Crazy Girl

by B. N. Toler

  Placing a firm hand on her leg to make her look at me, I met her stare. “That man loves you, ya know? He’s got something going on in his head and so do you, and you’re sitting here crying. That’s silly.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m being a baby.”

  “Deanna,” I growled. “Stop it. You can always cry to me. I just mean I know there’s a good reason for all this. Ask him, and tell him how his behavior is making you feel. Stop letting him off the hook because you don’t want to rock the boat.” When she took the cell from me, I added, “Don’t be afraid to battle for your man, even if that means having to kick him in the ass once in a while. Men need to be loved and supported just as much as they need to be called on their shit.”

  She bobbed her head twice before dialing up Allen. She sniffled a few times and cleared her throat to compose herself as it rang. I waited a moment to make sure Allen would answer.

  “Yes, I’m fine, and the baby is fine, too,” she said after a beat. Allen must’ve answered in a panic after seeing what time it was. “We need to talk,” she added.

  With that, I grabbed my own phone and one of the heavy white robes the B&B provided and left so they could talk in private. Taking a seat on one of the rockers outside, I closed my eyes and let the sting of the cool fall air nip at my cheeks. I hated to be cold, but that night I didn’t mind it so much. Again, I let my mind wonder off somewhere or to someone. Him. Always him. My manuscript was nearly finished, but I was at a standstill. I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was causing my writer’s block. Was it Wren’s absence—would I be able to finish the book without my muse? Was it the hurt I was feeling—how could I write a happily-ever-after when things had ended so badly between us?

  And the thing that worried me most was, I wasn’t sure I could.

  “Write what disturbs you, what you fear,

  what you have not been willing to speak about.

  Be willing to split open.”

  -Natalie Goldberg

  We were at breakfast the next morning, a delicious spread of eggs, bacon, and biscuits that the B&B provided for its guests in front of us.

  “I’m sorry Allen couldn’t make it, but I’m loving this,” I pointed out before shoving a fork full in my mouth. When I’d returned to the room the previous night, Deanna was calm. She didn’t give me many details, but she said they’d had a good talk. That made me happy. But when she woke this morning she’d been quiet; her brow had been slightly furrowed most of the morning as if she was worried about something.

  She gave me a slight smile with my little joke as she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her belly. She’d had two cups of coffee, which wasn’t like her, but I figured she had to be exhausted from the night before. But it seemed like there was more.

  “Deanna?” I said her name softly, placing my fork on my plate and swallowing. “What’s wrong?”

  Her gaze met mine, a frown capturing her features. “I think I’m just being paranoid.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t think the baby has moved since yesterday.” She shook her head. “I haven’t felt it move today, even after two cups of coffee.”

  “Then we should go to the hospital.”

  “I might just be overthinking it. I was stressed out last night.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I told her as I stood and pushed in my chair. “Better to get this checked out.”

  She nodded in agreement as she stood, fear and worry strewn across her face. After asking the owners of the B&B where the nearest hospital was, we left. She refused to let me call Allen, not wanting to worry him unless absolutely necessary. As we drove to the hospital, I squeezed her hand. “I’m sure everything is fine,” I assured her. And that was the truth, I truly thought everything would be fine.

  I was so very wrong.

  The nurse spoke to Deanna in a hushed voice, as if whispering to her would somehow soften the horror of this day. Deanna was despondent, numbly moving and following the directions that were given to her. I stood, on the ready, wanting to do whatever I could to help. Mostly, I held her hand, and from time to time I would bend and kiss her head.

  There was so much wrong with this day.

  How could life be this unfair?

  “You can wait until your husband arrives. There’s no rush,” the nurse told her.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Let’s get started.”

  “Deanna,” I gasped. “Allen would want to be here.”

  Looking up at me, her eyes held a certainty I’d never seen before; a cold strength that only happens when someone has been broken so badly the only choice they have is to be strong.

  “Hannah.” She squeezed my hand. “I need to do this before he gets here. I know my husband. This would break him.”

