Girl in the Song

by Chrissy Cymbala Toledo

“I know, Mom. Isn’t she?” I replied with childlike wonder.

  Tears were welling up in Mom’s eyes. She quickly turned away when she realized that I was watching her. Walking over to the window, she seemed to collect herself. I caught a pained look crossing her face.

  The nurse came back in again with the paperwork for the birth certificate and handed it to me. As she began to give me further instructions, Mom hastily came back over to the bed. Wrapping her hands around my face, she drew me close and pressed a kiss into my hair.

  Her voice broke as she whispered, “I love you, Chrissy.” And then with a pleading tone, she said, “Please call Dad and me as soon as you’re discharged from the hospital, okay?” And then she was gone.

  Something told me that she needed to leave because she was going to completely break down. I could picture her rushing through the halls of the hospital trying to race to the security of her car, where she could let all of her emotions out.

  The nurse had been watching the whole exchange and now lowered her eyes back to the paperwork. “I’ll just give you some time to finish this up, and I’ll come to put the baby down in about an hour.”

  My discharge from the hospital crept up on me without me realizing it would actually happen. I was so caught up in the euphoria of giving birth that I forgot about the fact that I had to leave. Opening the bathroom door, I snapped shut my makeup case and eyed my overnight bag in the corner of the room. As I picked it up and laid it on the bed, I stood there, preparing myself to face my old clothes with my new body. With some reluctance, I unzipped my bag and pulled out the outfit I had packed, my favorite jeans and a semifitted shirt. I dreaded what came next: Would I fit into them now? And how would I look?

  Slowly, I slipped one leg and then the other into the jeans, pulled them up, and zipped them effortlessly. I was ecstatic; I couldn’t believe how easily I fit into my regular clothes! I walked over to the mirror and did a slow turn. The hospital scale next to the door beckoned me. “Come on over here . . . You know you want to.” I hurried over and stepped up, adjusting the balancing weights on the bars. Each time I moved the balance down a notch, the smile on my face widened: 118 pounds!

  Suddenly, it was the old me again. No more hiding my belly and no more struggling to find something concealing to wear.

  I imagined myself walking in Greenwich Village with Jaye, once again dressed to perfection, with all eyes on me. I stepped off the scale and went back over to the mirror. It had been a long time since I had done a 360 and felt this good. My body actually looked better in my opinion. It seemed more womanly and curvy.

  Perhaps he will look at me with fresh eyes because I am even more appealing with this new body. At that moment, I felt like a switch flipped inside me, my focus changing from motherhood back to Jaye. I was desperate to capture and keep his affections. My longings for Jaye consumed me once again.

  A brisk knock on the door snapped me out of my daydream. A social worker walked into my room with a small stack of papers in one hand and the other extended toward me in a greeting.

  “Hello, Chrissy, I am the baby’s caseworker. I wanted to go over some final details before you leave.”

  I began arranging things in my overnight bag, trying to distract myself with something. It was unlike me to not make eye contact with someone who was speaking to me. But this time I couldn’t bring myself to do it; being polite did not take precedence at the moment. I began to play with the zipper on the bag, mindlessly pulling it back and forth. I could feel her getting closer to me, but she didn’t force herself on me, and I was glad.

  Her voice softened, in what seemed like an effort to defuse the tension. “We have a really special family prepared to pick up the baby in about an hour. It’s a great placement, Chrissy.” She paused, giving me a chance to respond.

  I didn’t say anything.

  After a minute or two, she came around the bed and gently grasped my arm to try to connect with me.

  “Chrissy?”

  I continued to avoid her eyes and slightly turned to stare at the hands holding my arm.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, the concern rising in her voice. “Listen. It’s my responsibility to ask you again. You seem uncertain. Are you still sure you want to put your baby in foster care? It’s not too late to stop the process if you’ve changed your mind.”

  When Jaye came for the delivery, I was secretly hoping that he would have a solution. That he was going to say, “Let’s keep the baby. I have an apartment for us.” But he didn’t.

