The night was smooth, silent, and the snow clung to each tree branch—infants clutching mothers’ fingers. The moon, almost full, lit my path towards something that pulled me closer, deeper into an overwhelming white. As I ran farther away from the warmth of my parents’ home, cutting through frozen, leafless trees, I hurried closer to an uncertainty: a fear or hope— not sure which and terrified of my relentless concern. I heard sounds coming from the small valley just over the hill that I began to climb. When I reached the top, my apprehension forced me to stop frozen in my breath, realizing a terrible accident sprawled along the road below.
I heard a child crying. I loved children, yet I had become so afraid to go near them, anyone, even Laura, my little sister, who meant everything to me. Against the telephone pole, a large, black mass of machinery lay crushed and matted like a mangled cat that had lost its last battle. I saw a woman, lifeless, lying in the brush near a clearing in the woods a few yards away from the car. I imagined her pain when her body ripped through the car window, shattering glass all over the hood. As I approached the blinding horror of her blood, the child’s crying directed me towards the car. Oh God—the blood all around the scene seeped through each crack in the road, sucking any chance of life out of a woman who was probably driving home to a wonderful man, a wonderful life. It sucked every chance I might have had to forget my own tragedy. I heard the child again. . . . I had to save her.
A cloud pressed on the moon, slowly shadowing the snow-cushioned bloody trail of fate. The child’s door was crushed, but I could still hear the echoes of her sorrow as I went to her side. She cried in her car seat, “Momma? Momma?”
Her tears: young desperate moans for comfort. A flash of despair hung in the scene. Then, I heard a man singing a lullaby that made her warm, gentle eyes close momentarily, shadowing her dreams:
You are my little joy
That can be coy
My little Natalie
It must be her daddy interrupting. Yet, his mystery brought more sorrow as his wife—sleeping ruin in the brush of snow—left as death carried her away.
“No, come back,” I cried, remembering how Laura cried for me when I left.
A blanket clothed the little girl’s grief, cupped eyes reddened by the bloody cut in her forehead. I moved closer to her, smelling fear and feces. Her mother’s eyes stared dead at me, begging me to save her little joy. Me, the freak, to save her legacy. Me, who ran away from softness and my own jubilee. Little toddler cried again, and her crying loudly shook me from my trance as I captured her from the wreck. Her eyes on me to cry right through my nervousness, my disease: what makes me think bad thoughts that scare me away from Laura.
What a little beauty as I carried Natalie and car seat just beyond her mother’s accident. She looked at me, into my eyes her stare grabbed hold of my heart. Oh God! Her blood on me. I blinked to stop the thoughts of helpless infants cast away to die unfair deaths, putting car seat down to quickly wipe my hands on the worn blackness of my coat. I told myself to snap out of it, to hold, protect the child. I reached for her and took her from her lifesaver. She moaned, inhaling jagged breaths between each moan; and when I held her in my arms she softly sighed, “Momma.”
I deflected my obsession to think bad thoughts, promising to kill myself before I’d do anything to hurt her or any child. I silently repeated this pledge, quickly passing her mother’s limp shell. I called 911 and waited for the child’s rescue as I curled up against the telephone pole near the harsh, bitter remains of the crash.
Against the night, baby slept in my arms as the paramedics approached. Hearing them, she flinched yet remained asleep. I ran to her car seat and gently placed her in it so as not to wake her, leaving her many feet away from any death remaining near her mother’s car. I hid at the edge of the road and watched the ambulance’s lights reflect off the snow before returning to my desperate, lonely course that only led me farther away from the ones I loved.
As I turned towards the woods, however, I felt the mother’s blood anchor me, and I heard the man again—his frightening melody somehow captured little girl as she slept:
My little Natalie
You are so dear
Don’t you worry
Daddy’s near
I thought of how near I had been to my own little one as I let her slip out of my life, out of my body, out of my future. Out the window like the mother in the accident, thrown helplessly into death or the deadly space that judges the soul. I wondered about the soul, the soul of embryos. If there was such a thing. Laura wanted to know all about embryos and souls, but I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t bear to think of either. I repeated my vow that I had silently recited many times since:
Dear God, I’d never do anything bad to hurt anyone, so help me God, Amen.
