My Mother's Son: Chapter 16
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I lay on the bed thinking about what has transpired tonight. The dinner
was an unmitigated success. Then again, maybe not. The last dinner I
attending
ending in my mother lying to me about her "rape," so who am I to tell
how
a good dinner goes?
I kept my mouth quiet for most of the dinner, so as not to "embarrass" Evangeline with my gross ineptitude in the intelligence oeuvre. I wouldn't say that I am not intelligent, just not in the same areas as her and her compadres. While they were talking about the history of modern South America and speaking Spanish, I was thinking of quantum theories and talking to myself in French. Just kidding. Actually, I spent most of the night wondering what in the hell they were going on about. Simón Bolívar who? And what was with this "Brazil" I kept hearing about. Would that be where they grow the nuts? We played the perfect hosts: prim and proper, gracious to a tee. And what did this earn me? A whole night of thinking about my mother. Our encounter in the hallway played over and over in my head, as if I was trying read meaning into her every physical move, her every last word. To be honest, when she told me that she was happy to see me happy, it actually got to me. Almost forgiving her for everything, I almost saw into her life, why she's done the things she's done. I started to think about why she would be happy that I'm happy. Could it be that she's always wanted me to be content, just not with her? Maybe if she truly hated me. Maybe she sees me as one of her enemies, trying to ruin her happiness at every turn. Maybe I was somebody to eliminate from her life. After I was at a safe distance, what would it matter if I was happy or not? Maybe she only gave me the false impression that she was happy for me so I would be lulled into a sense that she cared for me. With that false sense, why would I try to ruin her life? Then again, maybe she drove me away because she loved me. She knew that there was no way she could provide me with what I needed: love, affection, a mother. She drove me away so that I could find those things without her dark sphere overshadowing my every move. If that was her true intention, she has certainly accomplished it. With Evangeline, I'm happier than I've ever been. I wake up and my first thought is no longer about hate. I go to sleep and my last thought is no longer about revenge. If my mother drove me away in the name of love, it's the best things she's even done for me. Evangeline enters the bedroom, bringing a desperately needed breath of fresh air. She looks stunning, even though she is adorned with a raggedy old bathroom and her hair looks like she's been roaming the wilds of the Amazon for the past 10 years. She sits on the bed, brush in hand, stoking it through her hair. "I was really impressed at the dinner tonight," she breaks the ice. "You really comported yourself well." "So did you," I return the compliment. "But this is what I do," she argues. "I talk with academics all day, hob nob with my Profs. I'm used to this. But you. I'm really impressed." "Thanks, I think..." "You know what I mean," she explains. "You're such a breath of fresh air for me. I spend all day at Concordia with my nose in a book, talking to my profs on how to improve my papers, looking for meaning in seemingly endless historical data. Then I come home. There are no expectations. There's no formal conversation. I can just be myself, and it's such a relief to have that in my life." "So that's all you have me in your life me," I smile "A casual conversation at the end of the day." "That, and the fact you're so damn cute." "Well, that's a give-in," I lean in and kiss her soft neck. She's unresponsive. This is odd. She's usually putty in my hands. "I keep thinking about that Jeannie woman from next door. I kept getting the weird impression that you knew her from somewhere." "Like I said, I've probably seen her around. We do live on the same floor." "I suppose, but I can't get rid of this feeling." "Well, all I can tell you is that I just met her." "Um, yeah," she struggles to find the words. "Do you want to ask me something?" "Yeah, I do," she pauses. "That woman, Jeannie Desjardins, is she your mother?" "My mother," I'm stunned. Mostly because she could put two and two together with so little information. I don't know what to tell her. So I do what comes naturally to me. I lie. "She's not my mother. My mother doesn't even live in this building." "Then how did you get here that day when I found you on the stairwell," she won't let it go. "And when you broke into my apartment?" "My mother's boyfriend lives in this apartment building, the next floor up. She lives in the east-end." "Right, it was stupid of me to mention it. I guess I was just suspicious because you're last name is Desjardins too." "Did you ever look in the Montréal phone book? There are thousands of Desjardins." "But only one of you," she looks to me, smiling. Once again I lean over to kiss her on the neck. But she resists. "Oh come on, all I want is one kiss." "Yeah, I want to talk to you about that," she stand, moving to her dresser. "Don't tell me you went and joined some church where pre martial sex is verboten." "No, but I kind wish I would have..." "I don't get it." "Well, last week I was late, which got me thinking." "Late for what? Did you miss some classes or something?" "No, you're not getting it," she becomes condescending. "I was late, you know, it didn't show up." I finally clue in. "You mean "it" didn't show up?" "Nope." "Is that unusual?" "Sometimes, in times of stress, I'm irregular. I'm under stress right now, so I would be irregular." "Well, case closed." "One would hope so." "But obviously you're not one of the people who would hope so." "No, because I took a test." "And it was negative, right?" "That's the catch." A million thoughts race through my mind. Not one of them is coherent. "So," I struggle for words. "This means you're with child." "Yeah, I'm pregnant." I collapse onto the bed. Every last ounce of air escapes my body, leaving me with the feeling of imminent death. Evangeline rushes to my side, a wide smile plastered all over her face. "So how do you feel?" she asks. "A little sick and light headed," I admit. "Well regain your composure, daddy." "Daddy?" I feel like I'm going to vomit. I start to hyperventilate, pacing back and fourth the room. Sitting on the bed, Evangeline looks calm and relaxed. This perplexes me. "How can you be so calm?" I demand. "You are pregnant. I am the father. This is not something to be calm about." "Calm down for a minute. This is nothing to panic about." "Nothing to panic about?" I panic. "We are 18 years old. You're a sophomore in university. I