Young Expectations (orig. short story)

I took my wallet from my back-pocket and opened it. It held the picture of my brothers Daneil, Frankie, and me; when were eight, one, and four respectively. Daneil’s sandy blonde hair was covering his face as Frankie’s diaper dropped from his waist. I was smiling with my crooked teeth making its unwanted appearance. My arms were both hanging from each of my brother’s shoulders.

Ethan walked in with a suitcase in hand. He came towards the bed and said, “You okay, Brooke?” I shook my head and lay it on his shoulder.

I haven’t seen my family for four months but in a few minutes Ethan and I are gonna get into his car then head to my grandparent’s house.

Within ten minutes we were on the road to Gramps and Grandma’s place. I looked at him and said, “I’m only sixteen Ethan.”

He stared at me with his dark brown eyes and replied, “I know.”

“I’m gonna have a baby.” A tear rolled down my cheeks but I didn’t brush it off.

Ethan looked away and the only words that came out of his mouth were, “I know.”

I nodded and said, “Good.”

We continued with our driving from San Rafael County to Daly City. My parents lived at South San Francisco. I looked out the window as the slow downpour of rain began to liven up. The trees on the side of the road glistened under the soft glow of the moon. It was 9:34 PM. I touched my enlarged belly and closed my eyes thinking, God, please make everything okay.

Out of no where I stated, “I wish Mom doesn’t hate me.”

He shook his head and simultaneously said, “Of course she doesn’t.”

“I wish she doesn’t.”

 

We got to Gramps’s faster than expected, probably because there weren’t much traffic. I got off with Ethan’s help. Ever since the last quarter of my pregnancy started, I started having troubles with doing stuff like reaching to get stuff on the cabinet or any high places, getting in the car, getting out of the car and running.

Ethan walked ahead of me and rang the doorbell. It was quite dark out and my head spun. My heart beat faster than it did when tried out for cross-country a year ago. My head hurt and my legs shook. I was getting weak again because I didn’t eat dinner.

Gramps answered the door and his blank face turned into a wide smile, his gray eyes bulged out of its pockets as he towered over me. He hugged me like I’ve told him that he won the lottery; I haven’t said a word.

“Oh my goodness! Thank God you’re alright Brooklyn!” He hugged me again. I don’t think he noticed that my big belly was in the way or he simply implied that I got fatter. He dragged me to the den where Gramma was watching T.V.

She looked up from the couch and laughed. “Brooke! Oh my! You’ve grown!” She looked me up and down; her smile disappeared as she tried getting up. “What…” She looked at my eyes, and then brought her eyes to my stomach. I put my hands on it, feeling self-conscious.

I started, “Gramma… I’m… due in a month.”

In Godspeed, my grandmother picked up her feet and walked towards me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me. She ran her fingers through my brown curls and said, “Shhh… Brooke, don’t even say anything.”

I stared to cry; I put my arms around her too and rest my head on her frail 60 year old shoulders.

 

When Gramps and Gramma got me and Ethan settled on their guest bedroom, they sat us on the couch looking us in the eyes. “Where were you guys? Both your families were worried to death!” Gramma said.

Ethan said, “We were okay, Rose. We stayed at a friend’s house at Marin for the past months we’ve been gone.”

Gramps’s eyes rolled down to my stomach. I knew he was curious in the baby so I stated, “And the baby’s okay, Gramps. Ethan made sure that we went to the doctor’s for monthly check-ups. But there is one thing…”

Within a heartbeat Gramps said, “What is it?”

I looked at him and gave him a half-hearted smile. “We wanted to name the baby after you Gramps…” Ethan gave me a look, not because he didn’t want the name Jacob, but because he knew that the one thing was not about the name. I ignored this and continued to smile at Gramps waiting for his reaction.

He beamed at me, then at Ethan and lastly at Gramma. “Did you hear that, Rose? Did you hear that? The kids wanted to name their baby after me!”

I looked away and quickly wiped the tear off my face.

How can I say it without my heart breaking into pieces?

 

We’ve all decided that we were heading the short distance of South San Francisco from Northern Daly City, the first thing tomorrow.

When Ethan was already asleep I got up from the bed and headed to the kitchen where I drank warmed up milk from the microwave. I sat on a stool and looked at the pictures on the magnetized on the fridge. Three of them were each one of my siblings and me. They were the original photo of our first pictures.

Without warning, my tears ran towards my cheeks and I didn’t even bother wiping them off. I prayed for God to guide me while I see my parents again for the first time in four months; for me to find the courage to tell them what happened and what might happen to my baby.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and shook my head aggressively as if it’ll shake all my worries and problems away.

