by Nancy Hedin
Being “close” was an understatement when I thought about Charity. The venue didn’t matter: Charity and I made out in Charity’s truck, the woods, the beach, and a half dozen other private spots. We kissed a lot, but never enough in my mind. I didn’t ask for more than that because I wasn’t quite sure what was next. I only knew my body felt like it couldn’t be physically close enough to Charity. It was like I wanted to crawl inside the girl and roll around. There was no mention of Charity’s former girlfriend, Kelly.
When I wasn’t with Charity I was thinking about her. I was doing just that when the phone rang early on a Saturday. I answered.
“It’s coming out, it’s coming out,” somebody yelled. The voice sounded familiar, but I gave the screeching contraption to Dad.
Dad interpreted the call, hung up, and told me that Becky was in labor.
While Momma packed a lunch, extra bath towels, and a thermos of coffee, I called Twitch and waited outside for him to pick me up. Apparently, Momma made her own call and a midwife named Dorcas got to Becky and Kenny’s trailer before us.
“I’ve come to guide Becky’s baby into the world,” Twitch said, as he made his entrance to the trailer in front of me. He smiled at Momma and attempted to follow the whining and crying sounds to the back bedroom.
“Becky doesn’t need your fool face in her personal business,” Momma said. “Dorcas is here, and she’ll deliver the baby. You can stand by and if there’s complications, I’ll need you to rush her to a proper hospital.”
I imagined this Dorcas having set up a CD player with soothing music and sitting with a beatific smile as she massaged Becky’s lower back. I had to use my imagination because Momma wouldn’t let me near Becky either.
Momma waltzed past Twitch after she pointed us to the living room where Dad and Kenny waited. We greeted each other and sat like we were in the dentist’s lobby, but the magazines were worse.
The afternoon wore on, and I wished I’d brought a book, a very long book. Dad remained cheerful as he paged through Hog Breeding Today, and Twitch quizzed me on castrating pigs. I wanted to tell Twitch we were at least nine months too slow on practicing that skill. I stared at Kenny. Our conversation moved him. He went into the kitchen, pacing back and forth while he ate a bologna and mayonnaise sandwich. He didn’t offer us anything.
Becky screamed, “Get that goddamned giraffe out of here!”
Dad, Twitch, and I looked at each other, smiling and laughing because we all knew that was really silly. Newborn giraffes measured six feet long.
When the squeals changed tone and Momma started praising God very loudly and yelling, “It’s a boy, it’s a boy,” Kenny made for the bedroom. Dad, Twitch, and I squeezed into the hallway outside the bedroom door and listened. I heard a baby gurgle and cry. Becky’d had a baby boy.
Wordlessly, I attempted a border crossing. Twitch and Dad followed me. We peeked into the room and edged closer. Becky looked flushed, exhausted, and euphoric. Kenny sat beside her on the bed and stroked her hair. The baby was lying on Becky’s chest and belly like a little otter. Our collective “Ahhh!” caught Momma’s attention, and she quickly herded us back to the neutral zone.
“Becky and Kenny need time with the baby to themselves,” she said, but she made no move to leave herself. Momma even shooed the midwife out the door with rushed thanks.
Dorcas, Twitch, Dad, and I stood in the yard outside the trailer and looked at each other like we’d all been mugged. We had endured the wait, the heat of the trailer, the screaming, and had nothing to show for the trouble.
“Schafer’s cow is calving today—could be twins,” Twitch said, offering me a fair substitute. “You want to come with me and help me pull ’em out? Unless you have dishes to wash or cookies to bake at the diner? I wouldn’t want to interrupt your wife training.”
He made the same offer to Dorcas and Dad, but only I followed him to his Jeep.
As he buckled his seat belt Twitch said, “I hope to hell the momma takes to both of them this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sometimes the momma only takes to one calf. I suppose she wasn’t expecting two mouths to feed. Anyway, she sometimes will only feed one of the twins.”
“So even cows play favorites?” I said. “What do you do if some big old cow only likes one of her calves?”