  My mind was swirling with all the reasons that had initially convinced me to sign the papers. I won’t be able to handle this. I have no money and can’t take care of her. Then another reality struck me. How do I tell my parents that I need their help, because clearly Jaye isn’t going to help me? Resigned, I looked at her for the first time. “Yes. I am sure. I understand everything you said.” I picked up some more items and put them in my bag. She looked at me for another moment and quietly walked out of the room.

  A short time later I stood in front of the hospital, waiting for the Hanleys to pick me up. As a warm breeze rustled my hair, I stared at nothing in particular. I had reached a crossroads and chosen the path that seemed best. I simply shut down my feelings and walked away.

  THE HEAT OF THE SUN PENETRATED the scratchy bedspread I pulled over my head to block out the light. With my body curled in a tight ball facing the wall, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mrs. Hanley hadn’t warned me. Every part of me hurt. My heart ached as if it had been ripped out and battered, over and over. My body throbbed, as though I could still feel the pain of delivery that most mothers forget with their baby beside them. My chest felt like I was being pressed into the bed and I couldn’t breathe. My breath escaped between broken cries, but I didn’t want to breathe because I didn’t want to live anymore. No one told me that these would be the darkest days of my life.

  It had been three days since I had been discharged from the hospital. I managed to numb myself to the most difficult thing I’d ever had to do. Even though living in denial was something I had gotten really good at, it started to wear off the moment I got back to the Hanleys’ house. They told me I could remain at the home until I could figure out what I wanted to do next—I guess that was nice of them. Lying in the same bed that was assigned to me the day I arrived, I suffered alone while my baby was in someone else’s arms.

  The bedroom became an isolated cave where I hid away because I couldn’t bear being around people and I certainly didn’t want to talk about anything. Besides, there was nothing to talk about. I had made the decision in the first place because I couldn’t decide how I felt about giving up my baby for adoption and needed time to think. The Hanleys are downstairs probably thinking that I’m resting, giving my body a chance to recover and doing some soul-searching. I wasn’t doing any of those things. For the past three days, from sunup to sundown, I had been upstairs suffering, as if I were mourning my baby’s death.

  And then I just knew . . .

  I went running down the stairs, the decision made. I didn’t have anything actually figured out, but it didn’t matter. My daughter belonged with me, in my arms—immediately. Every girl in the home, including me, knew that they couldn’t live there with their babies. But I would sort that out later. Right now, the best thing for Susie was to be with me.

  When I told Mrs. Hanley what I planned to do, her response seemed emotionless. We were alone, sitting across from each other at the dining room table. I leaned in closer to her, my voice shaking. “I know you may think this is crazy because I don’t know how to do this, but you have to understand—I have no choice!”

  Mrs. Hanley pulled back from the table and sucked in her breath, as if she were trying to stop herself from saying what she really wanted to say. Then in a gentle voice, she replied, “Chrissy, when was the last time you talked to your parents? Don’t you think you should call them? Girls come through this place from such difficult situations—no family, no support. But you .
. . you have an incredible family who loves you. They want to—”

  I cut her off. “I’m not going to do that. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Without delaying another moment, I ran up to my room to begin packing. I grabbed my suitcase and tossed it on the bed. The few things I had brought with me when I first came two months before were in the bottom drawer of the worn dresser that Lane and I had shared. Grabbing what was there, I threw it into the open suitcase along with the items that hung in the closet. It felt good to be leaving, and although I would never forget that room because of the nightmare of the last three days, it was also the room where I had first felt my labor pains.

  Placing my makeup case and hair supplies on top of the packed clothes, I looked at the clock sitting on the bedside table. A flashback of that first moment of labor came to me. It had been 4:23 a.m. when I had felt that first twinge, never expecting it to be “the one” since it was eight days before my due date. I remembered being kind of afraid, yet feeling like I was going to be a hero of sorts very soon just because I would be delivering a baby. Now my job was to be a hero, to rescue and reclaim my daughter. I slammed the suitcase shut and snatched it up. Leaving the room a mess, I bolted down the stairs.

