Keeping Molly

by Hayes, David C.

  Molly had been stabilized and moved into a room of her own. She was attached to monitors and an IV while she slept off the trauma of her labor. The sedatives given to her by the nurse had taken full effect. Even when the door to her room opened and light from the hallway spilled in around Alan, she did not move.

  His shadow reached in ahead of him and he just stood there. He knew Molly was asleep, but he still didn't know how to face her. What would he say? Did she know what happened? He was lost in his head and feeling nauseous. This sadness he felt far surpassed any previous depression he'd ever known, it was overwhelming. He felt pains in his chest and back. His breathing was stilted and difficult. He felt like he was having a heart attack, but he knew he wasn't. Alan knew this feeling, and the nervous energy in his limbs told him that the only kind of attack he was having was one of the panic variety. Their dream turned into a nightmare. It took long enough to conceive, not that they didn't enjoy the process, and to see it all end in such a horrific way was unbearable. He could only stand there in the hospital doorway, staring at Molly. The tears ran down his face and he quickly wiped them away, choking back the torrent that threatened to burst out. With a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

  Alan took a few short steps in and stopped before closing the door behind him. He studied the room, adjusting to the gloom and adjusting to all that was happening.

  Molly slept, but didn't look restful. She twitched here and there, like a dog dreaming about chasing a rabbit, and an IV dripped a clear liquid, presumably to hydrate. Another machine stood close to her bedside. It automatically dosed Molly with Morphine at regular intervals, and a cord with a button was attached to allow her to administer additional small doses, as needed. A heart monitor was also attached. Alan's eyes fixated on it as he slowly slid into a chair next to Molly's bed.

  His eyes drifted away, and he remembered a visit to Tony months back for an ultrasound. Alan heard the baby’s heartbeat in his head, pulsing along with the heart monitor. That's when he realized that he had no idea if they just lost their son or their daughter. He still didn't know. His eyes flooded, that threatened torrent finally breaking free, and he collapsed over Molly, wailing.

  The next afternoon, Alan stood in front of the hospital. He was fidgeting and frequently looking at his phone. Reach into the front pocket, check the time on the phone, put it back into the pocket, repeat. He could no longer stand still and started pacing. He looked over at his car with its hazards blinking in the pick-up and drop off area. He still didn't know how to approach the situation around Molly. His only play was to avoid the details and take it one step at a time. He really wasn't good with these things, and he was still trying to process going home without a newborn baby. He looked at his phone again, and then looked at the front door. The anxiety overtook him as he waited.

  ***

  Leon, the orderly, pushed Molly down the hall in a wheelchair. He seemed to be in an extraordinary mood. The large orderly, more from flab than muscle, had a spring in his step as he listened to the music pumping through the earbud in his right ear. The left earbud bounced off his chest as he bopped along.

  Molly was groggy and very cloudy; her head floated from side to side as she tried to observe her surroundings. Things were moving too quickly. Without looking back, she addressed the orderly.

  "Wher'my goin'?"

  The orderly smiled. "Goin' home, girlie."

  At that moment, Leon’s phone buzzed loudly before breaking into an instrumental version of “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places.” He stopped short, jerking the wheelchair to a halt, and reached into his pocket to grab it. As he pulled the phone loose from his pocket, the attached earbud cable swayed, causing the bud to pop out of his right ear. He quickly snatched it from its fall and looked at the phone screen to see who was calling.

  "One night stand my ass!" He looked around and pushed Molly toward an open area as he answered the call. A darkened patient room, door ajar, was all the invitation he needed. Leon rolled Molly into the room and quickly set the parking brake on the wheelchair.

  "Hey baby, where you been?" He said as he answered the phone and walked back out into the hallway where he could talk.

  Molly scanned the area as best she could and realized she was in a partitioned area of the emergency room. She heard a strange moaning and tearing and it took a great deal of effort for her to loll her head to the right. There was a bed. The man that lay there didn’t look very good at all, like the later stages of some sort of disease you would see on the National Geographic channel. She turned her head in the other direction, flopping it to the side, to see Leon the orderly pacing and chatting away in the hallway. He laughed and Molly smiled, hoping the nice young man was having a good time in her tranquilizer stupor. She turned her attention back to the man on the bed.

