Warm Emptiness

The mall was bustling with activity—understandably, as it was a rainy Saturday afternoon. Raindrops dotted the window like tiny messengers of the sky, their gentle fall a distant lullaby that soothed the soul. Everywhere I looked, I couldn't help but be intrigued by all the fascinating samples and advertisements around me. The colors melded seamlessly like a fading dream. Sneakers squeaked against the tiles, and the air was inherently cool but felt warmer from everyone's body heat. I heard the cracks of leather as people sat on massage chairs and various couches. People brushed past me, and the phrase “excuse me” was uttered for the hundredth time. Despite the overstimulation factor, the bright mall lights and crowds of people evoked a sense of excitement in me. For the first time since it happened, I could feel a soft grin forming across my face. I was oddly comforted by the flood of commotion. As I was standing there, taking it all in, I was suddenly stopped by a familiar scent. In addition to the smell of warm pretzels and the intense floral fragrance of perfume, which often gave me a headache, there was something else, something I could not quite put my finger on.

As I observed babies around me cry, heard parents gently reprimanding their little ones, and listened to teenagers chatting happily with friends, I remained quietly in place. My parents were walking ahead, discussing dinner. I was surrounded, yet invisible. The scent was soft and sweet at the same time. It was the kind of scent that wasn’t just a quick whiff or a fleeting trace, but one that lingered in the air for a few minutes, adding a touch of nostalgia. I was now well behind the rest of my family, frantically snapping back into reality and walking fast as not to lose them in the crowd. However, I observed the scent drifting alongside me, a light, comforting blanket weaving through my lungs. I looked around me; there was a line of furniture, a small kiosk filled with colorful phone cases, and a window that revealed pastel-colored clothes hanging on shiny gold racks. Nothing notably stood out to me. Until the smell suddenly exposed a powdery undertone.

At that moment, it was so obvious. Baby lotion, yes—that was the smell I had been searching for. The clean and milky notes that were so commonly associated with a newborn baby surrounded the mall. It was fresh and rosy, but not too overpowering or fragrant like an older woman's perfume. It was the kind of lotion that filled up the room after a bath, embracing the steam and sticking to the walls. It was like a soft cloud of fresh, delicate wool drifting in the air. The aroma was ethereal. It was the subtle signature of tenderness. It was comforting, like an unspoken promise of protection and love.

The mall was now oddly silent. Not because there were fewer people and less noise, but because everything around me faded into obscurity. I was left with just my thoughts and the sweet smell of baby lotion. Although this sounds calming and joyful, a wave of sadness and emptiness washed over me. The quiet wrapped around me like a velvet cloth, heavy with unspoken ache.

The bathroom was foggy, and the last drop of water ran from the faucet. My mom and I wrapped her up in a towel, and I watched as my mom lathered lotion all over her petite body. Her legs kicked, and she let out a small giggle. I smiled. She recently learned to laugh. I was there the first time she did it. The sun was shining outside, and even though it was a boring day with no plans, I would not have wanted to be anywhere else. We got her changed into fresh clothes, which I had picked out at a store the same night we met her for the first time. It was a onesie with a pink floral pattern that matched her smell perfectly. It was as if the pastel daisies that covered her stomach floated into the air and intertwined with the lotion, which whispered softly, creating a specific ambience.

The car ride was about 45 minutes long. I played games on my phone while my parents discussed visitations and social workers. I look over at her, with her defined brown curls, and think of all the times we were told she looked exactly like my dad. Those people obviously didn’t know she really wasn't related to any of us. Just like the mall and lotion, the cold car clashed with her warm scent. I watched the street lights and signs fly by my window, everything so moving so fast, so temporary. The billboards raced by before I could even read what they had to say. One had the heading “fentanyl takes lives” and included individual images of people of all genders, ages, and races. I watched her little pink shoes, the size of my finger, swaying back and forth as she kicked her feet in the air. Her eyes, a deep blue like the ocean, glistened due to the reflection from the window. I extend my hand, and her five fingers grip my index finger. The car then came to a stop, and we were there.

The chaos came flooding back all at once, hitting me like the bright sunlight that pops out when you open your windows in the morning. The mall was loud, the floor tiles were cold, and large families rushed by with parents carrying various balloon animals. The smell vanished as if it never existed, but the memory stayed in my mind. As I approached the last store before walking out the large glass doors leading to the parking garage, I realized I no longer felt so sad. Although this memory will follow me like the smell of baby powder clinging to the air, I was surprised by a new sense of calmness. But not just calmness—also acceptance.