Leap

by M. R. Joseph

“Then both of you come with me.” I grab Jocelyn’s hand and look to my parents as they cry and mouth to me they love me as I follow the doctor behind the large, heavy wooden doors. I have no idea what I’m going to see when I reach the other side. All I know is that I’m scared.

  CORRINE ~ PRESENT DAY

  I’m not feeling very well today. The pain is bad. I call to my mother over Haven’s old baby monitor to come to my room.

  She rushes into my room.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “It hurts. It really hurts today.” I cry like a baby. I’m ashamed and I feel so alone.

  “I’ll go get your pain pills and some juice. Be right back. Stay still.”

  I look up at the ceiling and all I can make out are two old glow-in-the-dark stars. The others don’t exist anymore. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t see them fully or that over time they’ve just disappeared.

  I want to wake up every day feeling normal. Not just some days. I want everything to go back to normal. But normal hasn’t been my life for a long time.

  Mom comes back with my pain meds, and I know I’ll be out soon even though I just woke up. There goes another day, wasted. I’m supposed to go to lunch with Lizzie. Tonight Haven was coming over for dinner, and we were going to play games.

  Stupid arms.

  Stupid legs.

  Stupid eyes.

  Stupid fucking everything.

  “I need to call Lizzie and cancel, and you and Jocelyn need to make up some kind of excuse to Haven. Tell her I had a photo shoot or something.” My frustration grows because I don’t want to miss out on the good because of the bad.

  “I’m not going to do that, Corrine.”

  My hand goes to my head, and I grab a fistful of my hair.

  “Why the fuck not, Mae?”

  My mother grabs my chin firmly and snaps me back to where I should be.

  She forces me to look at her. Her voice is strong, making me pay attention to her words.

  Respecting her.

  “I’m not going to lie to Haven because that child is constantly being lied to. She knows you’re not working. You told her you were on a long vacation. She’s not a stupid child, Corrine. We all think we’re protecting her from things. Bad things. Awful things. And we are, but with you, Corrine, I think because you have such a special bond she’ll see through all of it.”

  I chase the pills back with the glass of juice she gives me. It’s so cold. I can feel it roll down my throat to my stomach. Mom grabs my ice pack from my old, college-sized refrigerator that sits in the corner of my bedroom. She gently places it behind my neck and runs her hand delicately across the top of my head. Just like a mother’s touch, it eases me, and I relax a little. I close my eyes allowing a few tears to flow.

  “How can you get on my nerves so much, yet make me feel so safe and loved?”

  She laughs at me, leans down, and kisses my forehead.

  “Corrine, can I tell you a story?”

  I nod.

  “It’s because I’m a mom. The day Haven was born and you held her in your arms—even if you didn’t give birth to her—you became a mom. The moment you held her, you knew you would always keep her safe. You would always protect her. I saw it in your eyes.”

  I cry harder, and it’s not helping with my current condition.

  “That’s all I want. To keep her safe. I don’t want her to know evil or pain.”

  The creases in the corners of my mother’s eyes appear as she smiles warmly at me.

  “Corrine, that’s what moms do. They keep their children safe and try to keep them away from the bad and the evil. As soon as you were placed in my arms, the same exact thing happened to me.”

  I wipe away the salty-stinging tears from my eyes and get a grip.

  “I’m trying really hard. I don’t want to fail her. I never want to fail her. I just don’t know what I can handle anymore. I need him here. I miss him so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. I can’t handle the pain. Mentally and physically. I just … I just can’t.”

  My mother begins straightening out my pillows behind my head and adjusting the sheets and blanket draped across my body.

  “Baby, I believe God only gives us what we can handle. You’re the strongest person I know, Corrine. Even when you don’t think you are, you’re stronger than you know.” She kisses the top of my head once again and shuts off my bedside light. Closes the curtains so my room is dark and adjusts the small fan that sits beside me so the coolness it gives off helps the way I feel.

