by Jade Eby
Red. Everywhere.
No. No, no no. This can't be happening. Whatever this is.
I push myself off the bed, though the cramping has increased to every few minutes. "Carter," I whisper in the dark.
No response.
"Carter." Louder.
He turns. "Hmm," he says.
"Wake up. I'm bleeding."
His eyes snap open and he turns on the lamp atop the bedside dresser.
"What the…"
I race toward the bathroom and leave the door open. "I woke up from the pain. Started bleeding. Something's wrong, Carter. This isn't supposed to happen."
Clenching my teeth together, another wave of pain rocks through my body and what passes through me is so much more than pain. It's my future slipping away from me.
I look into the watery bowl beneath me and cringe at the bloody clots staring back at me.
"Shit."
Carter has the sheets bundled in his arms. "What?"
"Too much blood. I need to go to the hospital."
His face goes ashen. "I'll get the car ready."
I change into a fresh pair of underwear and ratty clothing I've never cared about. The cramps are intensifying to the point of hardly being able to move. It's like every step I take is one step closer to my entire lower body being sawed in half.
Carter rushes in and scoops me up. Doesn't even wait for me to put shoes on. He loads me in the car and we're off.
I focus on the dim streetlights as we pass them by. I have to keep my attention elsewhere, not because of the pain or the blood or whatever's happening to me. But because I already know what the doctors will say when I get there. I already know that what I wanted most has been ripped from my body. Taken from me.
And there's no way to describe just how tired that makes me. How much I want to fall asleep and not wake up.
Carter pulls beneath the hospital awning and unloads me. Yells something to the nurse. Somewhere between Oakwood Drive and here, things started to spin. Things became a blur and I didn't care because I don't care about anything right now.
I close my eyes and the nurse shakes my arm. "Tawny, honey, you need to stay awake for me, okay?"
Grunting, I try to open my eyes, but they're too heavy. Like bricks weighing me down. "Can't…"
"She's going into shock," the nurse yells to someone and that's the last thing I hear.
* * *
I wake up to Carter's head on my chest. He's in what looks to be the most uncomfortable, hunched over position possible. It takes me a few seconds to figure out where I am. The wires hooked up to me, the smell of bleach and the white-washed walls do the trick though. They tell me exactly where I am.
I lift my hand up softly, hoping nothing comes loose. Carter stirs but doesn't lift his head up. He's always been a heavy sleeper. I run my hands across his buzz cut, let the prickles on my palm entertain me for the briefest of moments.
I'm not in pain but I'm also empty. Like something has been sucked out of me and I'm left to try and fill the hole. But it's impossible to fill a hole this gaping. A hole that is only meant to be filled by a wailing, wrinkly baby.
"You're awake," Carter says his head turned the side.
I nod. "Did I wake you up?"
He shakes his head. "I wasn't sleeping."
Even in the darkest moments, sometimes he knows exactly what to say. "That's why you were snoring, right?"
He gives me a half-assed grin. "How you feeling?"
I shrug. Even with Carter, I don't think I'm ready to talk about it. To tell him all the things that are going through my head. All the ways my heart has been crushed. I don't think he needs to hear them. I think he knows.
"I'm sorry," he says.
I start to cry and shake my head. "It's not your fault."
"It's not yours either," he says, squeezing my hand.
Using my free hand, I cover my face. How can I even begin to explain how much I blame myself. Had I eaten the wrong thing? Did I have a glass or two of alcohol before I knew I was pregnant? Is this punishment for hating my parents? For not wanting to even call them and tell them they were grandparents? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?
"We'll try again. The doctor said this sometimes happens with a first pregnancy…"
I look out the window at the brightening sky. Pink and purple paint the sky and I wish I could crawl right into a canvas like that.
A cleared throat comes from the other side of the room and I snap my head over. A man in a white jacket stands with his arms crossed.
"Tawny Brooks?"
I nod.
He shuts the door and pulls a chair over on the other side of me. "You've suffered a miscarriage, you passed the sac about two thirty this morning."
Hearing the words cross his lips makes me want to throw up.
"You were about ten weeks along, yes?"
I nod. I don't think I can formulate words right now.
"I know this is a very difficult time for you. But I want to assure you that it's very common for women to miscarry this early in their pregnancy."
Does he think that helps to know this? It doesn't make a damn thing easier.
"We want to keep you here for observation for a while and run a few tests. After we're sure you're good to go, you can leave, okay?"
"Is there anything we did wrong?" Carter asks. It's like he's reading my mind.
The doctor shakes his head. "No. It's also very common for parents to believe they did something wrong. Sometimes these things just happen."
Carter squeezes my hand. The doctor asks if we have any other questions. We don't, so he leaves us in peace.
We sit there in silence. There's so many things I want to say, but can't.
"This is not the end, Tawny. Nothing can stop us from having our family, okay? We'll try again."
I turn away from him so he can't see the tears cascading down my cheeks. How do I tell my husband, whose being so sweet and supportive that I don't know if I can do this again. That I'm not sure my heart can handle it? That maybe this was the only chance we had to make our perfect family a reality.
