Truth

by Brittany Chapman

  Steam leaked into my brain. I had known the answer before I had even asked. My mother was trying to isolate me.

  Chapter 33- Daffodil

  I started taking opportunities to go outside with the other people whenever allowed. The fence was three times taller than Mr. Marcus. The tips of every bar ended in a sharp spike.

  Everyone else threw balls or sat and talked on the grass in the small cage. I jogged around the square, at first feeling like a trapped animal, meant to be wild and fierce.

  Mr. Marcus believed that exercise was good for the soul. He helped me perfect my posture and pace, and helped me train my breathing.

  I watched what I ate more carefully. I drank the disgusting white cow's milk every morning, trying to chug it before I could taste it. I ate as many fruits and vegetables as I could.

  Dr. Burnt spent more time with me, asking about my diet and overall well-being. He made suggestions and lent me a few pregnancy books.

  I began to swell and people asked me every day if I was pregnant. Abby suggested I go ahead and tell everyone. They would all be gone soon anyway and there would be a fresh group of cattle taking their place, asking me the same questions.

  I worried they would know that the father was William. They would judge him.

  “I don't think many of the people who come in here keep up with the news. They don't say they recognize you anymore so it should be fine.”

  Her logic made sense and I started to admit I was pregnant. Mr. Allen and Mr. Marcus were on shift when I made the tentative announcement. Mr. Allen grinned as he scribbled something on the chart they always seemed to carry.

  The little boy in my belly started to move more, and soon I could even feel him with my hands on my womb. I called out for Abby the first time I felt it.

  She rushed from the bathroom in her panties, alarm on her face. “What's wrong?”

  I laughed, “Nothing. Come feel.”

  She placed her hands on my bump and marveled. “That’s so freaky,” she laughed in amazement. “What are you going to name him?” It was the stickiest question and always soured my mood, but she knew it was important.

  “Hugh,” I finally said aloud. I had known the moment I first thought it might be a boy that I wanted to name him Hugh.

  “His father's middle name,” her voice was full of understanding. She rubbed my belly and leaned over to speak to him. “Your name is Hugh and your crazy mommy loves you,” she grinned at me before singing, “but not as much as I do.”

  I bopped her with a pillow and she laughed. She blew Hugh a kiss and sauntered back to the shower, dropping her panties to the floor on the way.

  ✷✴✷

  When I reached my third trimester I had another doctor's appointment outside of the facility. Father came again. He looked worried when the doctor informed me I wasn't gaining enough weight. Though he was pacified by my response of a healthy diet and regular exercise, he still wanted to perform another ultrasound to check to fluid level in my uterus and the baby’s weight.

  Hugh was much bigger. I watched his sleeping shadow on the screen. I couldn't keep the silly grin from my face. Father wore an identical one. His tears were no longer filled with wonder, but sorrow instead.

  I couldn’t control my lips as they asked, “Who's taking him?”

  “I don't know.”

  I looked at the technician, the same one who had done my first ultrasound. She told me my son was healthy and I was discharged shortly after. I assumed after our last visit she was worried about what she might hear between us again.

  ✷✴✷

  Spring brought torrents of rain that constantly impeded my exercise. Everyone was stir crazy not being allowed fresh air. I talked to Dr. Burnt and he agreed that as long as I wore a parka and had supervision I could jog in the rain.

  Ms. Lucia disliked having to stand in the rain, wearing her clear parka, but she had grown affectionate towards me and I showed her my appreciation in little ways when I could.

  Mr. Marcus never minded. He would stand in the downpour, sometimes not even holding an umbrella, and cheer me on as I rounded the square repeatedly. He chastised me if I cut a corner too far or if he thought I was going too fast.

  One day he brought me an odd contraption of straps to wear around my stomach to support my large belly. It was uncomfortable at first, but all I had to support me were my slowly shrinking sweatpants that I had to wear low on my hips. Even my shirts were getting tighter.

