The White Horse

by Grant, Cynthia D.

I see these kids. They’re with their parents, but they look lost: dirty clothes, no coats. Left in cars outside bars, faces pressed to the windows. Waiting and waiting. I want to save them. But where would I take them?

  We stayed in a shelter for a while. Usually the longest you can stay is a week so we stayed with friends but the baby cried and that got on people’s nerves. The doctor says it’s colic because her stomach’s immature. She’ll outgrow it soon. She’s nursing good. She gained three ounces last week.

  It’s funny not being alone anymore. Mostly it’s good, but it’s scary too. Before, it didn’t matter what I did. Now I have to think about what’s best for her, and figure out stuff like how to get diapers. They give out disposables at the shelters, but they say: These cost too much; use cloth. Well, that’s just fine, but how do I wash them? Some Laundromats charge two bucks per load.

  I was supposed to get a place then things got all screwed up, so we’re staying in a shelter now, over on Davis. They won’t let you stay there during the day; you’re supposed to go out and get a job. But it’s not like people are dying to hire me. Anyway, what would I do with the baby? I know this girl who baby-sits. She parks the kids in front of the tube and splits. I go over there one time; the place was a wreck. Babies lying on the rug, crying. The kid in charge was ten years old, so that’s out.

  My social worker told me about a program for teenage moms. The babies stay in a daycare center while the girls finish high school and get their diplomas. They teach you stuff like nutrition and budgets and how to use computers so you can get a job. But there’s a real long waiting list to get in, and she says the program might get dropped, so I don’t know.

  The other day my sister Lyn tracked me down. She said my mother was willing to take the baby because she doesn’t want her living on the street, with me. She plans to run the baby through foster care. That pays a lot more than AFDC.

  Bullshit, I said; she only cares about the money and taking away the only thing I got. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. Not you, not me.

  My sister got hot. She said, That’s not true! My mother loves me! Standing there, looking so huge and pathetic, hiding behind a wall of fat. You’ve always been mean and nasty and ungrateful! My mother’s hate spilling out of her mouth. Screaming at me, right there on the sidewalk, people walking by staring. She don’t care. She said: We’ll call CPS and take the baby away.

  You do that, I said. I want to talk to them too. I’ve got some heartwarming stories to tell them.

  Since I had the baby, lots of guys come around, smelling welfare money and a free apartment. They tell you you’re a special lady and they love the baby and on and on. It reminds me of those old cartoons where the wolf acts like the chicken’s friend but there’s a plate of steaming drumsticks over his head. It’s hard not to laugh in their faces sometimes.

  My mother’s always had men like that. Gets rid of one and gets another even worse. When I was a kid I couldn’t figure out why. I think she needs someone to despise, to blame for the way her life’s turned out.

  She said I made her nervous, always hopping around, acting silly and singing. I was trying to make her smile. She didn’t want my hugs. I tried to talk to her sometimes, waiting until she was in a good mood; had had a little booze but not too much. I told her my father touched me. “You’re a goddamn liar. Just making trouble.”

  I never told her about the others.

  Once, I heard her tell a friend that if she had to do it over again, she wouldn’t have kids; she’d get a job and travel. Her real life wasn’t real to her at all. She didn’t wash our clothes or help us with our homework, or join the PTA. She never voted. What difference does it make? she’d say. In the midst of all those kids, she lived alone.

  It wasn’t always that bad. But after Bobby died there was no turning back. The worse things got, the more drugs she took. The more she took, the worse things got. She tried to quit but she’d get so mean, we were almost relieved when she used again. Then she’d feel so whipped and trapped and stupid, she’d take it out on us. Mostly me.

  She hated me because I knew what she’d done and she hates herself because she feels so guilty. So she tries not to think. She won’t wake up. Her life is nothing but a long bad dream.

  I tried to wake her up.

  It’s Bobby, Mommy. He’s acting funny. He got into your pills.

  She drank too much; she’s passed out on the couch. The big kids are gone. Willie’s playing with his truck and Bobby’s asleep and I can’t wake him up and I can’t get the neighbors or call anybody because my mother always says don’t call the cops. No matter what. She’ll beat our butts. If the cops come around she might get in trouble. Then who’ll take care of us? Granny? Are you kidding?

  Don’t you dare tell no one what goes on in this house. Not the neighbors, not the cops, not your teachers, not your friends. Don’t even tell yourself. Get loaded. Pretend.

  Mommy, wake up.

  She finally opens her eyes. But Bobby never wakes up again.

  I go over and over it in my mind. This time I’m running down the hall to the neighbors, or dialing all like they taught us in school. An ambulance comes, and my mom’s not mad; she’s glad I saved her, and Bobby too. Then everything gets better and she’s smiling all the time. Smiling at me, like I’m her precious jewel.

  If I hadn’t been so scared of her, he wouldn’t have died. He’d still be alive. So it’s my fault too.

  My mother hated Granny but turned out just like her. I don’t want my baby growing up to be me. I love my baby. Too much to keep her.

  That’s why I want you to take her.