  “Mrs. Hanley!” I called out. “Mrs. Hanley, I’m ready!” I was frantic to get in the car and leave. I saw Mr. Hanley sitting at the kitchen table. “Where is she?” I pleaded, trying to catch my breath.

  “She’s already in the car, Chrissy,” he said, the worry on his face evident. Dashing past him without a good-bye, I headed for the front door and swung it open. Thunk . . . thunk . . . thunk. I dragged my suitcase behind me down the porch steps and across the lawn and dirt road to the station wagon. I tossed my suitcase in the back, jumped in the passenger seat, and yanked the car door shut. The look on my face must have been enough of a signal to Mrs. Hanley to step hard on the gas pedal. As the tires kicked up a cloud of dust, she said nothing and I said nothing.

  We were silent for the next half hour before pulling up to what appeared to have once been a large, stately brick farmhouse. Not waiting for Mrs. Hanley, I raced up the front steps and knocked on the edge of the worn screen door. An older, simply dressed woman appeared and with one look at my face, stepped back to let me in. She pointed to a room off the main entryway, with the door slightly ajar. I hurried in, barely noticing the gaudy pink paint and the shabby crib that held the most precious thing to me: my baby. I gasped as her beautiful eyes stared up at me. At that moment, I was enraptured, in total bliss. Yet an uneasy feeling surfaced: If I didn’t immediately escape with her, she might be taken from me. I lifted her out of the crib, put her face against my chest, and quickly left. By the time Mrs. Hanley walked out of the house, Susie and I were already settled in the backseat of the car.

  Once again Mrs. Hanley said nothing and I said nothing. After a few minutes, though, I noticed her glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I didn’t want to talk to her about the next steps or even how I was feeling at that moment. Perhaps attempting to fill the awkward silence, she turned on the radio. As the music played and the car rocked over the uneven dirt road, my baby’s eyelids became heavy and she blinked slower and slower until she was lulled to sleep.

  I stared at her and began sobbing silently. At first, they were tears of joy that came from the too-good-to-be-true feeling that we were together again and that she was all mine. But they slowly turned into sorrow-filled tears as I began to feel like I was suffocating. I became plagued with thoughts of how I had treated her to this point, how helpless she was, how much she depended on me, and how weak a person I was. I loved Susie so much and was desperate for her to understand the depth of all I felt for her. But part of me knew that if she were old enough to understand, she could wonder: Does my mom really love me? She tried to give me away—would she do it again? Why did she conceal me for all those months? Was she ashamed of me?

  Getting hold of my emotions before I beat myself up any more, I quietly murmured, “I can do this.” My resolve was so strong and I felt laser focused, determined to make everything up to her. With Jaye or without Jaye, I knew I couldn’t live without her. But I also knew that I wanted Jaye. I was convinced that he was the one who was supposed to love not just me, but our daughter.

  Ever since I had been a little girl, I had imagined belonging to a man one day, and Jaye became that man. I gave him my heart and I gave him my body and now we had a child together. Even though I knew I did a lot of things wrong, why couldn’t my dream still come true? Why shouldn’t this work out, and why shouldn’t we try? Why should I just walk away?

  “Chrissy?” Mrs. Hanley raised her voice over the music, interrupting my thoughts. “Chrissy, dear, where exactly am I taking you?” She started talking as if she couldn’t help herself. “I . . . I really do wish I could take you, well, both of you, but . . . I . . .”

  Suddenly, she stopped and her expression closed up. “So where does Lane live now?”

  I pulled a tiny address book from my purse and rattled off the address of my former roommate. When I had called her that morning, explaining what had gone on at the hospital and over the last few days, Lane had invited me to stay with her for a little while until I could get back to Jaye.