Never do anything bad to hurt anyone, so help me God, Amen.
That somehow helped me sort it all out, retrace my steps, slowly try to go back to my family…as if I had lost and found my own life, as if I had heard my own daddy lullaby through night.
Note From Author-"Inspired by a passage from James Joyce's Ulysses."
I heard a child crying. I loved children, yet I had become so afraid to go near them, anyone, even Laura, my little sister, who meant everything to me. Against the telephone pole, a large, black mass of machinery lay crushed and matted like a mangled cat that had lost its last battle. I saw a woman, lifeless, lying in the brush near a clearing in the woods a few yards away from the car. I imagined her pain when her body ripped through the car window, shattering glass all over the hood. As I approached the blinding horror of her blood, the child’s crying directed me towards the car. Oh God—the blood all around the scene seeped through each crack in the road, sucking any chance of life out of a woman who was probably driving home to a wonderful man, a wonderful life. It sucked every chance I might have had to forget my own tragedy. I heard the child again. . . . I had to save her.
A cloud pressed on the moon, slowly shadowing the snow-cushioned bloody trail of fate. The child’s door was crushed, but I could still hear the echoes of her sorrow as I went to her side. She cried in her car seat, “Momma? Momma?”
Her tears: young desperate moans for comfort. A flash of despair hung in the scene. Then, I heard a man singing a lullaby that made her warm, gentle eyes close momentarily, shadowing her dreams:
You are my little joy
That can be coy
My little Natalie
It must be her daddy interrupting. Yet, his mystery brought more sorrow as his wife—sleeping ruin in the brush of snow—left as death carried her away.
“No, come back,” I cried, remembering how Laura cried for me when I left.
A blanket clothed the little girl’s grief, cupped eyes reddened by the bloody cut in her forehead. I moved closer to her, smelling fear and feces. Her mother’s eyes stared dead at me, begging me to save her little joy. Me, the freak, to save her legacy. Me, who ran away from softness and my own jubilee. Little toddler cried again, and her crying loudly shook me from my trance as I captured her from the wreck. Her eyes on me to cry right through my nervousness, my disease: what makes me think bad thoughts that scare me away from Laura.
What a little beauty as I carried Natalie and car seat just beyond her mother’s accident. She looked at me, into my eyes her stare grabbed hold of my heart. Oh God! Her blood on me. I blinked to stop the thoughts of helpless infants cast away to die unfair deaths, putting car seat down to quickly wipe my hands on the worn blackness of my coat. I told myself to snap out of it, to hold, protect the child. I reached for her and took her from her lifesaver. She moaned, inhaling jagged breaths between each moan; and when I held her in my arms she softly sighed, “Momma.”
I deflected my obsession to think bad thoughts, promising to kill myself before I’d do anything to hurt her or any child. I silently repeated this pledge, quickly passing her mother’s limp shell. I called 911 and waited for the child’s rescue as I curled up against the telephone pole near the harsh, bitter remains of the crash.
Against the night, baby slept in my arms as the paramedics approached. Hearing them, she flinched yet remained asleep. I ran to her car seat and gently placed her in it so as not to wake her, leaving her many feet away from any death remaining near her mother’s car. I hid at the edge of the road and watched the ambulance’s lights reflect off the snow before returning to my desperate, lonely course that only led me farther away from the ones I loved.
As I turned towards the woods, however, I felt the mother’s blood anchor me, and I heard the man again—his frightening melody somehow captured little girl as she slept:
My little Natalie
You are so dear
Don’t you worry
Daddy’s near
I thought of how near I had been to my own little one as I let her slip out of my life, out of my body, out of my future. Out the window like the mother in the accident, thrown helplessly into death or the deadly space that judges the soul. I wondered about the soul, the soul of embryos. If there was such a thing. Laura wanted to know all about embryos and souls, but I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t bear to think of either. I repeated my vow that I had silently recited many times since:
Dear God, I’d never do anything bad to hurt anyone, so help me God, Amen.
Never do anything bad to hurt anyone, so help me God, Amen.
That somehow helped me sort it all out, retrace my steps, slowly try to go back to my family…as if I had lost and found my own life, as if I had heard my own daddy lullaby through night.
Note From Author-"Inspired by a passage from James Joyce's Ulysses."
