by lesley,allyn
He continues walking toward children with even greater health needs. Tiny souls who look no bigger than a football. Surely Caren’s son isn’t down this way. Maybe, he’s giving me a tour so that I’ll leave a sizable donation to support all the hospital’s good work. But then, he stops.
“Here he is,” he announces.
Shit.
“It’s been touch and go since he was delivered, but he’s strong. He’s a fighter.”
My eyes zoom in on the breathing device taped to his little lips that’s bigger than both his tiny arms. There are other things attached to his body that I’ll never know how to pronounce. I almost miss seeing his uncovered chest rise and fall, because he doesn’t look as if he’s even breathing. I walk over, even though I’m scared as hell. The card in front tells me he’s called Baby Boy.
“That’s his name?” I ask the doctor, mad that he’d been named so callously.
“I guess you’ll have to name him now,” he responds. I hear someone call for his assistance, and with a low “Excuse me”, he moves on.
“Baby Boy,” I mutter. What the hell kind of name is that? The fact he’s nameless is so damn sad. It bothers the hell out of me, messing with my mind when I shouldn’t care. My gaze drops down, scanning the other details. I see his time of birth and birth weight.
Looking at my watch, I realize that just twelve hours ago, his mother was on an operation table, and he was being manipulated from her body before he was ready to come into this world.
I draw nearer still. “You’re just a pound, buddy?” He must hear me, because he fidgets, not big, sweeping movements, but I see it. Pity gnaws the inside of my stomach. I’m unsteady on my feet as guilt travels through my body. I grab a chair that’s free, and sit before I fall.
Sooner than I know, I’m sharing chunks of my life, telling him all about Ma and Chuck, my dork brothers, and spend a long time on Juli and her antics. I even share my work at the garage.
A few times, I overhear feminine voices remark, “He’s such a good dad” or “I bet his wife is glad she married him.” I never turn at their words, giving all my attention on the little baby worming his way into my heart.
My fingers itch to hold his tiny hand. “Fuck it,” I mumble, opening up the circle door then reaching inside. Right as I’m about to feel his skin, my nerves get the better of me and I pull back. I have no business touching you, kid. No business at all. Yet, my hand creeps inside again and a pinky grazes his skin, shirking around the tubes in fear that touching them could lead to Caren’s son’s death. I run my pinky over his translucent fingers. My lips pull up into a smile, feeling the softness of his palm and marveling at the size difference between our hands. You are a little soldier, aren’t—
There’s a loud and long beep.
I pull my hand out, knowing I must’ve done something wrong. The sound pulls my eyes up to a machine as I hear feet rushing to where I sit. Oh shit, he’s fucking flat-lining. Just like Caren. I’m out of the seat as the doctor yells a code and nurses fly to where Baby Boy struggles for his life. A text comes in, and I can’t register everything happening around me. In case it’s Ma, I take out my cell, heart in my throat as I’m forgotten and the staff try to resuscitate him.
Once I open up my message icon, I know for a fact I don’t want to deal with the words on my screen or the person texting me.
Merry Christmas. I’m back in town.
~a friend
Chapter Twenty-Three
i’m @ Montefiore. i need u
~a friend
I stare at the text I sent over thirty minutes ago to Chels before pushing the phone into my back pocket. She never did respond, so I doubt she got it. I mean, it’s Christmas, and she should be doing the family thing: dinner, gift exchanging and opening them, and then overeating on desserts. The things I would be doing if I wasn’t here.
I use the overcast sky seen through the window as a distraction from my rumbling thoughts and growling stomach. The slightest sound—the soft soles of shoes walking, swishing papers, ringing machines—near the waiting room causes me to stand and peer around the wall. I’m anxious and breathless. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but no one has come looking for the family of Baby Boy.
Thinking of family, I remember all the text messages I’ve ignored, the e-mails I’ve not answered, and the phone calls I’ve sent to voicemail. I don’t know what to say.
