The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) (2 page)

His voice hits my back with a biting chill, but I didn’t stop, he said enough. It took a few words—just those few amount of words to make my heart shrink and ache. Dr. Graham has ruined our agreement, I specifically requested to never mention the father and family. I refuse to speak of anyone other than the baby and my health. Now his words are chocking me like a serpent, devouring my little sense of peace.

In the waiting room, Natalie, the receptions is staring at a pile of papers. She reads the content so passionately, anyone would mistake her for taking an exam. I reached her counter, protected by a thick layer of glass. I kept silent, not demanding any attention. When she noticed my presence, she sluggishly took my note and rolled her eyes. I never tried talking to Natalie, any day and time was fine, was there anything else I needed help with? Nope—I am the perfect patient.

Behind me, the sound of the waiting room increased with mothers entering the clinic with swollen bellies, just like mine. Many of them have one or two family members, others have their bright-eyed partners. The sight caused my throat to tighten. While Natalie typed my information on the computer, Dr. Graham’s words returned, the room around me is beginning to boil. Within a minute, the sweat on my fingers is smudging the white counter. What is taking Natalie so long? Is she typing a novel—and as for Dr. Graham!

How can he be so heartless to say the father of my child is worried? He’s not even the last people on earth who would be used as a contact for an emergency. I rather use a stranger, a dog—no I rather write random numbers!

The familiar sinister feeling hung on my back and dangled my shoulders. My anxiety is bubbling, soon it will surface into attacks. I suspiciously look at Natalie, typing away. She knows—I know, there’s nothing new to type! I let out a deep dramatic sigh to show her that her patient is feeling
impatient
, but she ignores it. The waiting room is starting to shrink, the sound from the visual vision is growing loud, and the patients can’t seem to shut up. My breathing quickens, and my vision is growing blurry! I clenched my throat, the rollercoaster has just started. I’m about to breakdown—I’m about to collapse into tears!

Natalie watched me with a confused look on her face. When the yellow note went through the opening glass, my hands shot towards it. Like a vulture, I aggressively snatch the paper from her shell shocked hands. She jumps out of her seat. Unable to give an excuse—I hurry out the door.

O
utside of the clinic, I suck in every cold particle of oxygen and recycle them. The self-help books I read on anxiety have been of no help. If my own doctor can trigger a nervous attack, then I must be getting worse. Of course, Dr. Graham isn’t the only contributor. A cashier or an invasive kind stranger have approached me with smiles, as wide as my belly just to congratulate me. They often look around and utter the forbidden word father.

Sailors I call them, fishermen of my past. To dodge their hooks and nets, I turned into a creative liar. There’s nothing more tragic than “he died” to mute them. This small town can’t handle the truth, to them it will be as bitter as a spoon of cold medicine. No one will be able to swallow that my relationship with my husband involved locked rooms, bashed furniture, and punched in holes on every wall. No one wants to hear that announcing my pregnancy involved dodging a beer bottle. Maybe my memories with him were once sweet but they turned unpleasant like the ale he enjoys to gulp.

I’m a hypocrite for wanting to keep my past known but I’m willingly bringing it up in my mind. I shake my head, pretending my memory are specks of dust. I climb into my truck, which by a miracle survived the long journey to Washington State. Among the clean vehicles in the parking lot, my truck stands out from the rest. Instead of glowing the color grey it was manufactured in—it’s coated in a dark mud that just by looking at it, gives me a craving for chocolate cake. As soon as I turned on the ignition, my truck grumbled and trembled, completely aware of the 3 hour drive home. I took a moment of silence, and mentally prepared myself for the long miles ahead.

When the sound of piano keys started dancing out of my one working speaker, my baby jabbed my stomach. Classical music—piano to be exact, always results in painful kicks. I pressed my hand over my round belly, and smiled. This little one, is just like me, he or she has knack for pianos. The thought suddenly made me sad.

In my middle school year, a pianist visit our school to educate us about the art of music. That was the first time I watched someone perform live on the grand piano. The sound captivated me, his fingers looked like waves, forcing the hammer to slam on the strings. Key after key, my heart would flutter. The entire concerto took me to a place of serenity. Every piece the pianist played, took me from my bitter role in the family. Before the pianist left, he inspired me with the encouragement to learn how to play music. I took his words as a demand.

With the little courage I had in me, I told my mother I wanted to be a pianist. She looked at me in disgust. In her eyes, she was so convinced that I couldn’t be anything. Her immediate disapproval caused me to whole heartedly accept her viewpoint. Through the years, I suppressed my desire to be a pianist, and left that dream behind.

The downtown streets grew busy today. Everyone crowded over the sidewalk, entering and exiting the small shops. Many held the latest communicative devices in their hands. Because of my short finances, I fell five years behind our modern technology. Not being able to keep up with the latest trend, changed my perspective, I have become philosopher.

At a stop light I watch them, even with my lack of a proper education, I feel as though humanity is on a cliff, entrapped by the virtual world. The era of technology is now an unknown age. Since the birth of the proper computer, technology has been advanced at an unbelievable rate. Many people were frightened of this development. Citizens and environmentalist rallied the streets, demanding laws be passed to preserve our natural resources before our dependency in comfortability ruins it. The dispute ended with a mandatory law, a tree is required to grow in every block and corner, constricted by cement and wires for no one to touch.  The majority didn’t mind after that, all they cared was that they could see a tree and enter a sliding door without any effort. The street light flashed green and I left my thoughts behind.

