| |
All through the coldest months of the year—January, February, and March—I learn the basics of nursing through my CNA class. I learn how to check a temperature using a plastic-sheathed thermometer placed under the tongue, how to check a pulse and measure a heart rate. I learn how to do CPR and how to properly do the Heimlich maneuver. I learn how to clean and dress wounds, and I learn that there is a correct way to use an ACE bandage, and it is not the way I always thought it was. We talked about blood flow and the venous and arterial systems of the body, and I learned more about human anatomy than what I thought there was to know. The last month I spend doing my hands-on training at the Odd Fellow Rebekah Extended Care Facility over on Hemlock. I pass my tests and realize that I really enjoy working with the people.
Two other girls from Life House took the class with me, and one girl who was from the sister house, Life Ways, for the girls who are learning to parent their babies. By the end of our shifts, our feet are swollen and our backs hurt, and we laugh at how old and fragile we seem, reminding me of my time with Cici. It is a happy three months, and the day of graduation, when we actually get to walk across the stage and get our certificates from the head of the school, makes me feel like maybe I am on a path after all. A good one.
***
After the ceremony the three of us from Life House go out to the Olive Garden to celebrate. Three pregnant teenage girls. We laugh and we talk and we order their chocolate cake for dessert and split one piece between us. It is a beautiful day with bright sun and clear skies. It’s cold, but in a dry, crisp way. I’m beginning to think that I’ll stay around the area after the baby is born, because I feel so at home here. We pile into Little Red and head back to the house, full and happy, proud of our wonderful accomplishment.
We make it to there, and I don’t even notice the little gray car sitting in the street with decals all along the back bumper. If I had noticed, I would not have come inside. I would have just driven past and on down the road. But I didn’t see the car, and when we come through the front door, Janice is standing in the hall, looking frantic and uncomfortable. She raises her eyebrows at me, and my legs suddenly feel like they want to run. “There’s a young man here,” she says in an almost whisper. My friends and I glance at each other, but Janice’s eyes are fixed on me. I look out the front glass and see the car. His car. Warren’s car.
“Warren?” I ask, my stomach dropping and his name slipping out of my mouth. He’s just one of the people in my life who slipped through the cracks, somebody that either left me or got left behind, but him showing up here is like a punch to the stomach. Heat rises in my cheeks. I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know if I’m angry because he left me or if I’m angry because he had something to do with my mother or if I’m angry because even now, all these months apart, I just want him to touch me.
Broken. I am broken. Whether Janice sees the stampeding emotions rushing across my face, she certainly knows that I am surprised. “Do you want to see him? You can go on up, and I can send him away.” She is turning, her hand on the door, ready to get rid of my unwanted, wanted guest.
“No. I need to see him,” I say. It may be the only chance I will ever have at understanding what happened that last week of my mother’s life. He knows something about it; he knows more about it than maybe anybody else.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.” She pauses. “Is he . . .?” She looks at my belly. I understand and nod. “Does he know?”
“No. Although he’s probably figured it out by now, considering . . .” I look around the Life House, and she nods, not getting my attempt at levity.
“I’m right here.” She squeezes my arm and makes way for me to open the door into the front parlor, where we celebrated Christmas, where the girls and I come to steal books to take back to our rooms.
“Thanks.” I smile and square myself to the door, aware of my girth, my protruding belly, the width of my hips, the sheer weight of my breasts. I pull the tail of my shirt down, trying to cover more of my heft. The knob slips around in my fingers until the latch finally releases, and I push the door open. He is sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands, thin, dressed in a t-shirt and a black jeans jacket. My heart completely skips a beat, and the blood in my veins slows to a purr. There you are, my soul says.
He rises to his feet, moving in a slow dream walk, his eyes moving from my face down my body and back again. He stops in front of me, and my belly is large between us, reaching out to touch him. Touch me, my body calls out. Don’t you dare, my mind hisses.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. His voice slips over his lips, drawing me to him.
I feel my body shifting, melting toward him, into him, and I pull myself back, standing straight and tall, looking at the bridge of his nose so I don’t see his mouth or his eyes. “You left me,” I say, funneling as much anger and cold into my tone as I can muster. It is still not enough.
“I’m sorry.” His hand touches the curve of my belly, low near my hip, and I shift out of his touch. “I got scared.”
“Yeah well, we’re all scared. That’s life.”
“I can explain.”
I make the mistake of looking in his eyes; his so much older than six months ago eyes. “Try,” I say. His hand touches me again and my body doesn’t move. His hands roll over the curve of my belly, and I feel her shift, her little fist pushing against his hand. I see it, the first light in his eyes at her motion. I see the melting in him, and then he is on his knees, his face pressing into my belly, his arms wrapped around me, his shoulders heaving.
Oh my God. I stand with my hands up, hovering above his head, while I try to understand what this is. This is him being broken. He’s crying. He’s sobbing. It is the worst thing he could possibly do, because the next thing I know, my hands are touching his hair, sliding down his shoulders drawing him up, folding him into me, small and broken, a bird out of his nest, his wings broken, his feet splayed.