Limbo

The beeps and whirring of machines filled the sterile air as fluorescent lights glared overhead and the fall of footsteps echoed loudly off the shiny, white walls. 

Plastic chairs similar to those found in primary schools were crammed into the tiny room, occupied by sombre individuals, each afflicted by a different malady. A tiny girl with elbow resting at an unnatural angle on a pink pillow, tears glistening on her cheeks, a young man in a flannel top with a bandage wrapped diagonally across his head, covering his left eye, a frail, white-haired woman clutching her elderly husband’s hand, draped over the handle of a walking stick. Laura began to feel the panic set in.

A soft grunt from beside her pulled her out of her daze,

‘Are you alright?’ she asked anxiously.

Grace rolled her exquisite green eyes and snorted,

‘Yes, I am actually completely fine, how are you though? You look like a nervous wreck, anyone would think you’re the one who’s about to push a baby out of her p***y,’ she said, playfully pushing Laura’s shoulder. Laura regarded her partner’s beautiful white-toothed smile, her perfectly freckled nose and her bouncing curls of apricot and tangerine. She looked positively radiant, and Laura reflected on what a fantastic mother she would make. She was so tender, loving and nurturing, Grace was the positive one, the level-headed one, the one with all the patience in the world. Laura on the other hand…

‘Stop making that face will you?’ Grace complained.

‘What face?’

‘The one that looks like you’ve smelt something off.’

‘I’m just worried that-‘

Laura was interrupted by the nurse calling Grace’s name.

‘We’ve got a room ready for you now.’

***

In another room, two stories down, a long-haired man gazed down into a face similar to his own, only thirty-five years older. IV bags, medical apparatuses, buttons, toggles and screens hung around them like a sort of pharmaceutical jungle.

‘Hello Chris.’ The old man croaked. Chris looked at the bony, veined hand, middle-finger clamped by a pulse monitor, not sure if he should take it. He felt the usual uneasiness that filled the room whenever it was only he and his father occupying it.

‘Hey Dad,’ his voice came out too high-pitched, ‘how you going?’

‘How do you bloody think I’m going?,’ Despite the fragility of his voice, his father still managed to sound as brusque as ever, ‘How are you going’s more like it. That band of yours famous yet, or you still working at the furniture store?’

Chris sighed. He had thought that perhaps on his death bed, his father would finally be able to leave aside the contempt and disappointment he openly held for his only offspring.

‘Yes, Dad, still at the furniture store, where I don’t inhale asbestos everyday.’

This caused his father to emit some kind of choking, chuckling laughter,

‘I might be dying, but when I look back on a life of hard, honest work where I made things with my bare hands and really provided for my family, I don’t regret it one bit.’

‘Dad, I know you and I are very different-‘

Chris’ father wheezed with laughter again,

‘You can sure as hell say that again.’

‘-but I thought that maybe now, before it’s too late, we could make things okay. You could explain to me how you build level foundations and put together strong wall frames, and I’ll listen. Maybe I could play you some of my songs and you would also listen. Maybe we could talk about Mum, and what happened and how we feel. Maybe we could joke and have a laugh together, instead of at the other’s expense.’ Chris had been looking up at the ceiling, unable to meet his father’s eye, but when he looked back down his father had fallen asleep.

***

The new room, while comfortable in comparison to the waiting room, was stark and lifeless, containing the ‘birthing bed’ with its strange mechanical arms, a metal sink and bench, two ugly armchairs of an indescribable colour, a TV and the glass box some might call a crib but looked more to Laura like where the meats were in the deli section. She helped ease Grace into an armchair and sat down opposite her.

‘How are you? How are the contractions? Can I get you anything? Tea?’

Grace laughed again,

‘Will you please stop it, you’re stressing me out. Let’s talk about something else, the pain isn’t really that bad, I just need to be distracted.’

Laura hunted about her mind, looking for something to talk about but it was difficult when there was one, large, looming thought that kept leaping about.

‘I don’t think I’m going to make a very good parent.’ She blurted out. Embarrassed, she looked to the corner of the room and felt herself go red.

‘Oh Lauraaa,’ crooned Grace, ‘Of course you’re going to -‘

‘No, I’m not,’ cut in Laura, ‘I’m not like you, Grace. I’m not loving and caring. I’m withdrawn and cold. I’m not patient, or good at taking care of things, I’m impulsive and I get angry easily. I feel like I only thought having a baby was a good idea because it made you so happy, I was excited because I was picturing you as a mother, now… now I…’ she trailed off, unsure exactly how she felt now.

‘Now what? Now you don’t even want the baby I spent 9 months lugging around inside me? What is wrong with you Laura? Why would you say this now?’ As Grace spoke in that vicious tone Laura felt the familiar sensation creeping back; Grace was completely right, what a terrible thing to say, what a terrible person Laura was. Another perfect example of why she was not fit to be a mother.

Grace groaned and doubled over,

‘Okay, now it really hurts.’

***

While his father slept, Chris reached out and took the hand. He held it and rubbed his forefinger across the knuckles. His dad looked different as he slept. So frail and grey now compared to the burly, hairy man he had been for Chris’ childhood. For once he looked vulnerable and Chris began to see something beyond the show of vigour and masculinity. He began to see that his father’s behaviour didn’t come from a hatred of Chris. It came from hatred for himself, for he believed that he had failed. Despite his hard work, he still lost his wife and his son grew up to be what he regarded as a loser. He felt he had failed ‘as a man’. As Chris realised this he became aware that he was grateful that he had never felt his own life bound by these ideas of masculinity and the need to ‘provide’ and so, began to pity the old man lying in the hospital bed beside him.

***

Although she did all the right things; she brushed Grace’s hair off her face and told her she was doing a good job, she helped the nurses get water and towels, she let her partner crush her hand until the bones felt bruised, it wasn’t until she held the tiny, perfect body that Laura realised just how in love she was. All of those things she was worried she wouldn’t feel consumed her now and she was overwhelmed with utter devotion and protectiveness. As her and Grace held the baby boy between them, Laura breathed with relief,

‘It’s going to be okay.’ 

‘I know.’

***

‘You did a great job, Dad.’ Chris said aloud to the silent room. He thought he felt a light pressure returned from the thin hand clasped in his before the machines began to beep and the room filled with nurses.