  “Now you sleep, my girl. You’ll feel better in a few hours. I’ll call Lizzie and tell her you’re not up to it, but I’m not canceling on Haven. You’re going to feel better later so you can have a fun night with your daughter.” I shut my eyes and feel my pills beginning to take effect, and I think about what my mother just told me. Since our eyes met that day, Haven was mine. I was going to be her mother, and I didn’t even know it.

  AUGUST 6TH, 2004

  The doors shut behind Jocelyn and me and we follow the doctor to the NICU. We are told to wash up and put these long, paper gowns on.

  We enter the room and see that Mack’s back is to us.

  “Mack?” I address him softly.

  He turns around; his eyes are red and tear-soaked. Mack steps aside and I see a clear, plastic box with a two holes in the side of it. And then I see her.

  When he meets my eyes, he smiles and sniffs back a sob.

  “Look what I made.”

  Jocelyn and I make our way over to him and peek into the box.

  Her face is round and soft like a cherub. Pinkish and wrinkly. Her eyes are closed and her chests rises and falls with each breath she takes. A few wires are hooked up to her chest and the sound of beeping and machines can be heard. She’s so tiny. Probably the tiniest thing I’ve ever seen, I bite my lip and wonder how something so small can survive in this gigantic world.

  Jocelyn gasps and covers her mouth. “Look how beautiful she is.” She says. Then instant tears, instant love, instant devotion is seen. And I’m not only talking about Jocelyn. I look at Mack and see so much of the same in his eyes. He smiles, but there’s pain behind them. I don’t want to ask about the details of the last hour. I don’t want to ask what’s going to happen to this baby’s drug-addicted mother. I want to watch him look at all of this instant love, and I never want to forget it.

  I don’t hug Mack. I don’t touch him. I just watch the tiny baby inside the clear box. Jocelyn is able to put her hands inside the two holes and touch the baby’s hand. She strokes the little fingers on her hand and Jocelyn talks to her through the hard, plastic shell.

  Moments go by and Jocelyn announces she needs to use the restroom. Mack tells me he’s going to show Jocelyn where it is, so now it’s just this baby and me. So I stare.

  And stare.

  And stare.

  I place my hands through the holes and I gently touch her face.

  She looks exactly like Mack. Same nose, same mouth. Her eyes remain shut so I can’t tell if they look like Mack’s. They fluttered open a short time ago, but not long enough to get a good look at them. As Mack walks back into the room a doctor stops him and asks if he can speak to him. Mack looks to me as to say, you good with her? I motion my chin up towards him to go. I got this.

  And now it’s just this unbelievable creature and me. Her eyes begin to flutter open and my jaw drops because it’s all I want to see. I want to see her eyes. I coax her to open them wide. I continue to rub her tiny cheek with my fingertip.

  “Come on, baby girl. That’s it. Open up those eyes, precious.”

  She does and she looks directly at me and I continue to talk to her and now she’s the one staring at me. I feel a tear drift down my face because they are Mack’s eyes. She’s him. She’s all him. And we look at each other. The moment is brief, but it happens. Then her eyes close once again.

  “Hello there, little one. I’m Corrine. But you can call me Rinny. Even though your daddy says he�
�s the only one who is allowed to call me that, I think we can make an exception.” She squirms a little and lets out a small cry. I hush her softly.

  “No, no, precious. It’s okay. Shhh … Rinny’s here. I’ll keep you safe. I have a lot to show you, and teach you so you have to be strong. You have to grow strong and like me and your dad, we’ll be best friends.” She’s the promise of hope and love and miracles. This tiny baby has so much to look forward to. I know deep inside—with every fiber of my being that I will love her forever. Just as much as I love her dad.

  I hear a clearing of someone’s throat, and I look up to see Mack, my mom, dad, and Jocelyn. They just stare at me. Staring is the name of the game today.

  “What’s everyone gawking at? Hasn’t anyone ever seen someone talk to a baby before?”

  Mack turns his head back and forth.

  “Not like that, Rinny. Not like that.”

  Love is instant; love is constant. When life is put in your arms, you know what true love is.

  A few days have passed since the birth of Mack’s baby girl. I haven’t left the hospital. I haven’t left Mack’s side. I don’t plan on it either. The baby is sick. There’s something wrong with her. She won’t eat. She cries all the time. She’s small and weak. And it’s all her mother’s fault.

