Do you know what the Spanish for three is? Tres! That’s my age!” I’d smile and tell her the Spanish for some more things if she’d ask. And French. But she preferred to learn Spanish, her mother’s native tongue.

Once Dora had set all right once again (although Nina felt it was a close call), I boiled some pasta, made some sauce - bearing Nina’s allergies of peanuts and fish in mind of course - and put some in a little Dora the Explorer bowl and the rest on a nice floral plate. I ate with her at the kitchen table, asking her how preschool was going, listening to her tales of the fun things they did there; painting, playing in playgrounds, drawing, playing pretend.

As promised, I let Nina paint when she had cleaned all the pasta of her plate, and eaten her yoghurt for dessert. Unsurprisingly, she made a complete mess. She had the sudden urge to paint herself blue. After scrubbing her as much as I could, and cleaning the kitchen floor (Nina took this distraction as her opportunity to paint herself red instead), I gave up and ran her bath at the usual time, the time that had been specified to me again and again. 8.00pm. I left the water fill the bath not quite halfway, despite Nina’s protests that she wanted it deeper than it was. I diverted her attention by pouring in some bubble bath and throwing in her rubber ducks. I promised her once she was squeaky clean, we’d play a game of pretend.

She insisted on playing with her Bratz dolls, one of her favourite pastimes. I was grateful that I lucked out in avoiding something Dora-related for once.

Nina was running out of bubbles, and requested more bubble bath. I told her we should save them for next bath time, and place it on the shelf just out of her reach. As I was about to pull the plug, the phone rang. I was hesitant to leave the child alone, but knew if it was her mother and the call went unanswered, she would be in an unnecessary panic. I warned Nina to stay put, and rushed to the phone. I found it just before it went into voicemail, and discovered it was indeed her mother calling.

“Ava! You took so long to answer, I was concerned!” the panicking voice of the child’s mother greeted me.

“I was just finishing Nina’s bath, Ms Cortez.” I replied polite, before adding, “and I had some difficulty finding the phone.”

“Ah yes, I’m not sure where I left it to be honest...”

I headed back to the bathroom quickly, not before commenting, “You’re ringing early. You know it’s bath-time right? I had to leave Nina for two seconds to find the phone.”

“Nina alone in the bathroom? Make sure she doesn’t throw anything in the toilet! She did that last week.”

I chuckled as I walked into the bathroom, “Don’t worry, I -”

I dropped the phone in horror and screamed.

Nina had obviously reached for her bubble bath, and the bottle and a few other items had shifted and slid off the shelf. Judging by the small amount of blood I’d seen in the water, one of the items had rendered her unconscious, and during the short time I’d left the room, she had fallen face down into the water, which had quickly consumed her small fragile lungs.

I clambered into the bath and hauled her out. Attempting CPR, which I had only ever done on a doll in my First Aid test.

Her parents had come rushing home as soon as they heard my shriek at the other end of the line. Her mother shoved me out of the way and shouted at me to leave, while her father called the ambulance.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur to be honest. I just remember a lot of interrogating.

And there I was, a few days later at her funeral. And there was one thing my parents hadn’t warned me about, and that I only discovered when we walked into the back of the church. It was an open casket.

Nina lay in the tiny white coffin wearing her favourite lilac ‘Princess‘ dress. Her dark curls perfectly framed her face. But her olive skin was abnormally pale, and her big brown eyes forever shut. Because of me.

I watched the burial from a distance. But not enough of a distance, unfortunately. Her parents spotted me, and demanded I leave. Continuously putting the blame on me. An angry mob began forming, so I left quickly, in tears all the way.

As soon as I got home, I came to a realisation. A child was dead, because of me; I deserved my comeuppance. I barricaded my bathroom door shut, in case my parents returned before I could complete my task.

I filled the bath and climbed in.

Face down.

And I didn’t so much as flinch when the water filled my lungs and my chest felt like it was going to burst. Because I knew I had subjected a child to this. The same fate.

And as I lost consciousness, I wondered. Would my parents have an open casket for me too?