 

The next morning we woke up at six thirty and got on to the road at seven forty-five.

I was nervous and my veins popped up like it was trying to escape from my arms. I sat back and let my grandfather to the wheel and half-way through the few minutes drive, I threw up. I felt sick to my stomach and we had to stop for a couple of minutes, which was to my advantage because it stalled time from seeing my family again.

 

We got to the house and Ethan helped me out of the car again.

I smiled to Gramps when he asked if I was ready, when in reality my knees was shaking not because of my throwing up but because my nerves still was not soothed. The couple of minutes that we took to stop, I thought of running towards the other way, back to Gramps and Gramma’s place. When I remembered, I can’t run.

The door opened with Daneil on the other side. He looked at Gramma and Gramps first and then at me and Ethan. I was behind everyone, so I pushed them all out of my way and I fell into Daneil’s tight embrace. He kissed my cheek and pushed me away from him. He looked at my belly and touched it. He asked if it was real. When I nodded he smiled at me broadly and said Congratulations. He acknowledged everyone else behind me and took me by the hand. He led me to where the family was; the dining room eating breakfast. I looked around the table and it was only Dad and Frankie. I turned to Dad and gave him a hug. Within the tightness of his hold, I felt that he missed me. It turned quiet and no one moved.

Mom then came into the dining room. Without a word, she came up to me and at first I had a feeling she was going to hug me. You’d think that after not seeing and hearing from your only daughter, you’d be happy to see her; but no, not mom.

It happened too fast that I can’t recall anything. It’s like a montage of pictures from a digi-cam. With the hand slapping me, the stinging, the tears rolling down my cheek, down her cheek, then she started yelling. “Who do you think you are?! Running away! Now, coming back… PREGNANT?! What do you think your father and I are?” The intensity of the words coming out of her mouth dropped on me. I wasn’t expecting this. I couldn’t move. We all knew that Mom was going to strike me again. Though she’s never laid a finger on me or my brothers, I knew this time, nothing was gonna stop her. I wanted to walk away, take the high road… But I couldn’t. My feet were glued to this spot.

Gramps and Dad grabbed each of Mom’s elbows but Mom shook them away, saying, “I’m not going to touch her!” I took a step back, glad that my muscles loosened.

I clutched the tip of my massive stomach. My tears won’t stop coming and my nose started running also. I had to wipe them all away. I wanted to defend myself, but I can’t talk. My mouth started to go dry while Mom’s seemed like she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Dad tried to push her away, and said something… Everyone went into hysteria. Everyone was saying something, even Frankie. I was the only one not saying anything. And I also couldn’t hear anything, everyone’s like mute. All I hear is my heart pounding on my chest.

So I just looked around trying to take everything in. I noticed a poster on the fridge that had my picture on it. My height also. On top of that was my full name. My age. Information that lead to me thinking that my parents were looking for me.

My mother still looked pretty with her messy brown hair in a bun, her dark cardigan slowly slipping from her shoulders, her hands waving in the air. She looked hysterical. Then she put her hands to her eyes. Dad clutched her shoulders and pulled her close. Mom turned to Dad and I realized she was crying. I didn’t know what to do…

I felt helpless.

 

When everything has calmed down and Ethan was sent home by my parents and my grandparents were also on the road to Daly City, I was left alone at the backyard… sitting like an unwanted loner on a high school bench. Then Daneil came out from the sliding door that led to the family room.

“How’re you doing sport?” He asked.

“I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a party, but a big, warm hug would’ve done the trick.” I leaned towards him as he sat next to me.

He put his arms around my shoulders and said, “Mom’ll cool down.”

I looked up at him and said, “I prayed last night, Daneil. I prayed that Mom won’t hate me.”

“I know… I’m glad you’re home safe, Brooke.” He smiled at me but his eyes seemed unhappy.

“Thanks, you’re the first.”

“That’s not true… Dad’s happy, and I know Mom’s happy too. You know she loves you, B.”

“I know Mom regrets having me as her child.” I shook my head and laughed.

“That’s not true. Mom loves you, Brooke. Mom loves…”

I didn’t let him finish because I stood up. “Look at me Daneil. I’m sixteen, I’m pregnant, I ran away, I got kicked out of school because I didn’t go to my classes, and I’m a failure. How can Mom, the perfectionist, love me?” I flopped on the grass and looked down. My eyes stung because I was holding in my tears.

 

I worked my way up to my room and sat there with Frankie playing his guitar next to me. Daneil had to go to work and it was a Saturday so Frankie didn’t have school.