Wisps of clouds stretched above, smeared by the current of the wind. The broken window in the passenger seat invited a chilly breeze that numbed my cheeks and tousled my brown hair. Goose bumps grew on my arms and I let out a small shiver. A week into the beginning of Fall and the trees are quickly shedding any green off its leaves. In southern California, the sun is still warm, everyone is still in their summer clothes. As for this evergreen state, summer switched into Fall, overnight. The leaves on the road are scattering from the passing vehicles, whirling like confetti on the freeway.

Within an hour, I will be entering the hills of wild pines and in another 2 hours, home. There are many national forests in Washington State, but I’m destined to live in the heart of the Okanogan Forest. According to Ms. Clarisse, the national forest used to be a tourist attraction. Trails were mapped out, camping sites, and roads created for those who wanted to come in contact with nature. Now there’s a heavy regulation with limited seasons for those outdoor enthusiasts. Fortunately for me, it’s the perfect place. My husband wouldn’t think of coming here.

The radio signal was lost. The road is less populated with passing vehicles, until I was venturing alone. I shouldn’t complain, being physically alone is no different than feeling alone. In fact, this road is like me, used for the convenience of others. I thought of my mother and a pinch in my heart made me gasp.

Since my pregnancy, thinking of her has become difficult. So much insecurity has grown out of the reality that I exist for her convenience. I spent my childhood wondering why it was easy for her to say “I love you” to my siblings but found it difficult to say it to me. I reasoned with myself that being the big sister—I couldn’t receive the same treatment. For years I have thought myself that this was just how I was supposed to feel, that it was normal for me to have self-doubt, and hold no self-worth—I thought it was my noble duty.

Growing up gave, I wanted to be strong and hate my mother, my siblings, and step-dad, but it was too late for me. My chance to become a resilient child was over, I have become a product of low self-esteem. My little amount of confidence displaced me, I converted my hate into guilt, and in return—I hated my existence. At twelve years old, I suffered from insomnia. It was the year I discovered that my alienation in the family was no accident. The memory is still clear in my mind, out of all my dark moments in life, I’ll never forget this point in my life.

That day, the sun was setting, an orange sky draped over the neighborhood. Our neighbor’s tall fence casted a shadow on our side of the yard. I was only passing by, when I heard my mom chatting on our neighbor’s porch. Like most Californian suburbs, we were squeezed together, capable of hearing just about everything that’s going on. My mother and neighbor were known to famously chat for long hours. As I passed them, something caught my attention There, I discovered my origin, and the children my mother had before me. Children she willingly terminated.

Her first pregnancy ended in a natural miscarriage, she was a teenager, dating her first love. Her second pregnancy was denied by her longtime boyfriend. Apparently he was furious about the news, he didn’t want to be a father, so he ended the relationship. My mother aborted the baby, and went back reconcile, but he didn’t take her back. Her third, was from my father—her husband. I remember how fast my heart pounded when I heard my mother say Lola’s dad. All of these years, she never mentioned my biological father. Whenever I asked, with a tone of detestation, she would refuse to talk about him. After a financial quarrel with my mother, my father left to find a new job in the bay area. He was gone for a few months and my mother concluded—on her own, that he left her. With that, she aborted my would-be brother. A month after the abortion, my father came back. My mother hid the fact that she was pregnant with his first child. Slowly, they worked on saving their marriage, but when it concluded to a divorce, my mother hid the fact that she was pregnant again, this time with me. When the divorce was finalized, she told my father she was pregnant. My father who was returning to Mexico begged her to let him keep me. My mother refused, seeing her pregnancy wasn’t going to change his mind. She wanted him to beg her to take him back. That’s when she told him a lie that crushed his heart. She said I wasn’t his.

“That was the last time I saw him.” she said to my neighbor. “He had the face of a white pale ghost.”

“Does little Lola know about her father?”

“No.” she scoffed. “If he’s dead to me, he’s dead to her.”

My father believed my mother’s lies and then left, this time for good. It angered me that he didn’t ask for a paternity test, that he didn’t wait for me. My mother eventually re-married and had two children. Growing up, I couldn’t walk pass them without my siblings glaring at me. We didn’t share the same dad, I was an enemy to them.

On the road, my truck roared as I pressed on the gas.

It took me years to find out why my father wanted to keep me, but now I know—my mom isn’t right in the head.

My feet fused with the gas pedal, and accelerated to 90 mph. I should have decelerated, but my thoughts pressed on my past.

On my 18th birthday I stood by the yard, watching my mother throw my clothes into the lawn. Without any warning, she suddenly didn’t want me to live with her anymore. According to her, the fact that I’m an adult was going to count against her financially. She argued that I have become a burden because there was no use in putting me on her programs. My step dad agreed, my younger siblings agreed.

I did my best to reason with them, I told them I would work hard and give them everything I earned, but they had made up their minds. Nobody wanted to deal with me. When my friend took me in, his parents pressured me into marrying him.

No, not again, I’ve had it with them—all of them!

“Not this time!” I shouted. “You hear me!”

The engine thundered, I accelerated to 100 mph. The passing trees started to blur, the wind howled through the broken window. My arms trembled from the jerking steering wheel.

I suddenly got a kick in my belly, in that split second, I snapped back to reality.

My foot immediately released the gas pedal. Ahead, is a curve just a football field away, my heart pumped full adrenaline. I gracefully reduce my speed. I was moments from driving off a hill, my emotional attacks are going to be the death of me

“I’m sorry.” I whispered to my little one. “I shouldn’t put you in danger—I’m sorry.”