My Baby

The first of my last words to you would be: What life would you come to know?

His tiny hand fitted around my finger, with the strongest grip that a newborn could manage, as though holding onto me forever. I pulled the long sleeved onesie from the drawer, a secondhand pick, dull and worn. I hadn’t been able to buy another. But it was enough for now. My hands moved gently as I worked his small limbs through each hole. The cotton soft blanket was next, fitted snuggly around his chubby face, his entire body now warm enough to face the outside draft. Short blond strands peaked out from the top, already growing in, like mine had as a baby.

When you stared in the mirror, would you wonder if we looked alike? Deliberating over which feature of mine you stole. Maybe, your eyes would wander to faces as they pass, studying to see if they looked like you– like me.

A soft short cry left his lips, filling the still apartment air. The few days that we had been together I had already adapted to understanding his needs, like any mother would. This wail was one of hunger. He had consumed the last bit of formula a few hours ago. An empty tin sat atop the overgrown trash can. I rubbed a hand on my cheek, I hadn’t been able to get him to latch; as though my body knew that he wouldn't be mine for long.

My eyes flicked up to the clock, I should get moving. I reached into the bedside drawer and began frisking between garments. A few seconds later my fingertips graced over a single crinkled paper. I pulled it out. My last five dollar bill. A sigh escaped me, it was enough for bus fare. I stuffed it into my back pocket, the bruise on my back burning with the stretched movement. My eyes squeezed shut, as I willed myself not to shed any tears.

The cause of the mark had been gone for the past two weeks. Max had walked out of the front door with my last bit of savings within his hand. I would’ve chased the bastard but in the moment, I had a more pressing matter to attend to. My heart had seized, when the glass bottle made impact with the wall above my sleeping baby. Having to brush glass shards off of your child is something no mother wants to experience. But he was okay. I glanced down at his small scrunched figure on the bed, eyes now half shut. I guess sleep was the next best thing.

What name would they give you? Would it suit you? Or would your mind wonder what I would’ve called you? I had hesitated on a name, because I didn’t have the privilege to name you. And I knew that if I had, I would be even more attached. So, you’ve always just been my baby.

My fingers fumbled with the strings of my shoe laces, like a toddler. I doubled the knot on my coat. Lifted and dropped my hood a few times. I ran my hand over his blanket, my head titled as I contemplated switching the one he was wearing. The blue color did match better. Whatever I could use to stall. I took a glance out of the window, rain battered against the glass pane. Maybe, I should do this tomorrow. It was forecast to have calmer skies.

My eyes caught the deep red stain that hadn’t been wiped from the wall. Now too embedded in the cracking paint, to remove easily. Glass still lay scattered at the base. The scar at my temple pulsed as a reminder. My fingers absentmindedly reached up and caressed the bruise. I couldn’t let him stay here. It would be selfish of me. Yet, my hands hesitated to pick up his sleeping figure.

Maybe, I shouldn’t do this. I plucked my cell phone off of the drawer. I needed to speak to someone. Anyone.

My hands shook with nerves, a tremble so deep that it reverberated through my body. My mother’s phone number came to me naturally. Maybe. Just maybe, this time she would pick up. And talk me out of it. Tell me that I’m not really a disgrace. Or unwelcomed. That her words were just out of anger. And that she wanted to know her grandson?

A beat passed.

Until a sharp busy tone filled my ear. My shoulder’s dropped, as I attempted to call again. I even tried my dad’s number, only to be met with the same thing. Still blocked. For the past nine months, ever since I shared the news with them it’s been this way.

I gulped. It’ll be okay. My eyes burned, tears that I’ve held back for so long threatened to spill. I blinked them away. It’ll be fine. I placed myself in this situation. We’ll be fine.

Keep moving forward.

My hands lifted him off of the bed and coddled him close to my chest. I didn’t have an umbrella. So this would have to do. I grabbed a small box off of the floor and placed him inside, it was small enough. And if I lifted the lid halfway, he wouldn’t be noticeable.

When you grow up, I pray that you meet good people. True friends that you could lean on in hard times. Ones that won’t abandon you at the drop of a hat. Choose them wisely.

The door clicked shut behind me and I didn’t bother locking it. My feet began to move on their own accord down the street and soon the bus stop sign glinted under the moonlight. The cover of the stand was enough to shelter us from the patter of rain. A low rumble drew nearer as the bus rounded the corner. Headlights beamed as it slowed to approach me. The door cranked open and I stepped in, offering the five dollars to the driver. He handed me back the change, along with a transfer paper.

