The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) (8 page)

When I took the test, the old man’s words relapsed. On the night of Ms. Clarisse’s birthday, I bought the test. In 3 minutes, the empty slot turned into a pink positive symbol.

I’m pregnant.

M
y husband has always been against the idea of having a child. I kept it a secret until I can find him in a good mood. When I finally told him, we argued all night. He insisted I put up the baby for adoption. I told him that was out of the question. Then he urged me to get an abortion, hearing those words made me snap. It’s like I’m hearing it come out of my mother’s mouth. She only kept me out of mere gamble, I don’t plan on following into her footsteps. Disobeying my husband is so rare, he put his frustrations on the bottle. He drank, we argued, and things quickly became violent. The night ended with my husband dragging me out of our home. With no place to go, I admitted myself to a woman’s shelter.

Fortunately my belly isn’t showing. If Bradley finds out, he will transfer me to the office, and assign me to do paperwork. My hours will be cut, and I won’t have enough money to leave the shelter. My worst fear is not being able to care for Ms. Clarisse—whom I hid my pregnancy the most. Regrettably, every day seemed harder to evade the truth from her.

The weeks passed by, and the early signs have become impossible to hide. Her suspicions only grew stronger, and more potent. Being nauseous and running to her bathroom alarmed her, but I told her I was recovering from the stomach flu. My excuses made Ms. Clarisse mutter away. Without my knowledge at the time, Ms. Clarisse made it a mission to know the truth, and the only way she can find out is through her specialty—force.

On a late afternoon, Ms. Clarisse made a strange order in the kitchen, and a bottle of wine was delivered to us. I have never seen her drink, so I felt inclined to ask her why she suddenly wanted to. She was in the mood for is all she can say. As I poured the red wine in her glass, Ms. Clarisse threw her trump card, and asked me to drink with her. Alarmed by this request, I told her I’m not allowed to drink on the clock. She looks at me with raised eyebrows, surprised or more suspicious by my swift reply.

“Oh don’t be a sour puss.”

“Ms. Clarisse! I can’t drink—I’ll get fired.” I persisted.

“You mustn’t worry about that. Bradley already knows, I gave him a little money, and told him you were going to drink with me. I must say, he seemed quite please to take my money. I’ve never seen a man smile so wide over a measly grand.”

I can’t believe the corruption money has on people, but I’m not ready to give in. Since she’s so eager to expose my secret, she will have to fight for it. I gently informed her of my allergic reaction to grapes.

“You’re allergic to grapes?!” she exclaimed.

“Yes!” I replied with full confidence.

“I do believe I offered you some fruit salad this morning, and you particularly enjoyed the grapes! You’re hiding something Lola, now I have my suspicions, but I want to hear it from your mouth.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” I defended.

“If you can’t trust me, then I don’t think we can be friends. In fact, since I won’t need you anymore, I’ll just have Bradley fire you.”

“What trust is there when you’re threatening me—that’s not what friends do!”

Ms. Clarisse laughed. Here marks another historical time of having lost the battle at fort Clarisse. I threw in the title, and told her I’m three months pregnant.

“Congratulations.” she said plainly like she always knew. “My concern is how your husband reacted when you told him.”

Ms. Clarisse shouldn’t say I don’t have her trust—she got it when I couldn’t hide the bruises on my body. I took a leap of faith when I told her the kind of man I married. I thought I would be judged, I thought she would laugh at me for being so weak, but she said I’m old enough to know what is and isn’t poison.

“How did your husband react?” she asked again.

I haven’t’ cried since he pushed me out of the doorsteps, but Ms. Clarisse’s worried face started to pull some tears out of my eyes. Nobody knows of the domestic abuse I live in, so bringing it up became the seed of my anxiety. Ms. Clarisse didn’t say anything, she waited for me to get a hold of myself. I looked at her, almost too ashamed to say it.

“He wants me to have an abortion.”

“That sick monster, how are you still living with him?!”

“I’m not, he kicked me out the day he found out. He said I can’t come home until I abort the baby.”

For Ms. Clarisse’s sake I didn’t tell her much of the details. I kept her from knowing the beer bottle he flung at me, much less the one that went for belly. Luckily, my protective instincts moved my arms quick enough to block it in time.

Ms. Clarisse raised her frail fingers and pressed them on her forehead. She calmly told me I was stupid for not telling her about my pregnancy sooner. I told her she has to respect my privacy as much as I respect hers.

“There should never be any privacy when it comes to someone abusing another. You’re pregnant for goodness sake. I have waited patiently for you tell me how you ended up with this dimwit. Now I must know.”

“I’m not ready to bring the past.” I said. “It makes my palms sweat.”

“Have you ever told anyone?”

“No.”

“Perfect, sweaty palms means you are ready.”

“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“Tell me.” she persisted.

I shouldn’t be surprised Ms. Clarisse would eventually ask. She reached for my hand, nodding at me for support.

“Lola, I’m going to share something with you. I knew you were a sad little creature when I first met you.” she stated. “I thought you were a weak little thing, a pessimist, where everything that’s good or bad made you sad. Now I see that it’s not sadness. You are trapped, enslaved by those you give power to control you. You find it hard to talk about it because you can’t even let yourself free. You have to start by sharing your pain to others. Stop holding it in.”

I nodded, feeling my heart race, not realizing these symptoms would worsen.