“Two calves feeding take a toll on the cow’s body. We are still just talking about cows, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll let my annoyance with Momma rest for now. Let’s talk cows.”
“Good. Cows I understand. As you know, cows are pregnant for nine months and only have one calf a year. Once in a blue moon, they have twins.”
“What will you do if the momma won’t take to both babies?”
“At least if this cow has twins, we’re going to know about both of them,” Twitch said. “Jeff put the cow in the barn. That gives us a better chance than if she was out in the pasture and abandoned one. Today, we’ll deliver them if she’s ready, and we’ll watch to see if she accepts both. If not, for a few days we’ll try to convince her—keep her in the pen with both. Maybe we’ll even let Schafer’s cattle dog get after the rejected baby. That calf starts bawling and there aren’t many cows that won’t save their baby from something trying to kill it.”
“That’s it,” I said. “Maybe you could find some wild dog to chase after me in front of Momma.”
“I thought we were talking about cows.”
“Sorry. Aren’t you worried the dog might hurt the calf?”
“No, that dog—she’d juggle oranges for you if you asked. Worst comes to worst, we’ll bottle-feed the baby she can’t accept.”
Only a few of the family’s twelve children were in the yard when we arrived at the Schafer place. Jeff soothed a restless Jersey cow in a bedded calving pen in the barn. The caramel-colored beast was fitful, up one minute and on her side a few minutes later.
Twitch smiled at me. “Delivering healthy calves is like good comedy. It’s all about timing. Help too early and you can hurt the cow and the calf. Help too late and you can hurt the cow and the calf.” Twitch learned the cow had been edgy a good three hours. It wasn’t but a few minutes before the cow was down on her side again, but this time she strained as she reacted to the contractions. Her tongue swabbed her nose and lips. Then, she gave a better effort at pushing.
It wasn’t long before a purplish blue, egg-shaped thing protruded from her vulva. The cow was about to deliver her water bag.
“I hope we can do this without Dorcas and her instrumental music.” I tried to look serious.
“Very funny,” Twitch said. “I’ll check the position of the calf. She’s straining, but not pushing continually yet.” He put on shoulder-length filmy gloves and lubed his hands and arm. He put his right hand inside the cow by the water bag.
“Yep, she’s in place—two feet and a nose.” Twitch smiled.
The calf had slid into the birth canal, and it was positioned right for delivery. The cow would probably do the whole thing herself with less screaming than I’d heard from Becky. But if there was trouble and the labor took too long, Twitch and I would help the cow so that we didn’t risk oxygen deprivation for the calf.
“The feet and head are forward like the little sucker is ready to dive out into the world.” Twitch kept the glove on and watched.
The cow took breaks between pushing, but then picked up the pace. Once the nose and toes presented enough, Twitch checked the calf’s tongue. It was pink and the calf pulled it back when Twitch pinched it.
“No distress.”
It took another hour for the calf to come fully into the world. Twitch checked the cow and determined he’d been wrong. There was only one calf. The momma cow wouldn’t have to divide her affections. I petted the calf’s wet head and suggested Jeff name her Lucky.
The next day Momma sounded the all clear, and I went to see the baby. He was tucked in the crook of Becky’s arm as she talked to him. Her voice didn’t hav
e the shrill weed whacker tone she usually used with me. Becky whispered. I scanned the air around Becky’s head for bubbles or clouds rising from Becky’s lips. The baby studied Becky’s face like he remembered her from somewhere else, but couldn’t place her. His birdie hands came up to Becky’s nose. She kissed his hands, face, and head.
Becky looked up at me. “Come in here, Lorraine. Come see what love has made.”
That sort of sentiment, paired with my memories of Becky and Kenny having sex on the concession stand floor, almost sent me in the opposite direction, but something about the way Becky held that thing and the different person Becky seemed to be, loving that pink grub, made me want to see it and examine Becky more closely. Maybe Becky’s meanness had festered in her uterus all along and splashed out with the placenta.
“Pull that chair over close so you can see Kenny Jr. It is really the Lord Jesus, savior of the world,” Becky whispered. “But don’t tell anyone just yet.”