  Veronica is on life support. She’s not going to make it.

  Good.

  I know that sounds disgusting, but what’s more disgusting is the fact that she was shooting heroin into the veins in her feet for months. Reason for the feet? So no one would see the track marks on her arms. She lied so many times about her doctor’s appointments and any prenatal care after her second trimester. The last time she shot up put her into labor and made her heart stop. The ruptured placenta didn’t help either. Her mother found her on the floor in a pool of blood. We haven’t found out all the details of how this came to happen, when Veronica started with the drugs, and how her mother couldn’t have known. So now there’s this precious, four-pound preemie baby girl in the NICU with what the doctors call NAS. Neonatal abstinence syndrome. This happens when the mother takes drugs during pregnancy. The baby becomes addicted as well and now this miracle, this gift is going through drug withdrawal.

  Mack is a mess. He looks a mess. He won’t talk or eat. So many times he has wanted to go to the ICU where Veronica is. I’m afraid of what he would do or how he would act. Why he would want to see her is beyond me. I feel no sympathy. I feel nothing for her. What she has done—it’s unforgivable.

  The baby has a tube going up her nose down to her belly so she gets proper nourishment. They are giving her medicine to help with the withdrawal process. It’s killing him. It hurts to see him hurt.

  I’ve convinced him to go to the cafeteria with me to at least grab coffee. I’m the one who does the talking. Mack just gives one-word answers or head nods.

  “You need to shave. I’m not sure the lumberjack look works for you.” I’m trying to make things light, but he just stares into space. I change the subject by reaching in my bag and pulling out a baby name book.

  I place it on the table in front of us and flip to the girls’ names. He looks down at the book, then to me with an unreadable expression.

  “She can’t be Baby Cooper forever, Mack.”

  Rubbing his way overgrown stubble, he struggles to get out words that are within him.

  “I can’t name her. Not yet. What if she …” He looks away from me and, being who I am, I finish his sentences like I always do.

  “Die, Mack? What if she dies?” His shoulders drop, and he closes his eyes as though the overwhelming thought of it makes him feel defeated. But he can’t feel that way.

  I grab his hand and run my thumb over it. He shifts back and forth in his chair but allows me to touch him.

  “Hey, Mack, look at me.” He quivers out his breaths. Tears fill his eyes, and I need him to look at me so I can reassure him that everything will be okay. Even though I’m not so sure myself.

  “She needs a name, Mack. You’re her dad and always will be. No matter what, this is up to you. It’s also up to you not to give up hope. She’s a fighter. I can tell. She’s like you, Mack. She’s strong.” Mack pulls his hand away from mine and uses it to swipe the fresh tears that slide down his cheeks. He slams his back against the chair and looks embarrassed for crying.

  “I’m not strong, Rinny. I didn’t expect all of this. I don’t know how I can face it if something is wrong with her, or if she dies. I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle it. That’s my kid in there.”

  My own chest aches with the pain he feels; when he hurts I hurt. Why? Because I love him. I love with him with everything that I’m made of.

  I make my way to his side of the table and sit beside him. I carefully grab his face so he turns towards me. I meet his wet, reddened eyes, and give him a tight smile. He looks at me blankly, but at least he looks at me. My hand remains on his face. I’m not used to feeling the ruggedness of his stubble, and I’m not used to looking into his eyes and seeing anguish.

  “You listen to me, MacIntyre Cooper. I don’t know a stronger person than you. I don’t know a braver one, either. The reality is, yes—that little baby’s mother is going to die and you are what she’ll have left. But something good will come out of it. You’ll be her hero and her protector. She’s a lucky girl because of that. Never doubt yourself about what you can and can’t do.” He continues to well up, and he takes in deep, steady breaths. Our eye contact doesn’t break, and I’m thankful for that. It means he’s listening to me and, right here and now, I make a decision. The biggest, most spontaneous decision anyone can make. Not because I love him, but because I love her as well.

  “I’ll help you, Mack.” He furrows his brows and looks at me confused.