"I'm really tired," I tell him and lower myself beneath the covers. I close my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but here.
November - 2004
No one tells you what it's truly like to lose a baby. You can spend hours trying to look for the right answer. The one that tells you why it happened.
But it's like an endless bottle of sadness that never, ever seems to empty. It just keeps filling up until it topples right out, puking on everything in sight.
No one tells you that when a child dies inside of you, so does a piece of your heart. They don't tell you that it hurts to literally do everything because there's a giant gaping wound inside of you, trying to heal the best it can.
It cycles. The bad days. At first they were all bad days. But then it got a little bit better. I got out of bed, took a shower, made breakfast. The next day, I did a little bit more.
And then a package arrived with varying sizes of onesies and I fell all the way back down. Right there on the porch steps, I collapsed into a heaping ball of sobs.
That's where Carter found me sleeping, in the fetal position, when he got home.
Today, though, I don't even bother getting out of bed. I don't want to wash my hair, brush my teeth, cook, clean or… live.
I want to stay in this bed and cycle through baby names. Kenzie, Kelly, Stephanie, Brianna. Ryan, Adam, Brett and Dillon. I go through them in my head so many times, I can picture little scrunchy baby faces that go with each name.
I might be losing it, but at least Carter doesn't say that.
He comes home around noon and pops his head in the door.
"Must be a bad one?"
I nod.
He shakes his head. "Tawny, babe. You need to try to get over this. Things are not going to get better unless you try."
I flip over so I'm staring at the wall instead of his desperate pleading eyes to have h
is wife back.
He sits down on the bed and rubs my back.
"I love you, but this has to stop. I know you're hurting but we can get through this. I know we can. And I miss you. I miss having sex."
I snort. "Because sex is the most important thing in this world?"
"No, but it is a part of being normal. I'm a man. I have urges. I'm tired of whacking off in the shower."
"Oh golly. I'm sorry. I thought a child dying inside of me was a little bit more tiring than jerking off."
He sighs and stands up.
"I'm not going to fight with you. I'll see you later tonight."
"I'll probably be sleeping," I say.
"As if that's any different than the rest of the days this week," he says, closing the door behind him.
I know he's trying. He's hurt too. But he doesn't understand how it feels to have a living, breathing life taking form inside of you and then having it yanked away. Just gone. For no reason. The guilt and doubt and anger… sometimes it's just too much.
It's just all too much so, I climb in bed and do what I do best. Sleep.
January - 2005
I need something to take my mind off babies. And getting pregnant. And miscarriages. The two I've had are enough to occupy every part of my brain. I need something I can focus all my energy into so I don't have to think about all the ways I'm broken. All the ways we're broken.
I thought by now, I'd be healed. Or almost there. Every day though, I wake up to the same nightmare and vision of blood pooled between my legs. Every day, I think maybe it will be different. I'll feel somewhat normal. Put together.
It never happens.
Standing in the kitchen, I stir the crockpot chili and look out at the drab, gray sky. It's that time of year where nothing is ever sunny and bright or welcoming. It's only cold and various shades of blah. Time passes slowly. Tick, tick, tick.
Days stretch out before me like black holes of despair. They eat me up whole and spit me out right when something needs done. Washing, cleaning, cooking.
I sigh and add more paprika and pepper to the chili. I look over and the community college brochure peeks out from beneath the stack of bills. I should have tossed it by now. Letting it sit and stew in my mind is like playing with fire. Why dream about something that isn't going to happen? Why wish to be someone you're not?
What would college afford me anyway? I live in a nice neighborhood - maybe even as nice as Courtney and Grayson - and I don't work. I don't have to do shit but cook and clean and make sure Carter is happy. I didn't need college for that.
Setting the lid back on the chili, I pull the brochure out and flip through it.
Hundreds of classes in little bold and italic text.
Introduction to Anatomy. Hell no.
Statistics 101. Double hell no.
Bakery Basics. Interesting.
Basic Cake Decorating. Hmm.
International Pastries. Hell yeah.
I could go back for Hospitality Management. Cooking! Baking! Running a kitchen! How could Carter possibly argue with that logic? I already do it here at home. Why not on a larger scale? Why not bring in money doing something I'm good at?
I'm dangerously optimistic. I don't think Carter knew the kinds of things available at community colleges. Maybe he only thought about big universities and colleges that cost you an arm and leg to attend. He probably didn't realize there was something so perfectly suited to me only ten minutes away.
I pace the kitchen. This is exactly what I need. This is that something to take my mind of fbabies and fighting with Carter and being cooped up in this house all day, every day. I imagine myself bundled up in a coat walking to class, a bag strapped to my back, filled with school things. I missed out when I was in high school. I could've done better, but I was always focused on the wrong things. I wonder if it's too late to start focusing on the right?
* * *
"Absolutely not," Carter says, throwing down the college brochure.
"Why not? It's exactly what I need to take my mind off… our situation. It's a worthwhile degree, I can work literally anywhere. And it's something I love to do. I don't get it."
He takes a long pull from his beer bottle. "You don't need a degree. Plain and simple. It's a waste of fucking money. It doesn't grow on trees you know."