“After I left my mother’s house, he was the only friend who was willing to let me move in. The streets I grew up in are dangerous, even the homeless get killed. When I lived with his parents, I worked hard to help pay for any expenses, I didn’t want anyone to feel I was dependent. As our friendship grew, his parents convinced us to marry. They only introduced that idea because my in-law’s family and friends found it weird I was living with them and not be their son’s girlfriend. I thought I liked him in that way. I didn’t want to become like my mother who had a timeline of men in her life. I convinced myself I can be his wife, even after his addictions started, after he cheated, after the first slapped crossed my face. All that mattered to me was that I was wanted by someone.”

I looked at Ms. Clarisse with embarrassment. I have never told anyone how I felt, how naïve my thoughts were about getting married, and putting up with abuse.

“I’m sorry Ms. Clarisse. If you see me in a different light now, I don’t blame you for not wanting me to work for you. I won’t hold it against you—”

“Child!” shouted Ms. Clarisse “Don’t insult me. Listen to yourself. Is this how you speak at home? Are you that quick to submission?”

Unable to look at her, I looked down at my feet and gently nodded.

“You have been exploited since birth, and that’s all you know, being exploited by others. You were taught to only think about fearing, and pleasing others. Tell me something, since you’re pregnancy, are things slightly different? I’m sure you feel something inside you, a strength you never had before.”

Her words surprises me—it’s like she foresees this miraculous feeling bubbling up inside me. Why wouldn’t she? She was pregnant, not just once, but three times.

“I’m often overwhelmed with joy. I get dreams of having a boy, then I get dreams of having a girl.” My throat began to tighten. “Why does he want to destroy that? I don’t want to destroy this feeling—I love this feeling!”

I revealed to Ms. Clarisse that I have been staying at a woman’s shelter, and that my in-laws are trying to convince me stay with them. In the end, I know it will lead back to my husband. The staff at the women’s shelter looked convinced about me living with them. His family promised he will change, and if I return, I will be allowed to keep the baby.

“I thought he didn’t want the child? If he’s going to force you to have an abortion—”

“It’s not that!” I cried, suddenly covering my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

I felt ashamed for raising my voice at her, but she told me to continue. Her strong character ignored her personal feelings, and focused on mine.

“I haven’t heard those words in a while” I shuddered.

“Child, what’s going on?” she said.

“Do you know why my mother didn’t abort me?” I muttered. “Government assistance. That is the reason why I exist! My mother didn’t even want me, she only wanted to survive. I’ve known this for so long, but I never said it out loud. When my in laws told me of the benefits I would receive for being pregnant and poor, the waivers, and the health care. They said I was lucky I got pregnant, otherwise I wouldn’t benefit from the baby. I was so disgusted by what they said that I threw up in front of them. I’m becoming like my own mother.”

“First let’s be realistic.” interrupted Ms. Clarisse. “You can’t let your pride, and your resentment towards your mother make your baby starve. You are not like you mother, look at yourself. Your crying and fearing for your little one, you stood up to your husband for your child’s sake. That doesn’t sound like something your mother would do. However, you can’t be naïve about your situation. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and two mouths to feeds is harder than one mouth that can willingly skip a meal.”

Ms. Clarisse is right, no matter how much I want to evade the truth. The city has made it impossible for someone like me to make it independently. If I get an apartment, I will have to decide to pay rent or starve.

“Some of the most successful people I know, once had government aid.” said Ms. Clarisse. “It’s no secret that the system has been abused, but the ones who get out of it can make something of themselves. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not that I’m ashamed. I’m determined.” I protested “I want to show my child that he or she can survive regardless of their position in society.”

I squeezed Ms. Clarisse’s cold hands.

“My only worry is my husband.” I admitted. “I have never made him this upset before. He said he hired someone to keep an eye out for me. I was so scared I left the woman’s shelter for good.”

“Humph—what money does he have to pay someone to find you?”

Ms. Clarisse advised a police report was all I needed to keep myself safe.

“Mr. Müller is our family lawyer, he’s a dear old friend of mine. He can defend, and represent you in court.”

“My husband is an alcoholic, who occasionally mixes his drinking with drugs. A police report or judge will not stop him from doing what he intends. He will do something—I just don’t know how far he’s capable of going.”

That’s when Ms. Clarisse assured me that no one will find me in her old cabin. Instantly, I’m not liking where this is leading at.

“Ms. Clarisse, please.” I begged. “I can’t leave California to some far away state I know nothing about. I need to do this on my own—without your help.”

“If you can’t imagine leaving this state, then your husband will think the same. Rent out my cabin and I won’t lift another finger to help you. From there on, you’re on your own.”

I graciously reject her kind offer. She shouldn’t resolve my problems with her possessions—especially when the cabin means so much to her. I thought her offer would end that day but it didn’t. Everyday Ms. Clarisse became more passionate about convincing me to leave California. A task that is easier said than done.

Who would live in the woods, anyway? How will I know my way around? It’s just too much! I pleaded with her not to force me to think about it. Ms. Clarisse said she would stop but had her offer open for me to take. I assured her I didn’t need to, but thanked her for her gesture. I don’t think she was happy that I got my way.

Paying for a hotel has torn a giant hole in my checking account. Now it’s digging into my savings, a savings that is not affiliated with bank. Over the years, my husband has been clueless about my savings hidden in a pouch, nicely taped on the bottom seat of my battered truck. Since I started working, I have saved portions of my check for a rainy day. Now that things fell apart with my husband, I have every reason to, but not like this. Living in the big city is anything but cheap. Just seeing a good obstetrician costs a fortune. I also have to eat, and my old truck needs to eat as well. Sometimes I have to skip lunch for fuel.