Dew Drops
The mist set in. I could barely convince myself to open my eyes to look out the window. What was today? There was something that I was forgetting. The baby screamed in the other room. He needed to be fed. I grabbed my phone off of the bedside table and slid my finger across the screen. 5:37 in the morning. I rolled to my right and smelled the sweet lavender shampoo of Nathan. It made me want to forget about the baby for a moment and nuzzle against his broad shoulders. But motherhood won out over childish desires. I kissed the crown of Nathan’s head and swung my feet out from under the covers and into the cold chill of the early morning. My long sleeved button-up suddenly did little to keep me warm as my bare legs carried me to the baby’s room. He continued to wail and beg for attention. I leaned over his white bassinet.
“Jacob,” I cooed. “How are you this morning, honey?” I wrapped my arms around him as I picked him up and held him gently. He was getting heavier. It was hard to believe that it had been almost five months. Time used to move much slower. I used to think the hours would drag on and on, especially when I was still unmarried and every second I was without Nathan seemed empty. Nathan was a loyal husband. A feature that I had always questioned about everyone I had ever dated. I never knew what any of them had liked about me. Sure I was interesting to a degree, but their affection seemed as if they had drunk a love potion or been cursed to love me.
Jacob unreached for my chest and I went over to the little fridge in his room. I pulled out a small bottle and went to the kitchen. I grabbed a small pot that we left out on the counter and filled it with a couple inches of water. I put the bottle in the center of the pot and set it on the stove. The turn dial clicked as the gas starter lit the soft flame and I set the flame to a low heat. Jacob moaned and pulled on my messy hair. “Silly boy,” I cooed as I put my hand between his little fingers in hopes that he would find my fingers more interesting than my hair. Nathan said that I was crazy, but I knew Jacob was causing a couple of bald spots. He couldn’t control his own strength and his bright eyes told me that he would be a wonderful person.
Nathan’s alarm went off in the other room I could hear him roll over, searching for the alarm to silence it. I smiled softly. I wanted him to come in and hug me to keep me warm on this chilly morning just as I held Jacob to keep him warm under his baby blanket. The waiting seemed to last. I nursed Jacob and planted a raspberry on his tummy. Jacob laughed and giggled in such a way that only babies could, would bring such joy to me. It was hard to ever be annoyed or frustrated with this little boy, as many of my friends were with their children. Stirring in the bedroom indicated Nathan actually getting up. He emerged from the hall with a mop of messy hair, scratching his head and yawning.
“Morning, you monkey,” I laughed as I pulled the bottle out of the warm water to test its warmth. Not warm enough. I set the bottle back in the water.
“Ehh?” Nathan tried to sound shocked through another yawn, “Who ya callun’ monk’y.”
“The one scratching his head,” Nathan thought about what he was doing and jerked his hand away from his head. I rolled my eyes and smiled. This was a typical morning, despite the misty chill creeping in from outside. Nathan shivered and rubbed his arms. As he walked over and hugged Jacob and I. Jacob wiggled in my arms and reached for his father.
“Somebody wants to say hi,” I moved to hand off Jacob, and Nathan leaned in and kissed me. I held Jacob close again and made sure he wouldn’t be dropped.
“You must be freezing,” Nathan took Jacob in his arms and kissed his forehead. “How is my cutie little patootie. My little guy!”
“The cold is welcome on such a nice morning,” I pulled the bottle out of the warm water. Now it was warm all the way through. I held out the bottle and Nathan took it in his hands to
Brianne Johnson
feed Jacob. Jacob giggled and mewed like a small kitten as he brought the bottle to his lips. I stood next to Nathan and looked over our little bundle with the sweetest feeling in the world. I wished with all my heart that this would never change. Life should stand still at this moment. But for all of my wishing, life marched on with the progression of time.
I keep these memories locked up in a special place in my mind. Thirty-two years have passed since that chilly morning with the cool mist brushing up against the still glass of the window. My child turned into children then grandchildren. My husband stayed with me for some of it. He left when Jacob was fifteen with a younger brother and sister half that age. We had a fight and he walked out. Nathan called me many times to try and come back, but my stubbornness left me with a sick feeling in my stomach every time I would listen to his messages. Then one day a letter arrived with a muted lettering on a crisp sheet of white paper. The paper was too nice to be another piece of junk mail. It was a calm letter with no emotion attached to a request for my presence at the morgue.
Heavy sighs fell from my lips that following morning outside the cold gray building. Everything seemed to be draped in a muggy green as the rain brought with it the matted grays. Even he was a green-grey. The sight made my stomach churn but I stood in rigid silence letting a simple nod signal that I recognized the lump of flesh before me. Suicide they said. His letter detailed how he could never forgive himself for leaving us. How he regretted starting a new family and how he left them in order to come home to his true family. I was disgusted at the thought and felt worse for the other woman who stood just a few steps down the hall looking through the same clean glass as I. She was a soft woman, homely for her age. Her twisted bun was messy and quick. Her hair had not been dyed in some time, but the remnants of a previous attempt at beauty lingered on the frayed ends.
“I’m sorry,” I felt almost guilty saying anything.
“I don’t need pity.” I looked over and saw tears welling in her eyes. Her tongue spat jealousy at the very thought of me and my children. Her hands were cracked and dry from washing dishes and caring for the now teenage boy she had at home. Another abandoned by a child.
“I told him to stay with you.”
“So what?” she choked on her words. She was likely facing the same reaction as I had all of those years ago. I let out a soft smile and knew that she would be alright. It hurt, but the pain led to a realization. For all that had been taken, something so precious had been given. I had a loving family and would not trade them for anything in the world.
“You will be fine. You have your son,” I felt for the old business cards in my pocket, “And you have my number if you want to talk,” I said as I held forward a small business card with my name and information scrawled about the front of it. She squinted at it through her tears and took the card as she held her gaze through the window. She did not say anything. I patted her shoulder in a motherly way and left the too-clean walls of the morgue. The rain outside had lulled for a moment and a swift mist had set in. I looked at a small flower that had pushed through the cement of the sidewalk and proudly put itself on display. There were tiny dew drops sitting on its petals, fresh from the afternoon rain. The crisp smell in the air left me with a feeling of surprising contentment, and memories of that chilly morning floated through my mind, leaving me with the sweetest feeling in the world.