Sorry to worry you all, but I’m at the hospital with a kid who may or may not be mine.
Oh, and by the way, the mother is dead.
Yeah, no. I’d rather deal with their anger later. Right now, I just need space... and Chels, if she comes.
Standing up, I wander over to the large window. I rub the weariness from my eyes. “How did you end up here, Dyllan?” I ask my reflection, who doesn’t have an answer either.
It’s ridiculously ironic and cliché if I think too hard about it. The son of a mother, whose love for drugs, wiped clean her maternal instincts. The same son that became mute because of a traumatic event, only to be fostered by a family who loved him out of his comatose state. I’m hyper-critical of the man who wasn’t above using his hazel eyes to charm women and his lopsided grin to get his way with the fairer sex. And though I once avoided black-haired women in fear they’d all have drug issues like my mother, here I am with a dead ex-lover who dabbled in whatever she did and a baby fighting for his life.
“Dyllan. Dyllan.” I sound just like MeMaw when she was about to discipline me for something. I can see her in my head: finger wagging and foot tapping. She’d call my name all low, that Southern twang coming out in her anger as disappointment trickled from each syllable.
Cracking my back, I walk closer to the glass. My forehead meets the cool glass that’s insulating me from what looks like a very cold day. I concentrate on breathing and not breaking the fuck out. If I could, I’d hop from one rooftop to the next that’s part of the sprawling hospital so I could go home. The urge to run is real. My jumpy leg, racing heartbeat, and the rush of noises I hear tells me to leave and never look back.
“I don’t owe him shit,” I whisper to myself. My breath fogs up the glass. “Fuck it. ACS will step in and set the kid up in foster care, and with his looks and age, someone will adopt him lickity split.”
It’s not like he’ll be totally without some place to go after this.
If he even lives.
“You can walk away, Dyllan,” I breathe out, spinning away from the panoramic view. Yeah, he’ll be fine in ACS. For some reason, his likely future in my head tightens my throat, my vision blurs with tears, and literally, I swear my heart stops.
He can’t die.
He won’t motherfucking die.
I nod my head as if I have control over life and death. “He can’t die,” I say it out loud for good measure, lifting my eyes up to the ceiling. Then I say it some more until my lungs no longer struggle to expand and contract properly. I say it to myself until my heart goes from pounding to slow and steady. My phone vibrates, and I answer the incoming call on its first ring.
“I just got your text.” It sounds like Chels rushing, maybe running. She doesn’t give me a chance to say anything. “I’m on my way.” Then she hangs up.
I’m grateful, and I release breaths I didn’t know I was holding. I sag against the wall of glass that somehow doesn’t feel like it’ll be strong enough to hold my bodyweight. My eyes close, willing myself to be at Ma and Chuck’s house, where I’m sniffing the smell of EC’s secret recipe for his stuffing, anxious for a taste of Ma’s turkey with all the trimmings, and eyeing how much of Chuck’s infamous coconut pie I can eat.
Instead of warmth and laughter, I’m surrounded by the hospital’s sterility and coldness.
I’m not sure how long I stand or pace or peep around the wall, wondering if someone will update me about Baby Boy. Running feet break through the fog surrounding me.
“There you are.” The words rush out and I’m pulled into an embrace that I gladly
sink into.
“You came.”
She leans her upper body away from me. “Why wouldn’t I come?”
I pull her toward me—I don’t know if it’s too rough—and she doesn’t complain. My fingers sink into her coat, wishing it gone. I’m not sure if I tell her or she’s a mind reader, but she shrugs out of the heavy shearling jacket. Her thumbs slowly curve under my eyes. They’re cool, most likely from the biting cold temperature, but they’re just right, soothing.
My eyes briefly close. In my head, I tell my heart to slow down its galloping pace and my stomach to end its ceaseless motions. “Chels.” I don’t know what else to say, and continue to take in the reality that she’s here... with me.
The smile that follows fucks me up. It takes over her entire face. It lights up her eyes and reminds me of the Christmas ornament I’d bought in her honor.