  The man's eyes popped open, startling Molly. They looked as terrible as the rest of him. Whatever had him right now was going to be his end. Even in her semi-lucid state, Molly could see that.

  The man sniffed the air, loudly, his yellow eyes focused on Molly. Despite his sickly appearance, the man fought the straps that held him down. The straps stretched and groaned. They cut into the man’s skin but he didn’t seem to be aware of it. He was strong for someone this sick, though, and strained against the strap. He violently struggled, yearning to get closer to Molly. He bit and chomped at the air, noiselessly, until one of his arms came free. He wasted no time in stretching out toward Molly.

  Whatever sympathy she had for the man vanished. Her vision fading in and out, Molly could see the man reaching for her. The veins of his hand and arm pulsed and his skin was the color of creamed corn. Terrified, she was unable to move away. Her hands slipped off the wheels of the chair, unable to grip them with enough power to keep them there much less roll forward.

  The man reached toward Molly, his fingers coming just short of touching her. She looked back toward the orderly and stretched her hand in his direction, but he didn’t notice. He was too involved in his phone call.

  The man on the bed kept swiping at Molly to no avail. He squealed in frustration, and gnashed his teeth, which clacked together like bowling pins. Molly turned back toward the man, but a wave of calm, drug-induced tranquility, washed over her again. She smiled, knowing that he couldn’t reach her from where he was strapped to the bed.

  Frustrated and angry, with a snarl, the man chomped down on his free arm. With a tear, he ripped a chunk of his own flesh off and chewed it, the masticated bits of flesh rolling over and around his blackened gums.

  Molly looked at him in awe, only able to stare through her mental haze.

  The man gulped down the meat he had torn from the back of his forearm and went in for another bite. This time, blood sprayed from the wound. The man had bitten into his ulnar artery and, matching the rhythm of his heart, a fine spray of blood misted the room.

  Chewing loudly, the man moved his arm as an arterial spray started and blood spattered Molly’s face. She didn't flinch at the stippling of blood that landed on her left cheek near her mouth. There wasn’t a great deal of it. Just a drop or two. She moved her hand toward it automatically, like a rain drop had landed on her cheek. Without blinking, she rubbed the blood down into her mouth, lightly licking it from her finger. Her demeanor never changed. The act had no meaning or merit. It just was.

  The man flopped his arm back onto his own chest, the blood loss affecting his motor skills. Weakened, he could do nothing but gnash his teeth, slower and slower, as his life poured out on the hospital bed and, eventually, the floor.

  Leon, his phone conversation over, walked back to gather Molly. In the gloom, he couldn’t see that the man in bed next to Molly had exsanguinated himself and she had taken care of the two drops of evidence on her own cheek

  "Sorry about that," he said as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. That spring still in his step, Leon pushed Molly toward the waiting room. She looked back for a moment at the man, but then turned. She couldn’t remember w
hat she was about to say. Was it important? Molly smiled, she liked these drugs. The bad stuff never really happened. She imagined it all. Every little thing.

  4

  Alan paced the waiting room. When the intern wheeled Molly in, Alan jumped to her side. He kissed the top of her head, not noticing the small, almost invisible, blood speckles on her cheek. He looked to the orderly and nodded.

  "I'll push from here."

  The orderly stepped back and put his hands in the air. "That's fine," he allowed, "but I still need to follow you out and get the chair. Not like we got one of those shopping cart things you can put it in."

  Alan didn't even hear him. He was just happy to see that Molly was okay but worried, terrified even, about explaining everything to her. He begged Tony to let him explain things. Tony only agreed to wait because of Molly's glossy consciousness.