“Yeah, I’ll keep that part under my hat.” I giggled, but squelched it when I saw that Becky wasn’t laughing.
“I’ll let you hold him once your hands warm up.”
It was July. My hands weren’t cold from weather, but they were chilled from nerves. I guessed anybody’s hands would be too cold for holding a baby, especially if that baby was the son of God. I blew on my hands, rubbed them on my jeans, and finally, sat on them while I leaned forward to see the face that absorbed Becky’s attention.
The little guy was cute in his own baby way, everything so miniaturized and with a layer of blond fuzz all over the parts of him I could see. His head had dents and bulges from his journey, but the hair there was longer and curled up in places like lake waves caught still.
“Are you ready?” Becky asked. “Is my Little Man ready to meet his auntie?”
Just to be sure, I touched my hand against Becky’s arm to see if she thought I was warm enough. Becky nodded slightly, skootched over on the bed, and lowered Kenny Jr. into my arms.
“That’s Kenneth Allan Hollister Jr., but I’ve been calling him Little Man.” She smiled at Little Man and then at me.
He was weightless, but I held him like he might be nitroglycerin and ready to blow. Then he looked at me, and he seemed more like a puppy than an explosive. I nestled him against my chest and petted his fingers, cheeks, and eyebrows with my index finger.
“Little Man. I love you.”
Becky smiled at me and mouthed the words herself. Then she said, “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Yeah, Becky. He’s even cuter than a baby bunny.” I meant it. I was right there with Becky and Little Man. There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be. I marveled that I had fallen in love at first sight twice in the same year, first with Charity and then with Little Man.
“You better make something of that scholarship, I swear, Lorraine.” Becky shook her finger at me.
“Becky, you don’t swear.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had joked with Becky. “You might not believe it, but I’m really sorry you missed out on the scholarship.” I kept my eyes fixed on Little Man, but at least half my heart reached toward Becky.
“Thanks for the sentiment, Lorraine. I have something better than any grades or scholarship right here. God has spoken to me, Lorraine. I am the mother of the new Jesus. Can you believe it?” Becky nodded towards Little Man. “The blessings just keep coming. Someday you’ll understand, Lorraine. Someday, when you love somebody.”
Becky looked up and reached for Little Man. Just above her elbow on both arms were bruises like the ones Kenny had given me the day he grabbed me hard. Before I could ask her what the hell happened, Kenny Sr. walked into the room and Becky got all riled up.
“Give him back to me now, Lorraine,” she said. “I don’t want him getting any of your queer germs.”
I transferred Little Man back to Becky. Immediately, Becky whipped out a breast and the baby latched on like a snapping turtle. Kenny looked at me like I was seeing something too private for my eyes. Hell, I wanted to say I’d seen more of Becky every day than what she revealed breast-feeding and I’d seen all his parts too. Neither were that impressive to me. Kenny glared at me. I needed no other reason to get out of there.
When Momma, Dad, and I weren’t working, we waited for Becky and Kenny to bring Little Man over. It was like we shared a toy with Becky, and we needed to sit close together in order to both touch it and watch it work. If Becky took too long to come to the farm, we piled in the station wagon and went over to Becky and Kenny’s trailer.
“Lorraine, do us a big favor and take our picture.” Kenny stumbled over himself as he captured their new life on film. It amazed me that the kid wasn’t blinded by all the flashes from that camera, but every movement and smile seemed to require a permanent record. That didn’t shock me, but it about floored me that Kenny was nice to me and Becky didn’t act all self-righteous like I might give the baby queer germs or HIV.
“You hold him now and sit with Becky there on the couch, and I’ll take your picture,” Kenny said. “Let me get two pictures so you have one for yourself.” Our hips touched, and Becky put her head on my shoulder. Together, we cradled Little Man with a pride I couldn’t imagine we’d share for anything else.
All the fighting stopped. I didn’t fight with Becky. Momma didn’t fight with Dad. Momma and Dad were probably glad for the reprieve. It gave them energy to do other things. Dad went fishing with Twitch. A competitive game player, Momma looked for someone to beat. She could play gin, pinochle, Monopoly, poker, blackjack, and whist, but her favorite game was Scrabble.