“Thank you.” It’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got for right now.
“Dyllan Sterling! You better explain yourself.”
Ma’s angry tone pulls Chels and me apart, but only slightly; our foreheads continue to rest on each other’s. With a flick of a glance, I see Chuck walking in beside Ma, while my brothers and their significant others aren’t too far behind. Chels and I don’t break from our intimate connection.
“Well?” Ma asks, coming closer to where I am. She’s mad, but she sounds worried as well. If I know her, she’s probably assessed nothing is wrong with me. “Why are you in a hospital and not at my house?”
Chels sighs and attempts to back out of my arms but I don’t let her get too far. When she tips back her head, I see that she’s looking sheepish. “Sorry,” she mouths then stands on her tiptoes. “I had to tell them, Dyllan.”
I shrug, kind of glad she said something. She shifts out of my embrace but remains at my side, gripping my hand as I bring everyone up to speed about Caren and her son. All that time, Chels never leaves me.
“He’ll make it,” Ma says, kissing my cheek. She walks behind me, stopping to whisper in Chels’s ear.
“Sterlings are a strong bunch, son. He’ll be just fine,” Chuck comments, with a light squeeze on my shoulder. On his way to sit beside Ma, he says, “Thanks for calling us, Chelsea.”
“You scared the shit out of us.” EC lightly punches my upper arm. “Don’t do that ever again, bro.”
Jill is not far behind, and pulls me and Chels into a hug. When she lets us go, she says, “Have faith.” She pats my cheek then joins EC somewhere in the waiting room.
Emma and JC appear next with Juli. “If she wasn’t sleeping, I’d let her give you a piece of all our minds,” my brother tells me. His face is red and looks as if he may have been crying. Emma never says a word, kissing my cheek then her sister’s.
When Chels and I turn around, my family is making themselves comfortable in the hard chairs. This time around, the wait isn’t so horrendous and sails by as I watch Juli take a bottle or Jill tease EC about snoring or Chuck rest his head on Ma’s shoulder as she softly brushes his hair.
“Mr. Sterling,” a doctor I don’t recognize says.
Four masculine voices respond simultaneously. Then Chuck, JC, and EC chuckle, realizing in this instance I’m the Sterling who’s being requested. Like one, Chels and I stand. The doctor looks unsure how to proceed.
“They’re my family. You can speak freely.” Pressure builds up inside me the longer he takes to open his lips.
He clears his throat, eyes clouding with sympathy. “It’s not looking good. His heart can’t take one more crash like that.”
The usual words of surprise are shared: oh no, and it can’t be. I don’t know who says what. I know I’m crushing Chels’s hand, because she whimpers, but she never tells me to ease up. I drop back down in my seat, because I don’t trust my shaking legs to hold me up any longer.
The doctor comes to where I am, bending so we’re at eye level. “But we’re doing everything we can. He’s a fighter, Mr. Sterling. Please remember that,” he reassures me with a proud stare, which confuses me.
I start and stop the same question a few times, but the man kneeling in front of me is patient. Finally, I think I can get the words past my lips. “Will he make it?”
“It’s too soon to say, but if anything changes, one of the team will let you know as soon as possible.” With that, he leaves as quietly as he came.
My free hand runs through my hair. My head dips and my shoulders sag. I feel Chels’s presence, but somehow, she’s far away. They’re all far away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s difficult to see clearly. After a while, once everything he said registers, a few words bluster past the lump in my throat. “I-I have to...” I don’t even know what I mean to say, so I clamp my lips closed. My vision returns to the bleak here and now of the hospital’s waiting room and I realize my voice was too low to have been heard. Clearing my throat of the emotion I can’t name, I try again. “I have to get out of here.” My words are left in the waiting room as my body makes a hasty exit.
“Wait!” Ma begs.
I don’t. I can’t. Behind me, I hear panting, which slows my pace. Turning, there’s Chels barely keeping up with me. Our hands are no longer joined, but she’s not left me. Tears streak her face.