  Alan wheeled Molly through the automatic doors toward their car. Leon strolled casually behind him, squinting as he looked up at the sunny sky and he let out a little grunt, shaking his head. Alan stopped the chair near the passenger door. Molly had her head down. She hadn't seen sunlight in three days. Alan walked around and opened the car door. He tried to work up a smile for Molly's sake, but it just wasn't working very well.

  "You ready to go home, sweetie?" She just looked at him. He took her right hand in his and wrapped his left arm behind her. "Come on, Molly. Let's get you up." He struggled to lift her from her wheelchair.

  The orderly just watched, offering no help. As soon as Molly was lifted from the seat, he pulled the chair back and started in toward the sliding hospital doors. As he turned, he reached into his pocket to grab his ringing phone.

  "I told this girl I'd call her later!" Leon called out, disappearing into the emergency room lobby.

  Alan slid Molly into the car seat. He stretched the seatbelt across her chest and buckled it without a word. As he backed up, they locked eyes for a moment. He attempted the smile once more, but failed again. Molly turned away as Alan backed his head out and closed the door.

  Alan started the car and pulled away. As they got down the road a bit, an upbeat song came on the radio. Neither he nor Molly really noticed the warbling singing competition reject croon about some random party. Molly looked off into the distance. Alan kept glancing over at her, each time cutting him to the quick. He couldn't mask it.

  She spoke softly. "I never heard him cry. I didn't hear him cry, Alan."

  He nodded slowly. "I know, sweetie. I know."

  Alan placed his hand on top of hers, which lay limply in her lap. She squeezed his fingertips as tears rolled down her cheeks. He felt his heart sink in his chest and all of the breath went out of him. He felt hollow. They continued quietly down the road while air in the car was thick with despair, despite the soundtrack.

  Alan pulled up to the front of the house. Monty was kneeling in his front lawn, pulling weeds. The neighbor noticed the car and stood up quickly. He adjusted his t-shirt in the back to cover his exposed skin and attempted a wave.

  Alan got out of the car, moving slowly with his head down. He looked up and made eye contact with Monty, who, despite his neighborhood reputation, looked concerned.

  "Everything okay, Al?"

  Alan shook his head slowly. Monty, unused to this type of compassion, wrung his hands before opening them toward Alan.

  "Anything I can do?"

  Alan shook his head again before responding. "No, but thank you."

  Monty nodded and stepped back from the car.

  Alan opened Molly's car door and helped her out. He held her around the waist and walked her to the front door. After fumbling with his keys for a few seconds, he turned the slightly sticky deadbolt and led her inside.

  Monty stood watching as the door closed behind them. He took his dirty and faded Detroit Tigers baseball cap off and rubbed a hand back across his thinning hair down to his neck, where he held it for a moment.

  “Poor kids,” he sighed as he flopped the cap back on and got back to the weeding.

  Inside the house, Alan locked the front door behind him. He helped Molly up the stairs, on step at a time, in complete silence. He tried to keep his eyes forward as he led her past the nursery to the master bedroom.

  He pushed the door to their bedroom open and sat Molly down on the bed. He fluffed, then propped a pillow up behind her head and pushed the hair out of her face. She looked up at him and, even in a drugged out haze, Molly’s baleful eyes tore at his heart.

  Alan kissed her gently on the forehead. "Come on. Let's get you comfortable."

  He unbuttoned her pants and slid them off carefully. She instinctively pulled her knees up to her chest. Successfully suppressing his own tears, Alan straightened her white t-shirt to cover Molly's back before dragging the top sheet and comforter up over her.

  "Need anything?"

  She shook her head slightly.

  "Okay, then. Get some rest."

  She nodded. Molly seemed to be moments away from tears. Alan wasn’t sure he could handle that just then and turned out the light as she pulled the blanket up tight over her shoulders. He kissed her once more, in the darkness, and walked out of the room and closed the door.

  Molly stared at the door for a few seconds before closing her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek as she took a deep breath, stuttering and hitching.

  5

  Alan walked down the hall. Molly had been sleeping since they had returned from the hospital. As he passed the nursery, he stopped in his tracks. He turned his head and looked into the sunlit room. All he could think about was what should have been happening that day. He should have been changing a diaper. He should have been mixing up formula. He should have been singing a song to his new baby son or daughter. He should have been a dad, but he wasn't. He walked into the room.

