Christopher

Perhaps we both could have loved the sun today if it hadn’t been for the way I shivered in the breeze coming down the hill.  The traffic was backed up, the sidewalk we walked was cracked and uneven, and some of it was gone.  It was a cold day in a new city that brought nothing but the beginning of an ocular migraine from the honking cars idling.

Dave was different about the experience.  He slung a bare arm over my neck, comfortable in his green tee-shirt and not really noticing the broken bits of cement we tripped over.  I watched his smile stay plastered on even when the scent of sewer affronted our faces.  I gagged and covered my mouth and nose, Dave squeezed my shoulder and kept up his happiness.

I detested the grimy city.  Congested roadways, garbage trailing down what could have been hills to climb through.  Wild flowers sprouting between plastic six pack holders, cigarette butts, and the tossed bag of fast food.  Gone were the hills of Vermont with the jersey cows spotted in the fields, the birds flapping in the sunset, the rabbits racing to their burrows, and children still alive.

I rubbed my stomach and wished for the nausea I used to have when my belly was swollen with Christopher.  He had rotated and kicked at me.  He had thrut a hand into my side, he had had hiccups and I had laughed through it all.

Now I felt the loss still unexplained how they had to terminate because of my condition.  Had to wipe him off the world to save me from my betraying body.  Toxic Shock.  Too many hormones rushing into my veins, filling both of us up.  Not enough time to save him.  Knock me out and wake me with a soft squishy belly void of life.

Nine months later and I could still almost feel Christopher turning inside.  And I hated that I could and I loved it too.  I walked with Dave, my partner, my love, my boyfriend still.  He had wanted a boy.  Had bought a glove and baseball hat for the infant coming.

Our family’s had given us a shower and we set to creating a nursery in our green home in the suburbs.   Solar panels on the roof.  A crib built from bamboo that would save tree consumption.  Eco toys out of wood and organic cottons for layettes and jammies.

But no one told me what to do with a perfect house when the perfect child is no more.  When the imperfect mother loses her way, spends three months going crazy enough to be locked up.  A boyfriend that slowly decamps and relocates the two.

Dave ran ahead and pushed the signal for crossing the street.  He was muscular, still athletic in his 30’s.  We hadn’t talked about trying again.  He got a new job as a gym teacher in a bigger city away from our eden back in New England.  He taught middle schoolers how to play ball, how to catch, how to lift.  And I rearranged a two bedroom apartment during the day.  Kept up the washing and the groceries, and the bills paid.  Some times I went in to the thrift store three blocks from our place and sifted myself through the kids department, observing, looking down, set apart from the reality that Christopher wouldn’t need these things.

I kept a photo of his last ultrasound.  It was black and white but I could still see his form, his legs curled up, one hand up to his mouth, one getting ready to push on me.  His heart rapidly beating.  His life waiting for more.

The signal started beeping and I crossed the street with Dave.  Cars still clogged the intersection and we wound through them to the other corner.  Dave put his arm around me again and I looked at him.

His hair was longer in the back.  No more crew cut like when he was in the guards.  His muscles still bulged, still had a beautiful body.  I wondered if he would fall  out of  love with me being so squishy.  I should start exercising.

I really hated this city.  Hated the heaping trash, the smells, the days of boiling water to drink.  Hated that Dave had an escape with other children.  Hated that I stayed home and watered one cactus with my tears.  Hated that I was starting to hate Dave.

We came up to the corner store and we went in to the jingling of bells from the top of the door.  The cashier looked up and then went back to her phone.  I noticed her nose ring and pierced lip.

Her hair was jet black and her skin too pale.  I wondered if she had children.  She looked ghost-like.  She was someone’s child.

I hadn’t talked to my own parents in months.  I had nothing to say.  I couldn’t imagine the life I had wanted that evaporated.  They still lived up there.  They were part of what I couldn’t have.

I blew out my breathe and went to get a jug of milk.

Dave already had a six pack and a bag chips.  He waited in line for me watching another guys scratch tickets beside him.  Dave held his tongue but I knew he wanted to say something about recycling the paper after.  Instead he watched the guy toss them on the floor.  The cashier just stared, not really caring.

I grabbed the milk and pressed it to my empty chest.  I swallowed hard and pushed myself to where Dave stood.  He said I needed the calcium.  I was still recovering.  Said he wanted me to be well before we even thought about it again.

I gave the jug to Dave and went outside.  I thought of the jersey cows up by our old place in Vermont.  The fences that held them in.  The rolling hills that I had run in the mornings before teaching preschool.  

I looked about the corner.  Some older kids were lighting up cigarettes and blowing the smoke out to the street.  One held a spray can and I chose to ignore it.  A woman in a very short skirt and heels wandered back and raised her eyes at me.  I shook her off with a firm no and she kept walking.

Dave came out and took my arm and we went back to the signal.  I watched the cars inch along, two, maybe three going through the light at a time.  Honking, fingers, screaming drivers, we walked through them as the signal beeped.

Dave took my hand as he held the bag in his other.  He started racing on the sidewalk and I had to run to keep up with him.  We ran the three blocks and came up to the fence that kept our back yard away from the trash that was piled against it.

Dave unlatched the gate and pushed me through.  We walked on the side of the apartment house and around into the back.  I settled into a chair while Dave cracked a beer and rubbed my shoulders.

“This is going to be our oasis.  You’ll see.”  He kept rubbing my neck and swallowing the beer.

“Garden beds and solar panels and maybe someday, someday a swing set.”

I looked up to the sky.  It was September.  Too  late for any of those dreams.  Too  late for any of it.  The sky was filled with white clouds and the few trees in our yard were changing into pale autumn hues.  Everything was dying.

I knew I wouldn’t last here.  I was a  Vermonter but had died with my son.  I watched Dave pick up a stick and toss it over the fence.  He picked up tree debris.  He would be okay.  He could survive. I  just knew this wasn’t my city.  It wasn’t my life anymore.

I would miss him waking me with coffee from dunkin donuts.  I would miss his head on my belly listening to Christopher fumble about like he was already athletic.  I would miss Dave jumping on the bed acting like a Mama Gorilla with me laughing.  But those were all the memories we had already moved away from.  And no matter how much I wanted, I couldn’t get them back.

The sewer smell lifted to our noses again.  Today was a day for boiling the water for coffee.  I stood up and waved to Dave.

“Where you going?”  He tilted his head, questioning.  It was better that he didn’t know.  

“I’m going to walk.  Going to wander.”

“Okay baby, okay.”  He looked at me.  “Want company?”

‘Yes!  I want us to walk away from this life!  I want our old life back!  I want our baby!’  I shook my head.

“Just gonna wander off.  Bye Dave.”

Dave kept picking up loose sticks and setting them in a pile for a fire one night.  He loved to have a fire pit and roast marshmallows.  I was going to miss him.  I walked by the side of the apartment house and right to the road.  I didn’t push the signal button.  I wouldn’t need to be careful.  The traffic started moving, gradually picking up speed.  I walked into the road.