  I know this is probably blowing your mind, Miss Johnson, but I swear I’m not playing any games this time. You always wanted a baby. There’s nothing wrong with her. I don’t know how, but she turned out fine. Don’t take my word for it; you can ask the doctor. She said the baby might have some problems later, like being hyper, but she thinks she’s going to be okay.

  If my mother gets the baby she’ll screw her all up, and I don’t want her going to strangers. Some people seem fine, but inside they’re weird. You’re not. She’d have a normal life. That’s all I want. I won’t make trouble. I’ll never change my mind and try to take her away. She doesn’t even have to know about me.

  She’ll be all yours. I swear, I promise. Take me to a lawyer. I’ll sign the papers.

  I know this is asking a lot, Miss Johnson, but I don’t know what else to do. She can’t stay with me.

  If you want to take her, or think you might, and would like to talk about it, we’re waiting outside. If you like your life the way it is, I understand, that’s okay too.

  Whatever happens, you treated me good, and I’m sorry I let you down.

  The teacher finished reading and sat at her desk. A pool of sunlight slowly faded on the floor. She could hear her watch ticking. She could feel her heart beating.

  Then she crossed the room and opened the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  For years I hoped I’d find a baby, like this woman in a movie I saw one time. She’s jogging along, then she hears a sound; a crying baby in the bushes. No one else is around. The baby’s been abandoned, but she’s perfectly fine and the woman gets to adopt her.

  It was almost enough to make me take up jogging.

  All around me, kids were having babies, one or two students every year. When they finally have to tell you they’re pregnant, their eyes plead: Don’t be mad at me.

  What can you say? Congratulations? To some fifteen-year-old and her nitwit boyfriend? I kept thinking that one of those girls would say, I know I’m too young to be a mother, Miss Johnson. Please take my baby.

  That was years ago, when I believed in happy endings. Now some babies are born addicted, their little limbs twisted with withdrawal pains. Or the mothers drank, and the babies’ brains are stunted. Sometimes you can’t tell at first; the babies seem normal.

  My cousin adopted an infant someone found in a car parke
d outside a drug house. The mother was inside the house, dead; she’d overdosed. The baby seemed fine, but as she grew older, they couldn’t control her. She’d fly into rages. She’d hit and bite, put her fists through windows, smiling as she held out her bleeding wrists. The doctors diagnosed a neurological disorder. They tried to subdue her with medication. Eventually she was placed in a group home.

  My cousin’s guilt has almost killed her.

  Raina looked thin and dirty and sick. She sneezed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. The simple misery of a cold without Kleenex. I couldn’t see the baby; she was wrapped in a blanket tucked against Raina’s shoulder.

  “Come in, Raina. Sit down.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Would you like a tissue?”

  “Yeah.” She blew her nose.

  “I don’t know what to say, Raina.”

  “That’s okay. Do you want to see her?”

  “Of course.”

  She folded back the blanket. The baby was sleeping, a lovely little girl, dark lashes brushing her cheeks.

  “Isn’t she pretty?”

  “She’s beautiful, Raina.”

  “I’m sorry to kinda barge in like this, but things haven’t been going too good lately.”

  “Yes, I gathered that from your letter.”

  She looked at me, waiting. What did she expect? That I’d say, No problem, I’ll take your baby?

  “What’s her name?”

  “Hope.”

  My body stiffened. “I’ve always liked that name.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re not just saying that to make me take her?”

  “No.” She looked disgusted and hopeless. “I thought I was gonna get to keep her.”

  “What’s her middle name?”

  “Kathryn.”

  The baby squeaked, her fists unfurling then curling into shells.

  “Well, that’s a very pretty name.”

  “She’s a real good baby. Ask my doctor if you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you, Raina.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her. They’ve done tests and stuff. But she can’t stay with me. Something bad might happen.”

  “You didn’t kill your brother, Raina.”

  She looked at me, shocked, then tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  “You were just a little girl. It was your mother’s fault.”

  “Yes, but Bobby—” She couldn’t speak.

  “I’m so sorry, Raina. You must’ve loved him very much.”

  She nodded; tears dropped on the baby’s face. She brushed them off. I handed her a Kleenex.

  “He must’ve been a lovely little boy.”

  “He was. He always”—she struggled for control—“He always loved me best,” she said.

  “I’m so sorry, Raina. I wish I could help you.”

  “I know it’s kinda sudden.” She dried her eyes. “But you wouldn’t be sorry. She’s a real good baby. I know I could trust you, Miss Johnson.”

  “Well, that’s very nice, but—” Picturing the two of us at Back-to-School Night, or in checkout lines at the supermarket. What a beautiful child. Is this your granddaughter?

  “I won’t try to get her back. I’m not lying, Miss Johnson. I’ll go away, I promise. She’ll be your little girl.”

  “Raina, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I’m too old to raise a baby now.”

  This was true. But I was too ashamed to tell her the rest; that I was afraid her baby was damaged goods. Afraid this blameless baby was a ticking bomb who would blow up in my face one day.

  “You’re not that old.”

  “She deserves two parents. I can’t give her that, Raina.”

  “Yeah, but that’s okay. Sometimes things aren’t exactly perfect, but they can still be pretty good.”

