Wild and Weary
Flash Fiction 05
And it came to me then that every sin is an ancient cry for kingdom come. Even when we’ve heard the echoes of heaven, we still forget it through our noise.
So we strained our ears, as we hummed to ourselves, waiting for news from the labor room. As the time dragged on and the questions swirled: why did she choose to birth alone? And where is the comfort in the in-between spaces like waiting rooms?
For all of my thoughts, I was afraid to say the wrong things and not get to hold my grandbaby. I don’t know when I quit knowing how to speak the language of youngins, but every misstep with my words felt like an accidental sin. I wondered if only watching my daughter raise a child would be enough, if loving from the proper distance would satisfy. All I wanted was to remember the harmony, rather than the dissonance, of motherhood.
The smell of hot cocoa broke through meandering prayers as my daughter’s fiance knelt in front of me, holding a Styrofoam cup. “Here, Dottie.”
“You’re thoughtful, Keith.” I said.
He settled into the chair beside me. “Shelley says it’s your favorite.”
Memories blinked around my mind as I smiled and sipped.
“Don’t tell her I mentioned it,” he added. “You know how she gets.”
“Heaven forbid we know she cares.” I blew away the steam. “Do you know what you’ll name the baby?”
He bit his lip and rested his eyes with mine. “Joseph, if it’s a boy.” My heart lurched. “She didn’t love it at first, but I’d rather my son be named after her dad than after me.”
“What an honor,” I whispered. “What about a girl?”
“Shelley,” he said with a snort. “I’m not sold, though.”
She would, I thought. “Your mama know about the baby?”
He looked down. “Ehh. She’d fly off the handle, jealous or something. Don’t think she knows how to be happy for me, so I’m damned if I do. Maybe more damned if I don’t. Wish I could tell my dad, but that would stir her up anyway.” His shoulders slumped.
I rested my hand on the sleeve of his goldenrod flannel shirt—the same one he wore the day I met him…the day he came to town to whisk Shelley off to California.
“We haven’t known you long, but you’re easy to love. I’m sure your mama loves you,” I tried. “Just doesn’t know how to show it—maybe she never received the language for it, you know?”
I pictured him stroking Shelley’s belly just the night before. “But you have that language, Keith. You’re gentle, patient as all get out, musical and creative. You already love your baby well.”
Keith rubbed his fingers in his beard, bringing them up to trace his eyebrows. He shook his head before rising and beginning another slow circle across the dirty tile.
It wasn’t how I imagined becoming a grandmother. He wasn’t who I thought I’d be beside. The tightness in my chest wasn’t the delight I thought I’d have. What are our plans for anyway?
Finishing my hot cocoa, I joined Keith at the window. We looked outside from our place in-between. A pair of mockingbirds skirted around a lamppost and disappeared into a blossoming buckeye tree.
Keith pointed. “What’s the purple bush them bees are buzzin’ ‘round?”
“Those are heather bushes,” I sighed, relieved to be looking out. “Not native, but can survive a nasty winter. Then it gets right to work on soaking up the sun.”
“Shelley presses those in books and ties ‘em in her hair.”
We both grinned. “Yes, always my wild flower child.”
A few minutes passed before Keith turned towards me, his eyes wild and weary. “I don’t get why she don’t say it, but you should know that she sure loves you.”
I froze.
“She’s like a wave,” he said while tracing the window frame. “But she don’t know where to go or what to do ‘til she sees something to break against. And you’re like her rock, or a cliff, and she rushes toward you–”
“To break against me?” I said, trying to hear him.
“Guess so. Then she goes back out. But I think that’s why we’re probably never really leaving here.” He watched my expression change. “I’m okay with that. See I’m convinced: if she doesn’t somehow have you, I think she’d just drift too far out. Maybe one day she’ll learn to crash against me instead. I don’t know,” he sighed. “But she’s worth it.”
“Excuse me–” interrupted the nurse. “Someone’s ready to meet you.”
Keith offered his elbow and I remembered the first time I took Joe’s arm. We followed the nurse to a doorway brighter than the rest.
“You first,” I motioned.
Taking a deep breath, I prayed for a moment to thank God and beg for the right things to say. My heart quickened at the sound of the baby’s fussing.
Keith knelt, fawning over the baby as the little head wriggled around Shelley’s breast. Shelley bit her lip, then cried, “Finally! She just needed Daddy here.” He beamed and dabbed at her sweat with his handkerchief.
“So?” Shelley said, gazing at Keith like he was the only man alive.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then whispered something.
“It’s perfect,” she cooed while stroking the baby’s fingers. “Hello, Heather.”
Through my tears, I caught a wink from Keith.
I didn’t know where to stand, what to say, how to be. But suddenly the pang in my chest opened wide and I smiled for the joy at the unbelievable picture before me–like I was in the middle of a Mary Cassat masterpiece. So I rationed my breath as the sun warmed the warm and I thought of what Joe would sing:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Amen
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