Black Water
“You don’t understand. Your baby is going to die.” I tried to focus on the words coming from the mouth of the doctor standing in front of me. Die? The word seemed foreign to me. As if on cue, I felt a strong kick from within. I reflexively wrapped my arms around my swollen belly. Dr.Lee frowned as I shook my head no. I was staring at the pin that was affixed to the wide lapel of his standard white coat. The pin had a black background with red text that read, “Doctors are Never Short on Patients.” His frown deepened as we both heard a weird giggle begin to bubble up from somewhere in my throat, which suddenly felt like it was closing. I focused my eyes on the pin as I wondered just how much patience this guy really had. I heard a terrible screaming begin from the curtain next to mine, as a nurse rushed in and pricked my arm with a wicked
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I had sworn that I would try to be a nicer person, that I would be the best mother. I had begged and cried. She was dead. In a moment, every dream that I had for her, for myself, had died. It felt as though I had died, yet my punishment was having to live with this permanent ache in my chest that didn’t allow me to fully draw a breath. They left me on the maternity floor for three more days. I laid there listening to the healthy cries of the newborns and cried and cursed God, and my own body. Stevie died when we were both ten. He had gone to visit some family friends for the weekend and had burned to death in their heated shed during the night. No one knew why he was sleeping out there or where the brother of the family friend had disappeared to after the fire was put out and Stevie’s body was found. It was all very mysterious and the family friend committed suicide a year later. My Aunt Catta had Bart Simpson put on his tombstone, as The Simpsons was his favorite show. I saw a picture of the headstone, but still have never gone to the cemetery where they laid him to