  She talked fast, desperate. The baby was fine. No problems at all. The doctor said. Unwrapping the blanket. Feel her skin, Miss Johnson. Isn’t she soft? Trying not to beg.

  If I’d given birth to a baby with problems I wouldn’t have tried to give it back; said: No, this isn’t what I had in mind. Do you have anything without handicaps?

  I would’ve claimed that baby as my own and loved it with all my heart. But this wasn’t my child.

  “Don’t decide right now. You can think about it. We’ll come back tomorrow. Next week, if you want.”

  The baby stirred and opened her eyes. Her mouth was like a tiny pink bow. She yawned and turned toward her mother’s breast. Raina lifted her shirt and fed her.

  For years I’d watched the road ahead, waiting for the prince on the white horse to deliver my life, wrapped up like a present: A husband and children. Family pictures. Dance recitals. Little League games. Summer vacation. Trips to the beach. Are we there yet? How much longer, Mom?

  My eyes ached from looking into the lonely distance.

  The baby peeped. Raina patted her back, then moved her to the other breast. She kissed the baby, murmuring, “You’re all right.” The baby’s tiny fist clasped her fingers. They were two little children, holding hands. Two little babies, alone in the world.

  Those children broke my heart, and entered it.

  “All right, Raina. I’ll take your baby.” I could hardly believe what I was saying. Fear wrestled wild joy. My teeth were chattering.

  “You will?” Relief flooded her face. “That’s great!”

  “There’s something else.” My heart was pounding. “I want to adopt you too. If you’ll let me.”

  She stared at me in disbelief. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “You can’t keep living on the street, Raina. You’re a wonderful girl. Won’t you let me help you?”

  She shook her head. “It wouldn’t work out. I’m used to being on my own.”

  “Me too.” I was as scared as she was. I could picture my mother’s face: Peggy, what are you doing? You’re ruining your life! Who knows how these children will turn out?

  Not me; they don’t come with guarantees. You don’t always get what you expect. Sometimes you do but you just don’t recognize it, because you’re looking down the road for something else.

  “I’ve done bad stuff,” Raina said. “You don’t really know me.”

  “I know everything I need to know. I’m not asking you to make a decision now. It might be harder than you think to give up your family.”

  “No,” she said. “They gave me up a long time ago.” Her eyes were full of doubt and hope. “You said it wouldn’t work, me living there with the baby.”

  “Not if you were trying to raise her, and you won’t. We won’t lie to her, Raina, but I’ll be her mother. That’s how it will always be. I’d like to be your mother too.”

  “I’m kinda old.”

  “Me too.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m not used to someone telling me what to do.”

  “It won’t be easy.” I knew she would test me. I knew she would have to struggle against me, hoping I’d never let her go. “We’ll have to try really hard and promise each other that no matter what happens, we won’t give up.”

  “I’m scared I’ll let you down,” she said. “I don’t want you to end up hating me.”

  “That could never happen, Raina. I want you for my daughter. My very own.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t look at me. She brushed her eyes with her sleeve.

  The baby finished feeding. Raina patted her back until a burp popped out, then she said, “Would you like to hold her?”

  I took the baby. My hands were shaking. The baby’s bright eyes fastened on my face.

  “You gotta hold up her head. Her neck’s like spaghetti.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m kind of new at this.”

  “Don’t worry.” Raina smiled. “You won’t break her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She got home before the teacher did and turned on all the lights so the house looked cozy
. Then she sat at the table and did her homework, listening to the wall heater hum.

  The front door opened and the teacher came in with the baby and a bag of groceries.

  “Is there more in the car?”

  “A couple of tons. Did you clean up the kitchen like you were supposed to last night?”

  “It’s spotless,” she boasted. “You could eat off the floor.”

  “We’ll have to if you didn’t do the dishes.”

  The baby smiled when she saw her. Raina kissed her cheek, then went outside and filled her arms with groceries. So many bags, she had to make two trips. She spotted a box of her favorite cookies, the kind she used to steal.

  Sometimes she was afraid they were living in a dream and the teacher would suddenly wake up, screaming: What are you doing in my house? Get out!

  Then she’d touch the key the teacher had given her. She wore it on a string beneath her blouse.

  “How was school today, Raina?”

  “Okay, I guess. They made us do all this terrible stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sit at desks. Write papers. Study.”

  The teacher put the baby in her swing and wound it up. She rocked back and forth, watching them put away the groceries.

  For supper they had chicken and potatoes and salad and some round green things. Brussels sprouts, the teacher said. Three meals a day. It still amazed her. Sometimes she’d wake up in the middle of the night and go out and just look in the refrigerator.

  “How was work?” she asked the teacher as they ate.

  “Really busy. I’ve applied for a leave of absence next year. Money will be tight, but that’s okay. I don’t want the baby in daycare all the time, and I’d like to be here when you get home from school.”

  “I’m a big girl now.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why.”

  The baby squawked and waved her arms.

  “She smells the food,” Raina said. “She always gets hungry when she sees us eat.”

  “She knows what’s good. Don’t you, baby girl.” The teacher stroked the baby and wound up the swing. “How’d your appointment with the counselor go?”

  “Great. I had her in tears again. She says my childhood makes her sad.”