Through her delivery room screams, Luna pushed out wailing life. While my genetic shadow had two human arms and two human legs, a lettuce head sat on top of her neck. I still drove home. In the passenger seat, Luna sobbed as she rocked Madeline’s lettuce head back and forth with a maternal palm. 

“You know, she’s mostly human,” I consoled my wife under kitchen light glare. She nodded through her tears. When I stared into my Madeline’s leafy eyes, a salad-eating desire sprouted within me. “I have to take a drive,” I blurted out that crisp January morning. 

I parked with the salad bar on my mind. Oh what a glorious spread. While I indulged in healthy verdant leaves, a woman waved hello. “Hello Janus.” “Oh hello. Didn’t we go to high school together? AP English?” “Yes, I’m Maria. I wrote a killer Jane Eyre essay. I heard about your daughter’s birth.” “I’m so excited to be a father.” “Have you picked a name?” “Madeline. After my grandmother.” “So sweet. I hear Madeline’s human head crying way over there with the lettuce heads. I have extra sensitive hearing.” “Thank you for telling me. I’ll grab some formula.” My bodiless daughter slurped down the shoplifted delight. “We should really catch up, Maria.” “I have a son who would love to play and eat with Madeline.” We swapped numbers. “Was he born with all human parts?” “Last time I checked. I’ll go home to make sure.” 

Maria strolled away and I snatched Madeline’s human head. Yet when I tried to step through the automatic doors, a security guard halted me. “You must pay for that.” “Sir, this is my daughter’s head.” “I see a barcode on her mouth.” “Who barcoded my daughter’s mouth?” “Proceed to the back of the line.” I slinked behind a father rocking his crying child as Madeline slept in her organic brain.