(Wasting Away )

When you love someone, and you are not making them happy. Or when you claim to love someone yet you don’t make their life less miserable, then to say that you’re in a relationship, is merely a feign. Took  a while to clearly perceive it. When I did, it was untimely. We were already wasting away, leaving behind detritus of our beings. We obeyed the law of gravity, and brink by brink we were breaking down.

We moved into a newly refurbished house. It turned out to be a bizarre mistake. But Gloria had suggested it. She wanted it. She mauled over it, each night beseeching me to find a new place for our unborn baby. A decent place. In 6 months she would be lactating. In 6 months time I would be a father. It wasn’t a big house, but just enough to start a family. It had some sort of a decor, just like she wanted it. The kitchen mostly, and the dining had to be spacious. 

This was to be Jer’s room. We were still working on the decoration part. So we took it slow for we had 6 months on our sleeves to get it right. There’s nothing as sensitive as everything to do with a kid. The tinniest of details matters. But it’s articulately beautiful at the  same time. In some years to come, I’d be holding Jer high up on my shoulder and tell the world.  “Look here! This is my son. This is our son..!” On weekends we’d go for a vacation on sandy beaches, sun set at the horizon, Jer in the middle, holding his father’s right hand and his mother’s left hand. They’d be smiling. We’d be racing time as waves would hit our feet in swash and backwash, childishly tickling our toes.

Sometimes, we’d be bent down collecting cowrie shells. Some other times we’d be sprinkling water on ourselves, teasing each other.  Jer would be laughing. Saying, “daddy stop!…”. Yelping for help from mommy, “mommy, help me, tell daddy to stop.”  Gloria would just sit there, ardently  stare with love and adoration, Saying she won’t get in between us boys. Jer would still call unto her, “mommy please…”.  His laughter crackled from his neck like dried  corns in wheats’ field. You could see his eyes shining, his teeth white as his mother’s. In that moment you could see us. You could see Jer, how happy he was. Sailing through. Cruising over happiness. Gloria would say, “let’s go for fries, finish it up honey, our son is starving.” And I’d carry Jer high up on my shoulder, dry him up, then leave. 

On weekdays, I’d be chasing my daily schedule on a 15th floor office, replying mails and making calls to potential investors. At lunch hour I’ll be  phoning  Gloria, asking her how Jer is. Is he sleeping,? Is he awake? Is  he crying? Or is he feeding from his mom’s tits? She’d send me a selfie  of the two of them. Jer would be so tiny. His fingers would be wrapped up around his mother’s thumb.  I’d stare at them. I’d wonder,  how can something so beautiful come out of me? And this was to be Jer’s first bike. I’d teach him how to ride a bike.  He’d fall down couple of times. Once or twice maybe. But Jer would be a sharp kid. He’ll learn to ride a bike on his second fall. He’d be riding on the lanes around the estates,  sometimes in the evening after school. Gloria and I would be tailing him from behind holding hands.  Making sure he stays safe. Jer was our life. Our foundation.
It’s been 8 years now. Vividly I remember Gloria’s voice ricocheting in my earlobes from my phones earpiece; it would crack my phone’s screen, but it’s my soul it shook. It’s been 8 years now, it all seem like moments ago. Feb 14th 2009, I still remember the date, Like some sort of a fairy tale dream, that ceased to be a dream, and onto my palms it presented itself as though a bogeyman in every child’s nightmares, except this was real.  I held it in my arms,  afraid to let go.

“Honey, something is happening to me” her voice was accompanied by unwavering fear.

I was in my office, trying to get a grip over some deal that had went sour.

“What’s wrong love?..”

“Blood… it’s coming out…” tears laced her voice, and I could feel it tearing  straight through me.

“Are you okay love?”
“No, please come home…”

Then the call went off.

I jutted from my office, sprinted to the lobby and got into the elevator, down to the underground parking.  Racing time. Got into the car, switched on the  white Toyota Lexus LS400 engine  and veered off. All the while, “blood” was all that crossed my mind. All the while, “it’s coming out” punctuated my thoughts.  But how could it be, it’s been just 3 months of pregnancy.

I was trying to beat the traffic and make it home. But the streets were far too busy, with every traffic lights painted red; horridly staring back at me,  mocking me. Impatiently, I was hooting the car, trying to get the traffic police officer attention. It wasn’t sufficeful. Dialed Gloria’s number,  it rang but she never picked up. The infuriating motorcyclists paraded themselves on the road, they were adamant to my hoots.

