Too Many THings
I never wanted a baby brother. I never wanted a baby brother. I never even wanted a baby brother. As quickly as my thoughts float up into the skies, I’m slammed back to Earth by reality: Whether I wanted a brother or not, I won’t have one now.
I can’t.
***
I remember Mama’s reaction to my outburst the day she told me.
“You’re going to have a brother!” she had said, excitedly. A brother.
I was a fiercely-independent kid, nine years old; and quite happy as an only child. I spent occasional days bored with my usual routine, but the thought of having a sibling to play with had really never crossed my mind.
“Mama, I don’t want a baby brother,” I replied.
Mama looked straight at me then, eyes steely.
“Margie Morgan, you listen to me…” she began.
“My name is Missy!” I screeched. My given name seemed to burn me like fire, and hearing it spoken aloud forced me to cover my ears. I despised the name Margie.
“Missy.” Mama corrected herself: at once calm, cool, collected.
“You are going to have a brother, and that’s the last I want to hear of it. You’ll love having a brother, I know you will.” She turned on her heel then, leaving me on the floor of the playroom with my books.
I had always been the introverted type. I spent so much time in my own head that other kids never really gave me the time of day, but that was okay by me. I didn’t need them. In fact, I found that when I focused all my energy on a thought, sometimes, the unexplainable happened – or at least that’s what the school counselors had told my parents.
Mama had waved it away as nonsense, but I saw a change in things after that. That whenever she noticed I was getting worked up about something, her eyes turned cool and serious; as if trying to counteract the fits of horrible rage I was prone to.
What can I say? It was my way or the high-way.
Hazards of being an only child, they said. Strange, they said. A profoundly-unhealthy occurrence perhaps a sign of the occult, one counselor wrote in particular. It seemed to be that I was capable of wishing things away, if only I thought enough about them. Mama never said whether the counselors were right, but she never said otherwise, either. The changes in her eyes said it all – she was sometimes afraid of me – of what I could do.
***
Too many things went wrong, they said. A typical pregnancy lasts for 38 to 40 weeks; that’s around 9 months. Mama had been pregnant for too long, they had said. At 2 weeks late, the doctors ordered strict bed-rest, with plenty of fluids. At 4, they examined her; and at 6, they examined her again. After another appointment at 8 weeks overdue, the doctors were at a loss.
How on earth is it possible for a woman to still be pregnant at nearly 50 weeks, my parents wanted to know.
The doctors only scratched their heads in confusion.
“It’s not,” they had admitted. “It’s highly unlikely. The thing is, we can’t see what’s wrong. We just can’t see anything, so we can’t say what to do.”
The doctors couldn’t tell us anything, but I felt it. I had been thinking intensely on the whole thing, this whole baby thing – I never wanted a brother in the first place. I was special, wasn’t I? For almost 10 years I was Mama’s pride and joy, at least until the ‘unexplainable’ things started happening. We were going to get back on track, Mama and I: I would be a good girl, a smart girl, the very best girl – and she would look at me with love, as she had once. Things would be as they were before. No more steely-blue eyes, no more whispered secret conversations; we would be Mama and Missy – never Margie - facing the world together.
A baby brother would be messy. He would ruin everything.
He’s gone now. Both Mama and baby brother are gone. I guess I was the one who found her first, lying lifeless and tangled in the bedsheets. Unmoving. Her belly was still giant. Too many things gone wrong.
They said it was a rather clean death, as deaths go, but things like that are never clean, that much I know. All they mean, when they say that, is minimal blood was found.
I don’t remember any blood, actually. Maybe it was yet another notch on the list of things gone wrong. All I remember is the out-of-body experience – I never wanted a baby brother. I never wanted a baby brother.
They say that out-of-body experiences sometimes occur to victims of suffering, as a way to block out pain. As a way to deal with grief, or float away from trauma. But what about the people who deal out that pain? How do they pay for what they’ve done?
All I know for sure is I never wanted a sibling. It’s all I’ve ever known.
I can’t.
***
I remember Mama’s reaction to my outburst the day she told me.
“You’re going to have a brother!” she had said, excitedly. A brother.
I was a fiercely-independent kid, nine years old; and quite happy as an only child. I spent occasional days bored with my usual routine, but the thought of having a sibling to play with had really never crossed my mind.