don't even have my grade 12. I can't calm down about this." "Come here," she motions for me to join her on the bed. "I can't lay down! That's how we got into this mess in the first place." She grabs my arms and pulls me onto the bed. Forcing my head onto her lap, she strokes my hair and tries bring me under control. Laying in her lap, I take slow breaths, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart, which at this pace will soon fly out of my cheat and hit the opposite wall. But she has this amazing ability to bring a calm over me; little by little I clear my mind of the million incoherent thoughts, leaving room for her gentle words. "This is not a disaster." she says. "We will work our way through this. We still have about eight months to figure out what to do." "I'll get a job," I offer. "I'll work full time now so I can have days off when the baby comes. So you can keep going to school." "See? It's not such a disaster when you think it through. We can do this." "We've been through a lot," I add. "I think we can handle this." "We should probably move into a cheaper place," she concedes. "I love it here, but with all the baby stuff, we won't be able to afford it." "This is weird." I think aloud. "This is really weird." "I know. This is going to change our lives like nothing else could. We just have to be up to the challenge and give it our all." "What if our all isn't good enough?" "It has to be. It's the only thing we can offer." "I'm going to be a father," I observe, the words leaving a funny taste in my mouth. "I don't even take care of myself." "I know what you mean. I'm going to be a mother. I have to start eating right and thinking about my child above myself. It's going to be so weird." "You know, there's nobody else I'd rather be a parent with." "I feel the same way." I raise my head and kiss her full on the lips. It's sweet, delicious, etched into my memory. No matter how long I live nor how much I accomplish, I will never forget this moment, truly the best of my entire life. I settle back down on the bed and cusp her belly with my hand. It's soft and shapely, a deep contrast from the skin and bones that I call my abdomen. It's hard to believe that our child is growing in their, taking on our features, inheriting our traits. I think about that child and how much it will change my life, how much I will grow because of it. I will do everything right by that child, I swear to god. I will give it two parents, never making it wonder who "daddy" is. I'll make sure its belly is full so that it will never go hungry. I'll make sure that Evangeline and I stay together so that neither she nor I could take on people who might mistreat it. I'll make sure that it's happy, that it never spends a night alone because one of us is still at work. But most of all, I'll make sure our child knows it's loved. It'll never have to wonder, never have to spend tearful nights pondering the question. I'm going to be the father I never had. "What are you think about?" she asks. "About the future, the baby." "Are you happy?" "Happier than I've ever been, Evangeline. Nothing even comes close." "I was hoping you'd feel that way." "How do you feel? How did you feel when you first found out?" "To be honest, I didn't know if I wanted to keep it at first." "What?" her comment takes me by surprise. "I'm 18. This is a big thing," she breathes. "This would change my entire life, everything. Everything is going to be at least 10 times more difficult from now on. I couldn't just go out to the store anymore, I'd have to bundle up the baby, get out the stroller, and struggle down the stairs. It would be an end to my freedom." "So how did to come to keeping it?" "Honestly?" "The absolute truth." "I just thought about you and that was all I needed," she breaks down into tears. "I can change so long as you're standing by my side." "I know exactly what you mean," I embrace her, pulling her hair back off her face. "With you by my side, I feel like I could do anything. Now that includes raising a kid." "Me too." "This is going to be a great thing," I try to encourage her, realizing that the tables have turned. "We are going to be great parents and our child will be the luckiest kid in the world. Don't forget that." "I'm gonna do my best." I kiss her forehead, my heart finally settling down from its break neck speed. With the shock of the thought wearing off, I settle into a sense of happiness, of joy. It feels like all the pieces of my life are finally together, with the last piece, the baby, just being found. But the eternal tranquility is just not to be. A loud knock at the door disturbs our gentle moment of bliss. But I don't want to get up to answer it. I just want to stay in this moment forever. There is another knock. It's more like a bang. Could Gary have found out where I live? At this point I couldn't care less. "We have to get that," she says, getting up off the bed. "I know." We proceed down the hallway, jolted by another loud pounding on the door. It's got to be Gary, only he would be so loud and persistent. As Evangeline opens the door, I realize it's not Gary. Oddly, I feel no sense of relief. You can't feel relief if you weren't worried in the first place. Standing in the doorway are two paramedics, with stretcher in toe. "Is this 305?" one asks with scary force. "No..." Evangeline answers. "This is 307." "Do you know which apartment Jeannie Desjardins lives in?" My heart drops to the floor. "It's the next one down." The paramedics rush down the fall, leaving me to wonder what's happened this time. "Oh my god," Evangeline gasps. "I wonder what happened?" "We should probably go and see," I volunteer, trying not to seem too anxious. She walks down the hall to the door of my former home. The paramedics have just entered, but shut the door in our faces. "You know," she says. "This isn't the first time this has happened. The paramedics knocked on my door two other times. The first time is an anomaly, the second a coincidence, but the third? I wonder if she's a battered wife." Unfortunately, I know the answer. But I can't say anything, nothing at all. As much as I want to tell her that Jeannie is my mother so she can put a face to a name, I can't say a word. The paramedics fling the door open as quickly as they closed it and rush a stretcher out of the apartment. On the stretcher is, of course, my mother. But I can't let on that I know who she is, I can't show any emotion even though it's eating me up inside. I have to be cold to protect Evangeline. As the paramedics fly down the hall and I struggle to hold back tears, the only words I hear are "miscarriage" and "severe bleeding out." As I struggle to hold back tears, the only thing I can think is that the lord giveth, and the lord taketh away. |