“Blood..! it’s coming out…” My mind raced fast. Not knowing what to think. 
Dialed her number again, she picked up. She never said a word. 
“Hello, honey, are you there?”

There was silence. Her breaths were heavy and fast, she couldn’t speak.  She just breathed on the phone. In her breaths I heard Jer’s voice, as fickle as it was, it sounded more real, and clear, calling unto me. His voice sounded like he was drowning. He stretched out his hands for no one but his daddy, hoping that his daddy would save him. Each minute counted, the more I delayed, the nearer the whale came close. He was drowning.

“Daddy…. daddy. .. daddy hurry… Please, hurry. ..” His voice was fading. 

Sprungly I opened the door, switched off the engine, headed straight  to the first motorist in lane, pushed him off, and gave him my car keys, as I pointed my car and told him to take it. He was perplexed, but I didn’t care., if he knew how to drive or not.  Got on the motorbike and raced off, leaving the traffic officer cursing out. I didn’t care about the red lights,  yellow lights nor green lights,  I wanted to see my baby girl, I wanted to hold my son in my arms.

On the way, I slowed down.  Called Jackie, Gloria’s bestie, but she wasn’t around. She had gone to see her sick mother. I called Tom, my best friend, he never picked up. He always do, but this one time,  he never did. I called the doctor, asked him to come over quick, he said he was attending to some casualties. I phoned different hospitals,  to dispatch an ambulance to my address, but they said, all the ambulance had gone for service maintainance. I swallowed hard. Till I got home. 

I unlocked the door from outside.  Straight to the living room. The furniture was intact, just as we’d arranged with Gloria. Nothing was odd.  The window curtains were spread, light cascaded through, giving the room some scent of nature. Hurriedly, went to the bedroom, Gloria wasn’t there too. So I made it to the washroom and found her there. When I pushed opened the door… The first thing I saw was….. (pauses… .. reflecting…)

The first thing I saw, when I opened the washroom door was her hands stretched on the floor, with her phone a few inches away from her fingers. She was laying in a pool of blood. Mouth opened slightly as though she was struggling to breathe earlier. 

“Honey. ..? Honey. ..can you hear me..?”

She was unconscious. I was scared. Didn’t know what to do. Do a CPR or something, but I was scared. There was blood all  over.

Solemnly I carried her, got her in her car that was parked in the garage. Took her to the hospital. 

She was unconscious for 3 to 4 hours. I waited beside her bed till she woke, and found my fingers trimmed with hers. She tightly gripped them, as her eyes slowly opened. I was glad to see her, so I forced a lurid smile, she noticed.  Lowered her hands to her womb, and felt not a bump. She stared hard into my eyes. Tears welling up her eyes. She wasn’t strong to handle it yet. I bent close, and whispered, “it’s okay honey, I love you.”

“Where’s my baby..!!?”
She asked while sobbing. 
“Where’s my baby…?”
Her hands clutched on my sleeves, her voice heightened.
“What did you do to my baby..?”
She kept on going and going. 
“We’ve lost it, honey, we’ve lost our baby” 
I fell to her embrace as we held each other, crying, comforting her. But she never stopped. She kept on asking, 

“Where’s my baby..?”

It’s been 8 years now. Every weekend I take flowers and cappuccino to the psychiatric ward. Gloria always loved coffee. And I’d read her the poems I’ve written even though she won’t grasp anything. She’d smile at my sight, and feel warm inside. Sometimes, she’d still be asking,

“Where’s our baby..”

I’d stare at her. Hold her hands. Remind her how much I love her. And tell her that Jer is in someplace safe, even when the grass will be gray and the skies green for both of us. 

The doctors never gave an explanation to the loss of the baby. It was some bad luck or some voodoo. They wrote everything on some sort of a report. Sealed it and gave it to me. I haven’t opened it till today. Maybe I don’t have the strength to face it yet. Maybe I’ll wait for Gloria to come back, so we do it together.

 It  left her traumatised. But she’s making strides.  She’s regaining composure. 
Wish me luck as I’ll take the flowers to her this weekend.

****

As written by Phill Ibsen 

( Master Of Descriptions ) 

A Heart_Art_Poetics productions