  “I’ll help you raise her, Mack. I’ll do it with you. We’ll do it together.”

  He glances around the room looking for another answer floating around in the air. When he looks back at me with those eyes I have grown to love, a sudden look of relief is evident. I reach up and touch his scar. This time, it’s not because I’m sorry for something I did to him, but because I’m sorry he’s in pain and I want to take it away. I want to take away all the worry. I know I can’t do it, but I can make him aware that I’m here. As long as I live I won’t leave him. I won’t leave her. Silence falls between us and then, unexpectedly, his head falls onto my knees and he grabs my legs and sobs. I stroke the back of his hair and neck and let him weep. Words couldn’t make him stop crying, or ease his pain. Through his tears, all I know is that each one that falls represents the acceptance that I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.

  Two weeks have gone by. There’s been no change in Veronica’s condition. The doctors told her mother that the only thing keeping her alive is the breathing tube down her throat. It’s taken a lot of convincing from doctors and psychiatrists that Veronica’s mother should give up hope of her daughter surviving. Mack still hasn’t seen her, but now that today is the day they’re taking her off life support, I think he should.

  When he goes, he takes a picture of their daughter with him.

  I sit with Mack in the family waiting room, which we usually occupy. The baby is doing better than expected. She’s off the feeding tube and accepting formula that the nurses in the NICU give her. She gained a few ounces as well. Mack gets to hold her for a few minutes a few times a day. He rocks her and the nurses showed him how to swaddle her. From the research I’ve done on the NAS, swaddling and close contact help with the recovery of a baby coming off withdrawal.

  “Mack, I think it’s the right choice. I know she can’t see her but I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  His elbows are perched on his knees and his foot taps nervously.

  “I don’t know, Rinny. She doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I agree; I also think it’s the right thing to do. You’re a better person. She’s still her mother.”

  Mack looks at me with great skepticism
. I just wink at him and nod.

  He goes to Veronica’s room. Grace is sitting by her bedside. Rosary beads in one hand and the bible in the other. She chants a prayer and rocks as her eyes are tightly closed.

  A nurse follows us in.

  “Mrs. Matthews?” Grace opens her eyes and looks towards the doctor and the social worker standing beside him. Mack and I stand in the entrance of the room and allow the doctor and the social worker to say what they need to say.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask.

  He stares down at the picture of the baby and shakes his head. “No, just sad.”

  The doctor and the caseworker escort a crying Mrs. Matthews out. She eyes Mack and me and cries harder when she does. She’s about to lose her daughter. I get it. I do. I can’t imagine losing a child, especially like this.

  Mack wanted me to be with him when he went to see Veronica. I didn’t want to come. I thought it should be just him. He told me he needed me.

  We go in the room. It’s quiet except for the slight beeping noises coming from the machines attached to Veronica keeping her alive.

  Her face and hands are swollen. Her eyes are sunken in and the skin around them appears gray. Her messy and dirty hair is spread out around the pillow. The dark roots of her dyed hair show through. The tube that comes out of her mouth is whitish color and taped to her skin. It all looks so odd and Mack can barely look at her. I don’t sit. I lean my back against the wall at the foot of her bed. Mack looks so perplexed

  He pulls a chair up to the side of Veronica’s bed and sits. He looks so uneasy. I can see him continuously swallowing, shifting in his chair, and clearing his throat. It seems like hours go by but really it’s only been minutes.

  “Mack?” He looks up to me as I say his name. He scoots the chair even closer to Veronica’s bed

  Mack holds the picture of the baby in front of her; fully knowing she can’t see it but it seems to bring him some comfort.

  “Veronica, this is your daughter. She’s tiny, she’s still weak, but she’s a fighter. She’s going to be okay. I want you to know that I will take good care of her. She is my life now. Her whole life will be in my hands and I’m okay with that. Not that you’re leaving me with a choice anyway. Even if you were okay, this child would still be my whole life. I’m sorry you won’t be able to see her grow. I’m sorry you won’t be there for her firsts. I’m sorry you won’t get to see her walk down the aisle.” Mack’s voice starts to crack and tears fall. He quickly regains his composure.