Gerry Narrows had never been invited to our house even though Momma and Gerry grew up in the same hometown and she was our neighbor. Once Becky had the baby, Gerry stopped by the trailer to see her and the baby weekly. She usually brought something new she’d knit for the baby. The stitch was so tight that the outfits were like chain mail armor. On one such visit, Becky sent Gerry to our house to see the baby. Momma was prepared. The baby was the bait and that Scrabble board on the kitchen table was the trap. Gerry was caught as soon as she saw it.
I suppose Gerry expected to win. She’d been a school teacher prior to getting a doctoral degree in library science, she was a crossword puzzle whiz, and my momma had never attended college. Logic be damned, Momma beat Gerry soundly two straight games.
Having a son had softened Becky, and Momma with her. By winter, I took a chance that this tenderizing might help me meet my one remaining grandparent, my momma’s momma.
“Hey, Little Man,” I cooed in his tiny seashell of an ear, “did you know you have a great-grandma?”
Momma took the boy from my arms and announced that it was time for her to make a trip to her hometown to make peace with her mother, like it was her idea. She told me that it had been fifteen years since she last saw her mother.
“She’s going to want to see this beautiful baby. You and Becky were only three years old the last time I saw Mom. I think I should drive the four hours to Clearmont and bury the hatchet with my mother.”
Usually when Momma mentioned her mother, the sentiment sounded more like a desire to bury a hatchet in the old woman’s skull.
This was a calm time, a forgiving time mostly, but Momma still had advice and expectations for me. “You know, they have a nice nursing course at the technical college. I always wanted to be a nurse.”
“Then you go to technical college. I want to be a veterinarian, and I’m taking that scholarship, and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
Momma continued to hound me to give up the scholarship to one of the church kids. She argued that since the benefactor was such a holy man, God might need to punish our family if one of us accepted money while that one of us still had sin in her heart.
“Remember the story of the Egyptian pharaoh in the Old Testament? You might get yourself a plague.”
“Plague? Really Momma? Frogs, flies, and dying cattle—those are perfect problems for an aspiring veterinarian. Momma, maybe
God’s telling you to let His people go and I’m His people. I’m not giving up that scholarship. I’m leaving in January. Charity has a friend in Langston who said I can stay with her while I look for a job and wait to move into the dorm.”
The constant call to repentance and to surrender the scholarship became a frequent theme with Momma all through November and December. At the same time, Becky made random spiritual pronouncements and quoted scripture at will. Sometimes, Becky put her hand on Little Man and prayed out loud, thanking God for her perfect son. The religious jibber jabber and themes of sin and punishment spooked me. I had a premonition that punishment was close at hand. I just didn’t know what direction the punishment would come from.
One Saturday night in January, a week before I was due to leave for college, I got inspired. It wasn’t enough to just be waiting for Charity to call me and tell me when to sneak over to her apartment. I knew where she kept the spare key. I planned to be hidden, near-naked, in the dark in her apartment when she got home. I slipped into her place, stripped to my underwear, and sprawled out on Charity’s bed. It was a good idea right up until Charity came home and she wasn’t alone.
First I heard car doors slam, voices, and footfalls on the outside stairwell. What the hell was I thinking being naked upstairs of Pastor Grind’s garage? Would he believe that I had changed my mind about an immersion baptism, advanced fire insurance for the formerly sprinkled?
It wasn’t Grind.
It was worse.
It was another girl.
I scooted under the bed.
I couldn’t make out the exact words they said while they talked in the living room, but once they stood in the doorway of the bedroom, I could hear and see everything from my vantage point under the bed with dust bunnies, stray dirty socks, and a plastic storage box.
The woman was tall—near six foot—and blonde. Her straight white teeth made her look like she was right out of a TV commercial. She cupped Charity’s jaw, and Charity put both her hands around the woman’s wrist, turned her face, and kissed the woman’s palm.