  One afternoon when Mr. Marcus was outside with me an orderly leaned out into the rain, hollering for Mr. Marcus's attention. He held up a hand to tell me to stop and wait until I had his attention again. He turned to talk to the man for a moment before waving me over.

  When we stepped into the warm air in the cafeteria I realized it was visitation time. I stripped off my wet parka and Mr. Marcus took it. I was never allowed to take it to the rooms with me. Apparently it could be used to suffocate someone.

  I thought my exercise had been cut short due to weather warnings again but I hadn't heard the distant sirens.

  Instead I was pointed to a table and saw Father. My heart lifted and I rushed toward him.

  My feet stumbled as I tried to pull back, the momentum from my strides almost making me tumble over.

  Mother stared around with a look of disgust.

  I thought about refusing the visit, but decided to be mature. My love for Father was much more important than my anger toward Mother. I snuck up beside them and tapped Father on the shoulder. He stood and hugged me, crying out with joy

  I sat in front of them. Mother smiled at me with sick humor. She enjoyed watching her victims squirm.

  My chin lifted. I smirked at her, a silent battle waging between us. I turned at Father’s voice, “I'm glad they gave you your visitation back.”

  I spoke to Father but I watched Mother’s reaction. “They never took it away, but I’m glad to see you too, Father.”

  Mother swelled with anger as her eyes narrowed. Father stuttered for a moment before turning to her, “Elizabeth?”

  She forced a smile, making her face look almost plastic, “Earnest, she's been through so much. She's going to make up stories.” She waved her hand and looked away from us, Her spine a steel rod.

  I turned and waved Mr. Marcus over.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Why was my visitation revoked?” I asked innocently.

  “It wasn't,” his head cocked.

  Mother’s gaze snapped to him. “I guess they didn't inform all of the staff,” she spat out.

  I sucked in a breath as Mr. Marcus's muscular figure leaned over the table to speak discreetly to us. His body language was polite but his expression leaked disgust. “And you should know that all of our phone calls are monitored and recorded.”

  He turned on his heel and threw me a wink as he stalked away. My eyebrows lifted at Mother’s scarlet face.

  “I thought she wasn't allowed to make phone calls.”

  I had rarely heard Father angry, but the timber of his quiet voice reverberated. A hush fell over the room and people turned to gawk.

  Mother stood slowly, looming over me. “You have no idea the hell I will put you through.” She tried to keep her voice low, but the expressions of horror surrounding us told me that no one had misheard.

  “Elizabeth, go wait in the car,” Father refused to look at her. “Now.”

  She huffed and spun away, stomping like a child in a tantrum. “I am so sorry,” he hung his head in his hands.

  My anger didn’t wane in Mother’s absence like I had expected. I tried to remain kind in the face of Father’s ignorance. “You didn't know. She can be quite convincing.”

  He shook his head, “No, I keep having to apologize to you and she should be doing the same. I would try to divorce her, but she would get custody of you and the thought of you alone with her terrifies me. I don't want to give her another reason to be cruel to you.”

  I nodded, “Please don't leave her
. I think you're the sole comfort she gets these days from the hate that's poisoning her.”

  The bell rang out. Father’s face crumbled as he realized I had to leave. I stood as he stuttered, “But we’ve barely gotten to talk.”

  I leaned over the table and kissed him on his ever paling orange and white hair, the shiny bald spot growing with each time I saw him. “I love you, Father.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  When I was in my room I pulled out clean clothes, ready to shower. I turned at the sniffles coming from under Abby’s blankets.

  I sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed the blond curls peeking above the edge of her cover. “What happened?” I asked softly.

  “My birthday is soon.” She shoved the blanket and sat up, wiping her tears from her face.

  “Where are you going to go?” I was afraid she would live on the street.

  Apparently Lakeview used a government apartment in Memphis. She would have free housing for six months unless she went to college. In that instance she could stay for the duration of her education.