  I struggled, wanting to argue with her and insist she wait, wrestling back my sadness, refusing to let it take me down. I would be strong for my friend. If this was her choice, I would support her. I would be here for her.

  Once they’d given her the Pitocin to induce her into labor, they broke her water. The contractions came fast and with each one Deanna would rear back, stiffening her body as she fought the pain, her face twisting in agony. To my best friend’s credit, she held strong until the contractions were about two minutes apart.

  And then she sobbed.

  She was a raging body of hurt—not just physically. I wished my body possessed the ability to hold her, soothe her until the pain eased. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and I dabbed it with a cool washcloth. With each contraction, she’d squeeze my other hand and I’d squeeze back. I had no words. I had no idea what to say. All I could do was try my best to make her feel I was there because nothing I could have said would have made her feel any better.

  The nurse checked her again. Standing, her latex gloves popped as she pulled them off. “I’m going to page Dr. Rao and let her know you are ready.”

  “I’m going to try Allen one more time,” I informed her before grabbing my phone. I called him, but it went straight to voicemail. I’d spoken to him just after Deanna’s ultrasound in the emergency room. Just after I’d watched my dearest friend discover the life inside of her was lifeless. She also discovered it was a boy. When I’d told Allen, my heart squeezing, he’d been quiet.

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he’d spoken gruffly.

  That was twelve hours ago.

  When the doctor, a short woman with blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, came in and introduced herself, I tossed my phone back in my bag. Allen would be here. He had to be. I knew Deanna wanted to do it without him, but they needed each other now more than ever. After the doctor checked Deanna, she agreed it was time for her to start pushing.

  Deanna fell apart, her body racked with pain as she wailed. I pulled her head to my chest and held her as she sobbed, her warm tears soaking through my shirt. “My baby,” she croaked. “My beautiful baby.”

  I clenched my eyes closed where she couldn’t see, forbidding myself to cry, her anguish seeping into me.

  “Deanna,” Dr. Rao said softly. “The baby is crowning. It’s time to push.”

  Deanna’s hand clutched my arm as she pulled herself into my body, her head finding the crook of my neck and shoulder. “I can’t, Hannah. I can’t do this,” she rasped quietly. “I don’t want to see him dead. Not my baby.”

  My chest convulsed as I lost my battle and began to cry. My friend’s pain was choking me, and I’d have given my life in that moment to take it from her, to somehow give my life so her child would live and all would be right. I felt useless. The nurses and doctor kept speaking, but it was all white noise. She wasn’t listening, and neither was I. She was crippled by her pain and fear. I couldn’t blame her, not at all. But she had to do this, no matter how horrific it was. I blinked as I thought about what to say; my words had to be strong and assertive. I had to help her fight her pain and move forward. But how? Who was I to rally her for this war when I could barely conquer my own smal
l battles? I searched inside myself, for a voice, for an answer. And there he was; a flicker of thought that hit me almost as if he’d been in the dark part of my mind waiting for a pivotal moment to appear.

  Wren.

  I had hated so much of the way he was. I hated how iron rod he could be. But in that moment, as I thought about him and our times together, the things about himself he had shared with me, his beliefs and mindset, I realized what strength he had. He never froze in his pain or grief. He never wallowed in his setbacks. He took them on and went on, shouldering it. He never laid down in the face of difficulties. I finally saw it. I finally saw him.

  It took some strength, but I managed to pull her grip from my arm and put a little space between us. Her eyes were glossed, cheeks wet, face red. Her hair was stuck to her neck and forehead. Taking her face, I pressed my forehead to hers.

  “You can do this, sweetie,” I asserted, my voice low but firm. “It fucking sucks.”

  “I can’t,” she whimpered as she gripped my wrists.

  “Yes, you can. You can do this. You’re strong, Deanna. And I’m here with you, right beside you.”

  “My baby,” she whispered.