He looked at me and propped his acoustic guitar on the floor. “What’re you going to name your baby? Can you name it after me?”

I noticed his voice got deeper with the four months I haven’t seen or talked to him. “I’m gonna name him Jacob; after Gramps. Do you want me to name him after you too?”

“No… But it would be cool. I was just making small talk, Brooke.” He picked his guitar up again and put in on his stomach as he slowly laid his head on the headboard of my bed. Then, he closed his eyes and started humming.

“You mad at me, Frankie?”

Without opening his eyes, he replied, “No. Why would you think that?”

“Mom’s mad at me.” I said lying next to him, propping my feet on top of a pillow for comfort.

Frankie opened one of his eyes and said, “She’s gonna get over it...” Closed his eye lids and added, “You remember when Daneil lost Mom’s wallet with every single card that she has in there? She got over it after three days. Give it a day or two.”

I looked out the window. “I wish I can believe you, Frankie.”

“You can. You’re just scared to.”

He looped his arms with mine.

“I love you, Frankie.”

I caught him smile with a reply such as, “Yeah… Yeah, whatever.”

 

At the dinner table everyone was stiff and quiet except Frankie. He was talking about a new game for his Xbox.

Dad asked him about it and he replied with such enthusiasm that only a problem less life could give you.

Then Daneil joined in. Mom and I stayed quiet, sometimes catching each other’s eyes for a few moments. And I honestly believed that maybe she’ll say something, but she just doesn’t; she looks away no more than five seconds later. One time I really hoped she was going to say something to me because her mouth opened but was quickly closed thereafter.

I couldn’t take the silence anymore so I stood up, put down my napkin and excused myself.

That night I couldn’t find the courage to tell my parents that I wasn’t sure if baby Jacob could make it through my labor pains. I couldn’t find the confidence to go up to Mom and make a statement about my baby having problems with his heart.

 

First two weeks with Mom was difficult.

She still wasn’t talking to me at length. The longest conversation we had was three days ago when she asked what I was planning to name the baby. I said, “Jacob.” And she said, “After Gramps.” I said, “Yeah.” And then she stopped talking and continued eating her sandwich.

I was due with Jacob in a week and Mom still hasn’t talked to me the way we are supposed to talk to her.

Mom had the day off today and so did Frankie. So it was only Frankie, Mom and I in the house.

I took up the courage and knocked on Mom’s door. She motioned me to come in as she looked through some baby pictures of my siblings and me. I sat next to her. She pointed at the picture of me when I was a week old. “This is what Jacob will look like.” She looked me in the eye for the first time since I got here.

I couldn’t say anything else so I blurted out, “Mom, Jacob’s got complications with his heart.”

She looked at me for a moment and her smile dissolved. “What do you mean?”

“The doctors said that his heart was not pumping the right way or something. They think that if it was a painful and stressful labor, he’d… he’d probably… well; they said he won’t make it if it’s a stressful labor. Mom this is why I came home. I need you guys.”

She took hold of my arms and pulled me towards her, hugging me.

“Baby… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do anything to hurt you. I was surprised. I wish you’ll forgive me. I…” I didn’t know what else Mom said because my heart started to take over within the reach of my ears. I couldn’t hear anything else and my eyes went droopy. I felt myself falling into Mom’s bed and mom calling out to Frankie.

 

When I woke up I had my mom to my side with Frankie and dad behind her. My timid little brother looked away when I looked at him then stalked out of the room. Dad smiled sadly and mom just stared as if I didn’t wake up.

She asked if I was okay and I looked around, noticing I wasn’t in my room, wasn’t wearing my own clothes, I wasn’t at home! I noticed the cross carrying Jesus across from the bed. I thought, Really? Out of nowhere. I looked at it as it stared back with such weak desire to live. I didn’t understand religion, not the way my mother did… Not the way Gramma did. I wasn’t the kind to care either. I didn’t know how people can believe in something that claims to be full of glory and something so full of himself… The whole “I’ll die for you…” was so over-rated.

I nodded to my mom and said, “I’m good.” When in reality my insides hurt like I haven’t eaten for days. And my whole body was sore, I thought maybe since I can see that this looked like a hospital room and smelled like it too; Mom probably knew what’s wrong with me. That my stupid blood isn’t pumping the right speed a minute, so they’ve diagnosed me with some problem in the heart. I didn’t understand.

The doctor didn’t come by the way I’ve seen it in movies; probably talked to my parents while I was knocked out. I smiled; the burden of telling my parents what was wrong with me was taken off my shoulders. My hands dropped to my stomach and my smile disappeared.