  “I've never had a friend before you. I don’t have a phone number to give you and they don't allow us to have contact with each other once we're released. It's in my contract.”

  I hugged her, knowing her pain. “We had a good run,” I tried to say.

  She laughed and pulled away, rubbing my independently swaying belly. “I'll miss you too, Hugh.”

  “When is your birthday?” I asked, wondering if I could make her a simple gift in the art room.

  She shook her head, “I'm not good at goodbyes. I'll slip away quietly like I always do,” her sad smile made me lean forward and kiss her tiny head.

  ✷✴✷

  Days later I woke to find Abby missing. I jumped up and ran frantically to throw open her drawers, all empty. Even her toothbrush was gone. I sat in the middle of her bed and cried as Mr. Allen called for room check. He poked his head in and watched me for a moment.

  “She's a special girl, Ruth. She has to go make other people laugh over inappropriate nonsense now.”

  Empathy and sincerity shone in his kind brown eyes. I nodded and wiped my face. I was used to being alone and knew her disappearance was inevitable. I had hoped for at least a bit more warning. I always ran out of time.

  Chapter 34- Peony

  Spring slipped into summer and though everyone else was comfortable in the air conditioned rooms I was miserable. The days scorched. I felt like a whale creating its own ocean with sweat.

  I started to swell in my ankles and feet. I had to walk instead of jog and felt like an old lady with my hands braced on my sore back as I waddled around. The toilet was my new best friend and often I wondered why I had so much puffiness. Even my cheeks seemed ready to burst.

  I read to my son often and talked to him so much that people wondered if I had a new personality disorder. I constantly rubbed my huge front and struggled to keep my t-shirt pulled down. Everyone wanted to touch my stomach. They squealed at the movements or watched my stomach wave back and forth in therapy.

  I was surprised by my own birthday speeding so close. I tried to ignore the nagging depression.

  Two days before my birthday I gave into the dysphoria. It was exactly a year ago that William and I first made love. It was the anniversary of the beginning of the end- the start of my most precious memories.

  It was almost impossible to survive, allowing myself to open that way. I promised myself to never do it again. I had to learn how to separate my soul from my body.

  My birthday was uneventful except for a visit from Father. He brought me a huge red velvet cupcake and I almost cried with joy. It was amazingly difficult to be pregnant and not get anything I desperately craved.

  I tore the moist cake down the middle, moaning with pleasure as I licked the mess of cream cheese icing from my fingers.

  Father thanked me but ate his half slowly. After I devoured my half he kindly gave me the rest of his. He mentioned how he didn’t think I was allowed birthday presents but I told him I didn't need any.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, gesturing to my huge stomach.

  I tried to swallow my mouthful of heaven. “Fine. He likes the cupcake.” He watched in amazement as my belly shoved itself around at a high tempo.

  “He'll be here soon, won't he?”

  I nodded. “Will I leave here after?” I didn't know if I wanted to. I hated the thought of returning and pretending like nothing had changed, like I hadn't changed.

  Father shook his head. “The doctors think you'll need some time coping after the adoption.”

  Suddenly the taste of the cupcake disgusted me. The texture felt like sandpaper. “She's going to make me give up my child.” The words slipped from my tongue, having had repressed them from my mind for so long.

  I tried not to show my anger toward him. I knew he was trying to protect me and William, but I needed my son protected more than anything or anyone else.

  From what I understood Mother had her hands in William’s cage. There was nothing any of us could do to drag her away. I was in my own cell but had made it my home.

  Father’s mouth moved as if trying to come up with an excuse for his weakness. I stared at the table, trying to keep my posture strong, poised, and my tears withheld.

  “Do you know yet, who is taking Hugh?” I asked,

  Father’s expression fell in shock. It was the first time I had told him my choice of a name. “I don't think I want to know. It would be too hard. It's going to be a closed adoption. They won't have any of our information, or we theirs.” He reached over and wiped a bit of icing from my hair. “It's the perfect name,” he whispered.