  Kissing her forehead, I inhaled a steady breath. “You’re going to deliver this baby. You’re going to give birth to your son.” Bending, I looked into her eyes. “And we’re going to clean him and dress him, and you’re going to hold him for every second you’re able to. You’re going to tell him his name and how much you love him.” I took a deep breath to steady myself, to stop the trembling of my lips. “You deserve that, and so does he, Deanna. That little boy deserves to be held by his mother. You have to do this for him, and for you. You have to push.”

  Releasing my wrists, she turned from me, taking one of my hands in hers. Her lips were pressed together as she attempted to contain her crying and she sniffled. She nodded a few times, letting me know she’d heard me; that she was ready.

  As she pushed, her groans of exertion would end on broken sobs. Everyone else in the room was quiet except for the doctor that kept telling her when to push and stop. There was some sniffling, and when I looked up, I realized a few of the nurses were weeping, too. It was the rawest moment of my life. A place where beauty and wonder met broken dreams and nightmares. I watched the world every day, I watched people; the way they moved and interacted. I sponged inspiration from reality, hoping to weave it into a story. I overwhelmed myself trying to lurch emotion in my work, to create a place for my readers where they could find beauty in tragedy. But nothing compared to the real thing.

  There was sadness. Oh God, there was sadness. But there was beauty, too. There, with my friend as she made her body give the world her most precious dream, her baby, knowing he was gone before he’d ever arrived. What strength. What aweing and inspiring strength that took.

  The way when he arrived the room was silent, lacking that banshee cry a newborn baby makes after its first breath. The way she held him and brushed her thumb over his fragile little hands. She was memorizing him. Soaking him in. Taking what little of him she could with her. As I stared at her, she gazed lovingly at him, the saddest smile capturing her features. The tears in her eyes had been fear and hurt before, now…now they were something else. Her heart was breaking, yet somehow she smiled because she knew this moment was precious, and she was grateful. Her tears were of gratitude. Pressing her lips to his forehead, she murmured quiet words to him.

  “You are so loved, little one,” she told him. “Thank you for being mine. I’m so sorry, my love.”

  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched them.

  “Deanna,” a hushed voice cut across the room, jerking our attention to it. It was Allen, standing, his feet seemingly cemented to the floor, as he stared at his wife and son. His expression was tortured, the hurt in his gaze was heavy. Deanna pressed on a soft smile, her eyes heavily glossed, as she reached out a hand to him.

  “Come and hold your son, Allen,” she rasped. His feet moved as if they were weighted, dragging as he walked. Just before he reached the bed, he fell to his knees and reached up a shaky hand, cupping his son’s head. And then he sobbed, pressing his forehead to his wife’s lap.

  And that’s when I saw it again. Beauty. Love. Kindness. My friend. My gorgeous, kind friend who had just given birth, held her lifeless baby boy in one arm, and used her free hand to comfort her husband. It was the kind of moment that slams into you; the kind of moment that changes everything. Wren had been right. If I didn’t allow people in, I wouldn’t be living. The kind of love and warmth I witnessed today was what sustained a person. I was weak, and I was hiding. I was a coward. Not one thing had happened to me that I could not overcome.

  Deanna glanced up at me and tilted her head. Jutting her chin toward the door, she frowned. She was asking me to go and felt bad for it. I nodded a few times in understanding before gathering my belongings. They needed to be alone with their child, as a family. Before I left, I quickly walked over to her and kissed her head. “You did good, mama. I’m so proud of you.”

  Looking up to me, she said, “Thank you for being my rock, Hannah. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Squeezing Allen’s shoulder, I told them I would check in with them tomorrow. I gave baby Justin a loving glance, my heart breaking for the little boy that deserved a long and happy life that was stolen from him.

  Then I left.

  When I got in my car, there was only one place I wanted to go. It was the only place I could go.

  Wren.

  I needed to see Wren.