"Exactly. Wouldn't it be nice for me to bring in almost as much as you? I know people who run kitchens get paid well. We could double our income."
He laughs big guffaws, the kind that shake his body. He looks possessed. "That is rich. Really cute, actually. That you think you could bring in as much money as me. Even with a degree. Tawny, you don't live in the real world somedays. Honey, you might be able to bring in some cash, but it'll never be anything like I can bring in. That's why I told you I will take care of you. I know how to work my ass off and provide for us."
I throw up my hands and sigh. "I'm tired of being cooped up in this house all day. I'm tired of cleaning the same old shit and cooking the same old foods. I want to get out and do something for once. Be somebody. I'm tired of being a slave."
His face grows dark. "That's what you signed up for when you got married. Wifely duties. Or did you think it would just be one big fun game for you? Don't you care that I work so hard for you?"
I sigh. "Of course I do. I'm just saying it's not easy being here all day. Especially after…"
His face softens a bit. I think losing our baby was harder on him than he lets on. He'd never let me see how it affected him deep down, but it's the one area we don't fight on.
"I know that's been tough, but think of it this way. We're going to be trying again and I know you'll get pregnant and then what? Do you want to chance losing the baby again with the stress of school? What if you had to walk to class and slipped and fell and I wasn't there to help you?"
Goddammit. He's holding on to this belief that we'll get pregnant soon and everything will be better. Fixed.
He doesn't know that getting pregnant isn't an option until I decide it is. I took a bus to planned parenthood. Gave them a fake name and said I didn't have insurance. Got birth control. I knew he'd want to try again and I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready.
His hands wrap around my waist and his kiss is gentle, sweet. Even though he just assaulted my gender, my desires and dreams to be better, I can't help but feel relief at his touch. He's so touch and go. Moody, lately.
The gentle caress of his fingertips and the bitter taste of beer on his lips lifts me away from the moment. And as if the impossible was possible, I'm transported to a different time and place. I'm not in my kitchen kissing my husband. I'm in a crowded, smoky bar, drinking with friends. I'm at an outdoor concert singing words that don't belong to me. I'm on a blanket beneath a thousand stars on the beach.
I'm everywhere and nowhere and it's beautiful to pretend for just a single second that I'm not Tawny Brooks. I'm a young woman discovering life and beauty. I'm a girl without a history. Without a plan.
I'm simply me. Without the heartache of dead babies and a husband who beats her.
June - 2005
The bag of peas on my eye is cold as hell. I take it off and examine my eye in the hallway mirror. The edge of my socket and cheekbone are bluing. This one is going to be worse than the one I got a few months ago.
Fucking Carter.
I put the cold package back on the right side of my face. I wince at the bite of pain. He'll get home and see the evidence of what he's done and he'll be sorry.
He's always sorry.
I wonder what excuse I'll get this time. What make-up gift I'll get. Last time it was a white-gold bracelet.
The oven dings and I open it, waves of heat rolling out. The cake is almost done. I don't care what anyone says, cake makes everything better. Red velvet with buttercream frosting. I salivate just thinking about it.
I'm putting the bag of peas back into the freezer when the doorbell rings. I peek out the kitchen window and see Rose Williams, my neighbor standing at m
y door, a cup in her hands.
Fuck. I could pretend I'm not home? Try to slither away unnoticed? But she knows I'm home. I never leave the house. Tousling hair over my right eye and cheek, I pad to the front door.
When I open it, she gives me her classic old-woman smile. She's sweet, really. But she has the worst timing.
"Rose! What a pleasant surprise."
"Hello, dear. I'm so glad I caught you. I wasn't sure you'd be home."
Ha. You old kook. Of course you knew I'd be home.
"I'm here. What can I do for you?"
She jiggles her measuring cup. "I was wondering if I could bother you for a cup of sugar. I know what you're thinking… I'm old, I should always have sugar stocked up. I forgot to grab another bag at the grocery store last week and I'm neck deep in…" She waves her hands. "Listen to me babbling."
I give her a small laugh and open the door wider. "Come on in. Do you need cane or brown?"
She steps inside and takes a whiff. "Cane, please. Woowee. Smells like you got yourself something good baking."
"Red velvet cake," I say, guiding her to the kitchen.
"I didn't figure you for a baker."
I shrug. "Picked it up when we moved here. Wasn't much of a chef or baker before, but I'm learning."
"You sure are. Honey, is it alright if I rest my legs? It's hell getting old."
"Of course. Let me get you some sugar," I say, grabbing her measuring cup. "Would you like something to drink?" I open the fridge. "We've got juice, sweet tea and… beer."
"I can't turn down a glass of sweet tea."
Pouring her a glass, I'm careful to turn my good side to her. The side that isn't bruised to hell. She doesn't seem to notice. Yet.
I hand her the glass and go back to fill up her measuring cup.
"How old are you again?"
"Twenty three."
She laughs. "By God, you're a baby yet."
I'm not sure how to react to that. So I laugh.
"I don't mean that in a bad way. You seem much older than that."