  I almost didn't ask but I had to know, “Has Mother told William?”

  “I don't know. I don't think she wants anything to do with him.” He watched me as I checked every muscle in his face and body, searching for a lie. He didn't know Mother was in contact with William.

  When we separated at the sound of the bell Father gave me his usual goodbye hug, with one last wish for me to have a happy birthday.

  As I sprawled out in bed that night, a small, sharp pang shot through my stomach. I cradled my belly and turned onto my side. I was almost asleep when I felt another one.

  I had been having Braxton-hicks contractions for weeks, but it felt different. I tried to breathe slowly. I wasn't ready to hand my son over to a stranger. I couldn't let go.

  “Wait, Hugh. Please wait. Mommy loves you too much.”

  I tried to sound comforting as I stroked my belly. The child seemed to understand and I spent what felt like hours stroking him, talking to him, and telling him stories of the life his father and I had lived.

  I had done so every night and often found myself repeating the same words. It was difficult to find a memory I could tell my child without sounding insane.

  His favorite always seemed to be the story of the white rose. It lulled us both to sleep that night.

  ✷✴✷

  The sun wasn't yet up when we all returned from breakfast to have our morning therapy. I realized how little attention I had been paying when my name was called by a staff member I didn't recognize.

  “Are you ok, Ruth?” her blotchy face was too close to mine.

  I tried to breathe through the contraction, not wanting to show a sign of labor. I nodded and introduced myself to the group.

  Her eyes were stuck on my stomach. My t-shirt pulled up with my muscles. Her voice was strained as she fought to appear calm. “Are you in pain?” she asked slowly.

  I wondered if she was a mother as she recognized the contraction. I couldn't hide it any longer. I nodded. “When did it start,” she asked, kneeling in front of me while pulling a stethoscope from her bag.

  “Now,” I lied.

  “Let me know whenever you have another. We have to get you to the hospital when they're a few minutes apart.” Her tone was full of comfort, trying to help me be brave. She must have thought I was afraid of labor.
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br />   There was no way to express the terror of knowing he was going to be stolen.

  There was no way to prepare myself.

  Chapter 35- Baby’s Breath

  Lunch passed as I tried to act normal. I watched the clock whenever I felt another contraction. Ten minutes apart. Every time the pain surged I wanted to cry out. Instead, I did what I could to control myself.

  I used a dull pencil and dug the lead into my skin. My nails clawed at my thighs. I bit my tongue until I thought it would disintegrate between my teeth and then I proceeded to bite my lip.

  Mr. Marcus was on duty that afternoon. When he saw the blood dripping from my mouth he raised the alarm.

  “I understand,” he told me gently. I glared at him.

  “Sure you do,” I snapped. I worried I had hurt his feelings but he laughed.

  “You're right.” He motioned for Lucia to run for help as he listened to my breathing. One hand held my wrist, his eyes glued on the clock while counting my pulse.

  Lucia returned with Dr. Burnt and several orderlies. One pushed a wheelchair.

  Before I could object I was lifted out of my seat. Dr. Burnt placed the hospital bag I had prepared a month before on my lap.

  Everything was happening too fast.

  We flew down the hallway. As the door was slammed open a rush of hot, fresh air tried to force us back into the building.

  I saw the omen of low, dark clouds against the sun and wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to protect Hugh and keep him with me for as long as possible.

  We arrived at the hospital in record time. I asked if my father had been notified. The nurse told me she had spoken with my mother.

  My stomach rolled. “What?”

  “I spoke with your mother,” she repeated impatiently. “They’re out of town but will be here as soon as possible.” Her tone was gentler as she continued, knowing what it meant.

  I would go through labor alone.

  “Your guardian is technically Mr. Marcus since he brought you in and you are under the care of the facility. I need to speak with him but he won't be allowed in the delivery room with you.”