  I didn’t stop once on my way to his place, even when my gas light came on. I was so full of sadness and fear. And shame. I had turned this man away, convinced he would only add to my hardships; break my heart. I didn’t want to feel that kind of hurt again. He’d called me a coward. He had been right. I’d let my past shame me into submission and because of that I’d never move forward or achieve anything great again unless I stopped it.

  My stomach flipped and nausea set in as I turned on his road. Showing up unannounced was guaranteed to be shocking to him after the way things were left between us. This would be no small cost of my pride either. What if he had guests over? I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he was entertaining another woman—the thought made me want to hurl. It had been months. If he was, what right did I have to have any feeling about it? I’d pushed him away. Another horrific thought added to the dizziness—what if he refused to speak with me? He’d done it before. Blatant rejection would probably crush me as much as if he had a date over.

  His truck wasn’t in the driveway. He wasn’t home. I parked and turned the engine off, chewing my lip nervously as I battled with myself. This was a terrible imposition. And it wasn’t fair to Wren. What would I say when he got here? I’m sorry I acted like an ass, please comfort me after this horrible day I’ve had? I’ll make more sense tomorrow, but for now I need you to hold me? Anxiety lodged in my throat as I realized I fled to Wren in need of comfort, but if he rejected me or I saw him with another woman, it would only sink me that much more. Yes, I wanted him to comfort me. But the why was what was most important. Support could be found anywhere. I needed it from him. From the person I loved. I wasn’t sure I could take it if he didn’t feel the same. I started my car, prepared to speed out of there, when headlights appeared.

  Wren was home.

  There was no backing out now.

  Feelings

  It had been a long day. I’d just driven one of our students to the airport. He’d failed our course that day. Once they failed, they were out. There were no second chances. Of course I didn’t like seeing a man fail. It sucked. But it was another one of those instances where I shut off the feeling valve. Failure was a part of life. It was where a person’s integrity and drive was tested. You could either fall apart, or you could take it, learn from it, and move forward a wiser man. Though I felt bad for this student, I had little tolerance for emotion. A grown man crying like a baby in the car for over an hou
r as I drove him to the airport was enough to make me lose my fucking mind.

  “Please. Isn’t there a way for me to get a second chance?” he’d dribbled, wiping snot from his nose with his arm.

  Many considered me emotionless; unfeeling. Especially when it came to my career as an instructor. But I simply stayed disconnected. My job wasn’t to coddle these people, or to be their friend. If they succeeded I wasn’t going to throw them a party and hand out trophies. The same theory applied if they failed—I wasn’t going to hold their hand and give out hugs. He’d failed. Hadn’t studied enough or shown the effort needed to make it. And now he wanted sympathy he didn’t deserve. He needed to toughen up and keep his shit together. He got so emotional at one point I pulled the car over.

  “You’re done. There are no second chances. If you can’t stop crying, get out and find another way to the airport.”

  He stared at me, wide-eyed and shocked. But I didn’t blink or stutter. He could either cut the pity party bullshit, or walk. Quickly, he’d wiped his wet face and bobbed his head once, letting me know he’d be quiet. To his credit, he didn’t make another peep the rest of the journey. Life had consequences. And you weren’t given shit you didn’t earn. People had a tendency to forget that. After I dropped him off, I took the long drive home, wanting nothing more than silence, a cold beer, and a hot shower. I was fucking exhausted. We’d been working outside all day, and I smelled as bad as I felt. So when I pulled in my driveway and Hannah’s car came into sight, I couldn’t say I was thrilled. I was far from being in the mood to deal with self-imposed drama, and she always seemed to be knee-deep in it. She reminded me of the guy I’d just disposed of. A person who didn’t own up to their participation to the shit shows they created. She was standing in front of my truck by the time I climbed out of it, her frail arms crossed, her shoulders bunched. She’d lost weight. I could tell by the slight hollowness of her cheeks. Her asking for things she didn’t give herself radiated off her stance. And I was too physically and mentally drained to do this song and dance. Not tonight. I realized I missed many things about her, but the drama wasn’t one of them.