  His head floated around as he studied all of the unfinished decorating. It wasn't complete, he thought, just like my family. He shuffled over to the crib and lifted a small brown stuffed bear from the mattress. Leaning against the wall, Alan rubbed the fur on its belly absentmindedly, on auto pilot. He had been on auto pilot since he found out, but being in the nursery… this was something different. He had tried to keep a strong front, for Molly’s sake, but here, now, it was impossible.

  Alan felt his heart race and his breathing speed up. He slid down the wall as he sobbed heavily. He balled up and rocked back and forth. He pressed the bear up against his mouth and tried to quiet the episode; the last thing he needed was for Molly to hear him. The rocking quickened and intensified as he let everything out into the toy that was intended for his child. Alan rocked himself harder and harder until he eventually threw himself up onto his feet. He wiped the tears away onto his sleeve and stared down at the bear. It was wet with drool and snot. He wiped it off on his pant leg before gently placing it back in the crib and leaving the room. Alan shut the door to the nursery and had no plans on opening it anytime soon. He knew it would kill Molly to see it. Building up, layer on layer, the events of the past days hit him hard. For the first time in a long time, he needed a beer.

  ***

  In the bedroom, Molly sat up. She tried to sleep, but there was no use. She adjusted her pillow and reached for the television remote. As she picked it up off the nightstand, she studied the buttons, unsure of what to do. It was odd. Everything that was previously so familiar to her suddenly felt foreign and unwieldy. She felt off, and not just because of what happened at the hospital and not because of some strange pills. She hadn't been given pain medication in about twenty-two hours, or so. By the time she arrived home, Molly should have been thinking clearly… this wasn’t good.

  She turned the TV on and just stared. Some romantic comedy played on basic cable, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. She didn't care, really. It was just noise to her, a lame attempt at blocking out everything in her head. Molly's face crumpled as tears sprung from her eyes. Regardless of how cloudy things still were, the truth of the situation still nagged and tugged, ever pr
esent.

  Molly moaned, not in physical pain, but complete emotional anguish. Her baby was gone. Everything was gone. It was like the last nine months were for nothing. Planning, building, vitamins and classes and paint and all for nothing.

  She reached over and snatched up the cordless phone on bedside table. She worked through the tears and dialed. Molly pressed one button at a time, thinking, reaching for a number she'd known her whole life, yet struggling to remember it. She finished dialing and continued crying, her eyes shut tight. The ringing on the other end, as she clutched the phone to her chest, felt like it went on forever. Finally, someone answered. Molly pulled the phone to her ear and sniffled before speaking.

  "Mom? Mommy?"

  6

  Alan swung the door to the nursery open. He stood in the doorway with a can of cheap beer in his left hand. The old liquid courage kicked in, after three or four, and Alan couldn’t understand why he let a room, or even the crap in a room, scare him so. He lifted the beer and took a swig. In his right hand, Alan held a wrench and a ratcheting 8-in-1 stubby screwdriver with a medium Phillips head plugged into the tip. Another quick swig and he set his beer down on top of the unfinished changing table.

  Alan walked over to the crib, feeling the sadness start to overwhelm him again, but he choked it back. This had to be done. For Molly's sake. There was no way she'd be able to deal with any of this. He plugged the end of the screwdriver into the screw on the end of the crib. As he pulled the screw out of its socket, he looked into the crib.

  There was the bear, fur matted from Alan's tears. He picked up plush toy and held it to his chest for a moment. Finding the strength, he set the bear next to his beer and continued the dismantling process. Screw by screw, he pulled the crib apart. He set the small mattress against the wall. He set each side and end together and bundled them with cable ties. When he threw the box to the crib away, he never imagined that he would need to do this. He looked at the bundled pieces. Choking back the tears wasn't easy, but Alan got through it. Deep in his gut, he thought that this was a pain that no man should ever have to bear.