“Mama, I don’t want a baby brother,” I replied.
Mama looked straight at me then, eyes steely.
“Margie Morgan, you listen to me…” she began.
“My name is Missy!” I screeched. My given name seemed to burn me like fire, and hearing it spoken aloud forced me to cover my ears. I despised the name Margie.
“Missy.” Mama corrected herself: at once calm, cool, collected.
“You are going to have a brother, and that’s the last I want to hear of it. You’ll love having a brother, I know you will.” She turned on her heel then, leaving me on the floor of the playroom with my books.
I had always been the introverted type. I spent so much time in my own head that other kids never really gave me the time of day, but that was okay by me. I didn’t need them. In fact, I found that when I focused all my energy on a thought, sometimes, the unexplainable happened – or at least that’s what the school counselors had told my parents.
Mama had waved it away as nonsense, but I saw a change in things after that. That whenever she noticed I was getting worked up about something, her eyes turned cool and serious; as if trying to counteract the fits of horrible rage I was prone to.
What can I say? It was my way or the high-way.
Hazards of being an only child, they said. Strange, they said. A profoundly-unhealthy occurrence perhaps a sign of the occult, one counselor wrote in particular. It seemed to be that I was capable of wishing things away, if only I thought enough about them. Mama never said whether the counselors were right, but she never said otherwise, either. The changes in her eyes said it all – she was sometimes afraid of me – of what I could do.
***
Too many things went wrong, they said. A typical pregnancy lasts for 38 to 40 weeks; that’s around 9 months. Mama had been pregnant for too long, they had said. At 2 weeks late, the doctors ordered strict bed-rest, with plenty of fluids. At 4, they examined her; and at 6, they examined her again. After another appointment at 8 weeks overdue, the doctors were at a loss.
How on earth is it possible for a woman to still be pregnant at nearly 50 weeks, my parents wanted to know.
The doctors only scratched their heads in confusion.
“It’s not,” they had admitted. “It’s highly unlikely. The thing is, we can’t see what’s wrong. We just can’t see anything, so we can’t say what to do.”
The doctors couldn’t tell us anything, but I felt it. I had been thinking intensely on the whole thing, this whole baby thing – I never wanted a brother in the first place. I was special, wasn’t I? For almost 10 years I was Mama’s pride and joy, at least until the ‘unexplainable’ things started happening. We were going to get back on track, Mama and I: I would be a good girl, a smart girl, the very best girl – and she would look at me with love, as she had once. Things would be as they were before. No more steely-blue eyes, no more whispered secret conversations; we would be Mama and Missy – never Margie - facing the world together.
A baby brother would be messy. He would ruin everything.
He’s gone now. Both Mama and baby brother are gone. I guess I was the one who found her first, lying lifeless and tangled in the bedsheets. Unmoving. Her belly was still giant. Too many things gone wrong.
They said it was a rather clean death, as deaths go, but things like that are never clean, that much I know. All they mean, when they say that, is minimal blood was found.
I don’t remember any blood, actually. Maybe it was yet another notch on the list of things gone wrong. All I remember is the out-of-body experience – I never wanted a baby brother. I never wanted a baby brother.
They say that out-of-body experiences sometimes occur to victims of suffering, as a way to block out pain. As a way to deal with grief, or float away from trauma. But what about the people who deal out that pain? How do they pay for what they’ve done?
All I know for sure is I never wanted a sibling. It’s all I’ve ever known.
Biography
Melissa Ramirez is an introvert, reader, animal-lover, and a bit of a movie geek. Her favorite genres
include dystopian fiction, and contemporary fiction; and she is a fan of (most) indie movies. She hopes
to go into publishing in the near future. When Melissa is not reading, she can be found thinking about
traveling, at any movie theater in the area, or at the library: where she searches for even more books to
read and even more shows to watch.
Melissa Ramirez is an introvert, reader, animal-lover, and a bit of a movie geek. Her favorite genres
include dystopian fiction, and contemporary fiction; and she is a fan of (most) indie movies. She hopes
to go into publishing in the near future. When Melissa is not reading, she can be found thinking about
traveling, at any movie theater in the area, or at the library: where she searches for even more books to
read and even more shows to watch.