  Lane didn’t have much but she generously made room for Susie and me in her tiny apartment. Her boyfriend was supporting her so she couldn’t really help me financially. She did whatever she could to make life a little easier for me, such as driving me to appointments and to the grocery store. Jaye visited me and the baby during the couple of months I was with Lane and would stay a few nights. Each time he returned to Brooklyn, he left me lonelier than the time before.

  The weather was dismal and the gray of the sky was drizzling into my heart. Lane pulled her beat-up car into an empty space at Tops Friendly Market and parked. It had been two weeks since Jaye’s most recent visit, and before we headed inside the store, she broached the subject. “So, Chris, I was wondering what your plans are. I mean, when did you say Jaye is going to get a place for you?”

  Without hesitation I replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I know I said I’d be gone by now. Jaye didn’t exactly say he was getting a place for me, but don’t worry. I was actually thinking of heading back to New York City in the next few days.”

  “It’s not that I’m trying to rush you, Chrissy, it’s just that I have company coming and . . .” I could tell she was flustered and a little embarrassed about asking when I would be leaving. She was also probably annoyed that Jaye had already come to visit twice and I wasn’t contributing anything toward rent or living expenses.

  “No, really, Lane, it’s not a problem. Jaye is waiting for me in New York,” I told her as I struggled out of the car with my precious baby in one arm and swinging the strap of my purse over my other shoulder. “I shouldn’t be long in the store,” I said, closing the car door gently with my knee.

  The bright fluorescent lights and the cold air coming from the frozen-food section made me cover Susie’s head with her blanket and hold her tighter to my chest. Up and down the aisles I yanked the cart around with one hand, my stomach churning the entire time. I am so hungry. Cravings for the foods and snacks I loved the most began to spike, yet I knew not to grab anything that wasn’t itemized on the paper in my pocket.

  I stood there staring at the cookies and felt like taking a pack and hiding it under the two diapers in my purse. Even though the lady coming down the aisle was clearly looking for something on her shopping list, I couldn’t help but imagine she was coming for me and was going to confront me for contemplating shoplifting.

  I pulled aside for a second to pull out the paper again while rocking the baby to sleep. The list seemed meager, even though the woman who had registered me with WIC said that it would be enough to keep the baby and me healthy.

  As I walked by the meat section and passed items that my mom always had in the fridge, I indulged in self-pity for a moment. Lane was waiting in the car and I didn’t have much time, so I just gra
bbed cheese, bread, and formula, then made my way to the cashier. I could feel the eyes of a well-dressed woman standing behind me as I pulled the vouchers out to pay for the food. Glancing back at her, I saw her pursed lips and the way she looked down at me with disgust. I felt my cheeks get warm as I continued to check out, wishing I could be anywhere but here, settling for less than the basics so my baby and I could just survive.

  It was a warm early summer day in Brooklyn when I walked up the steps of the old brownstone with my daughter in my arms. I was nervous and uneasy because of the sounds coming out of the apartments as I made my way up. A smoky haze hung in the hallway, and TVs and stereos were blaring. I could already hear loud talking carrying down from the top floor where I was heading. As much as I didn’t want to be there, I wanted to be with Jaye.

  After several knocks I walked in without a welcome. It was the furthest thing I had ever experienced from my idea of home, but this is where Jaye came from and where he stayed—ten blocks from my church and the wonderful world that I had walked away from.

  I sat on the vinyl couch with the sounds of cars passing by, holding our baby with no supplies to care for her . . . simply a blanket.

  I needed Jaye. I would just wait on that vinyl couch for him with our baby in my arms, hoping that when he got home he would be happy to see me.

  THE STRESS AND EMBARRASSMENT of staying at Jaye’s house was unbearable. I didn’t know his family that well, and now I found myself living with Jaye, his parents, and his younger sister in their one-bedroom apartment, eating their food and taking up their space. Simple things like taking a shower were so awkward, and it seemed as though our intrusion was impeding their desire to get to know me. Since there really wasn’t any bedroom free for the baby and me, we both ended up sleeping on the couch—yet I was fine with that, since that meant I would be across the room from Jaye, who slept there on another couch.