I found a seat at the back, passing rows of empty seats. I laid my head back and looked down at him. The bus rocked steadily, and for a minute I wanted us to stay like this. Maybe, we could go far away, together. The dark night sky combined with the soft rumble of the engine. Rain droplets painted on the glass, crying for me. I rocked him steadily back and forth. More of a comfort to myself.

God, why? Why not just give him to someone that could take care of him? Why let his life be marred with thoughts that he was unwanted.

I tilted my head at him and pressed my lips against his forehead. Hoping that he would remember the touch on days when he felt down. That the imprint of my love would always be there, to tell him that he was never unwanted.

‘Next Stop. 6th Street.’ The bus driver shouted out.

I stood up and steadied myself by gripping the worn leathered seat in front of me. With each step that I took my legs grew heavier. Was it the lack of sleep? I stepped down from the bus. A low bellow of thunder rang from above, as the once drizzle fell even harder than earlier. I shifted. Pulling him closer and began walking. A couple minutes later, the right row of houses came into view. My eyes darted around, making sure that the street was empty. Most were probably tucked in bed.

The red brick four story building stood out, its white picket fence welcoming to those passing. The street lamp illuminating the porch. Calling me. My throat started to close up. From the outside, not much had changed from when I had volunteered during my high school days.

6th Street Orphanage.

The pixie haired woman, Ms. Mildred was one of the loveliest persons I’d ever met. I’d watched her treat the kids as her own. My teenage self had rattled on about how once I got my first paycheck, I’d come back to give a big donation. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. If she’d known. Her eyes would probably fill with pity. Or shame. Like everyone else's.

What would you want to be when you’re older? A doctor, maybe. You’d care for people like me. Or a genius scientist. Changing the world with your creations. Inventions like flying cars and time travel machines. Would you come back to find me?

The street light illuminated his plump cheeks with every step I took. I glanced over my shoulder, to no one, it was still clear. My feet neared the staircase leading to the door. Only seven steps. My legs like lead, but I pushed past the dreaded feeling. His eyes blinked open and a soft cry left his lips. Did he know? I shushed his cries, moving faster, towards the double wooden doors. I placed the box down on the welcome rug, and picked him up, tucking his small body under my chin.

“I love you.” I spoke into the night air. My cheek rubbed against his, tears falling my eyes onto him. “I’m sorry, so so sorry. I wish… I-.” My voice cracked.

An onslaught of thoughts hit me at once.

That maybe this was the wrong choice. Maybe I could do it. I could care for you. I could balance the world on my shoulders. We could make it through tonight. But then, we would have to face another and then another. And the light was getting a bit dim at the end of my tunnel.

I wouldn’t want to put you through that. So, if you ever wanted to blame someone. Never yourself. Always me. Let me take the brunt of your woes. Because you were never a mistake. Never.

A faint splash drifted over the noise of the rain, causing me to glance over my shoulders. Was someone watching? My heart beat picked up, pulsing in my ears. I laid him back inside the box gently and ran down the stairs and away from him.

I had made it a few houses down, my steps causing splashes in small puddles, before I realized. I hadn’t rang the bell or knocked on the door. I froze. My hands squeezed shut as my breathing turned shallow. What if Ms. Mildred never realized that he was out there. It was past any normal person's bedtime. My feet spun around on their own accord, as I ran back towards him.

The orphanage came back into view and I slowed near the picket fence. I peered around the wall, my eyes searching the porch. My shoulders dropped and a breath left my lips, he wasn’t there.

Was he safe now?

My lips trembled as I took a step back. Then another. Until I was running away. Tears streamed down my cheeks, dripping off of my chin, indistinguishable from the harsh raindrops. My heart squeezed in my chest, threatening to burst.

Would you grow to hate me? Believe that I didn’t love you?

Should I turn back? Tell her it was a mistake.

I didn’t stop moving until I was a few streets down. The orphanage was now far behind me. I gripped onto the slippery lamp pole, to steady myself. My head felt light.

Would I ever see you again? Pass you by on the streets. I would still recognize those eyes. But could you recognize mine? Filled with shame, guilt and regret. I’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb.

Beaming headlights turned the corner, most likely the last bus of the evening. To take me wherever it chose. The bus came to a halt in front of me. Yet, I hesitated to step on.

I looked back, to nothing but to everything all at once.

The last of my words, flitting around in my mind.

My baby.

Remember. That no matter your past.

You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.

And one day, I pray that God will send you a family deserving of your love. One that takes note of the sparkle in your eyes, and won’t try to dim it. Accepting your hopes and dreams. They’ll look at you with love.

And lastly, one day when you call someone else mom. And she holds you dear to her and never lets you go. Just know.

My baby.

I’ll forever regret that it wasn’t me.