“You should go back,” I tell her, finally reaching the elevators and pushing a forefinger at the down button. I feel like I’m traveling back in time when Ma showed me my old bedroom the first time I went to live with them. The walls feel like they’re crashing on top of my head, and any second, the floor will crumble from under me. With nothing left to do other than wait for the slow, infernal elevator, I strum my fingers on the wall. Impatience rolls off my stiff back. She hasn’t responded to me, still sniffing. “What do you want?”
My harsh words stop her altogether, as they’re meant to. From the corner of my eye, I see when Chels wipes her face, and what looks like angry splotches of color brightens her cheeks. I stab at the down button again. Behind me, I’m greeted with soundlessness. Good, maybe she’s taken her sympathy back to the waiting room, because I don’t need that shit, my mind screams. The elevator opens and I head inside. In the nick of time, Chels does too.
She stands in front of me. She doesn’t budge until I pick my sight up from the floor and onto her resolved face. “I’m going wherever the hell you’re going.” With that, she moves off to the side, still near, but not right up on me.
And oddly, I appreciate the space. I need it.
I don’t tell her any of this though.
It’s a silent ride down to the hospital’s underground parking lot. I find my car quickly, opening the passenger door for her.
“Thanks,” she tells me, folding herself into my new SUV I purchased so that Juli can travel safe when we have our Unk Dyllan and Juli time.
When I get into my side, I have no idea where I want to go, but apparently my subconscious does. In under twenty minutes, I’m parking at Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. “Of all the...” I trail. Leaning back on the headrest, it strikes me that I haven’t been to this church in nineteen years.
“What are we doing here?” my sole companion wonders.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, feeling more closed in the longer I remain seated. “You can stay inside the car if you want.” I doubt I’ll be long.
“I’m coming with you.” Her stubborn and independent streak rears its head with her response and in the way her fingers already sit on the door latch, ready to open it.
“Just sit tight. Let me get your door, Ms. Bossy.”
Her answering grin erases the tension that followed us from the elevator. The frosty outdoor temperature hastens our entrance into the historic structure. By the time we walk the few steps to enter one of the infamous red wooden doors, I feel lighter than I’ve felt in years. This is MeMaw’s old stomping ground.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Chels asks, white breath coming toward me as we step inside the warm vestibule.
“Old memories
,” I tell her, looking around the interior with its ruby red aisle carpet and cherry wood benches, where many of New York’s heavyweights sat.
People filter out. A few are still seated and talking.
“Damn—”
Chels whips her head in my direction, giving me a death stare. I’m looking at MeMaw and Ma right now. An uneasy chuckle leaves me. For the first time in a very long while, I feel myself redden at her silent rebuke.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Seems we missed the morning service.” I scan the front again, hoping to see anyone recognizable from the years MeMaw dragged me to every church function here, but I don’t see any.
Chels glances around. “This is beautiful.” She takes a step forward as if she’s been inside before. “You used to come here?” she prompts, looking back at me with hope in her eyes.
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “But I’m not sure why I’m here today. It’s been a while.” All this while, I’ve never come back to visit, and today of all days, I do. “I came here with MeMaw.”
“That name.” She stops, maybe remembering the last time she asked me the significance of that person, and I’d angrily shot her question down. “Never mind.” She doesn’t push, which I’m grateful for. She walks a few paces, finds a spot, takes off her coat, and sits.
My eyes bug out of my head, because that’s the exact row MeMaw and I used to favor.
“You know where to go.”
“But, MeMaw, it’s full.”
She’d smiled her “I mean business” smile, the one that got her the ripest tomatoes that the supermarket just got delivered but hadn’t unpacked, as she’d made calculated steps past those already seated on the crowded pew.
I sit beside Chels and inhale a deep breath as the memories trickle in. “MeMaw preferred sitting on this side, because according to her, it was the best spot to see the choir and the pastor at the same time.”