I looked up and saw my mom look away like she just witnessed s weird, awkward moment she wasn’t supposed to see. It didn’t matter to me, really. I felt bad that she felt that somehow she’s at fault, but maybe that thinking is right; maybe she is wrong and something is wrong because of her.

I shook my head knowing I didn’t fool myself.

 

“Why didn’t you call us?” Dad asked the third time, intently waiting for my answer.

“Dad, let’s drop it please?” I plead.

“We’re not dropping anything… Brooke, you’re pregnant. And now we hear that something’s wrong with…” He trailed away walking towards the door and stopping for a dramatic pause.

I rolled my eyes and pushed myself up and the tray in front of me, containing my dinner, away. “Me? I know it Dad, I know what you’re gonna say. That something’s wrong with me because suddenly after how many years of perfection, you and Mom are going thru burdens, hard, perilous burdens; because of me, because something is utterly wrong with me. I know, Dad.”

He looked at me and for a second there I thought he was going to jump up at me and cry on my shoulders, and that was when I noticed my hands halfway up in the air waiting to catch him. I put them down. “It’s not that easy to talk about.” Dad replied.

I narrowed my eyes and said, “That’s exactly it. Dad, it’s hard to talk about.”

Mom looked out of the window, her hair in a messy array of a pony-tail. I looked at Daneil next and waited for him to say something. With me staring at him he intervened, “Dad, I think she’s right. The doctors said she should get some rest. It’s bad for her to get all hyped up; especially in a negative way… So, let’s drop it; for now.” I thanked him with a weak smile.

 

Today was my due date. I was waiting for the baby to come, just sitting there, all juiced.

I’m such an adrenaline junky. I didn’t know if I was gonna make it today. But I waited and waited.

Until Ethan came in.

That was when I broke down crying. He sat next to me and I cried until my eyes couldn’t cry anymore.

I looked at his wide-set hazel eyes and said, “E, I love you so much.”

He kissed my forehead saying, “You know I do too.”

We stayed there and hugged until I pushed him away, “Ethan, whatever happens to me… Please tell him…”

When he figured where this conversation was heading to, his eyes burned anger. He moved two feel away from me and said, “You know what? Never imply that anything bad will ever happen to you… Brooke, nothing is gonna happen, I promise!”

I took his hands, “Ethan, I’m just making sure.”

He pulled them away with rage still in his eyes, “Don’t start.”

I looked straight away and looked again at the cross across what has been my bed for a couple of days now. Jesus was still… there. He wasn’t mad, the expression on his face was great grief than fury at the sins everyone’s made. Though his face was full of anguish, it was calm and collected. His face is so peaceful to stare at that it hurts. For a couple of minutes I just gaped upon his face and waited till his face looked deformed for a second.

 

When Frankie came in as everyone was out eating lunch, I again found myself staring at the figurine. He asked how I was doing. I flipped him off saying, “Stop asking, because next time… I will strangle you to death.”

When his expression looked hurt, I said, “Sorry… Pregnancy’s getting to me, Frankie.”

He smiled half-heartedly and sat next to me. I asked him why he wasn’t eating and he replied with the same smile, “I wanted to stay with you.”

I looked down at my hands and said, “Frankie, would you mind if I say something?”

He watched me with questioning but thoughtful eyes.

I requested that he let me finish. He nodded once still question in his gaze.

“I want to tell you I love you.” I choked out. “Frankie, I do. And I love Mom and Dad and Daneil and Gramps and Gramma… And I love Ethan and the baby.”

Even with my request he didn’t oblige, “Why are you telling me this?” Now with irritation in his voice.

“Because I don’t know how much time I’ve got, Frankie.”

He eyed me, his eyes narrowing and then widening with surprised. I caught him off-guard. He wasn’t expecting this from me. “Brooke, nothing will…” I knew what he was gonna say, so I lifted my hands up to stop him.

“I know what you’re going to say. And please, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Just tell everybody that. Tell Jacob…” A tear rolled down my eyes and I swiped it away. I tried to be strong but I’m not fooling anyone.

 

Next thing I knew, I felt like I’d peed, after a couple of hours of writhing pain in my abdomen.

I looked up at my nurse who was checking my pulse. “I think I need the bathroom.” I said with an apologetic smiled.

She smiled back and for once a positive thought crossed my mind: I’ll make it.

 

I’m telling you, the pain of child-birth, is not fun. I made a mental note to thank my mother every now and then for giving birth to me.

I looked down and stopped breathing, my lungs began to tighten and Mom looked at me as I heard her say, “The hell, Brooke! BREATHE!”

I shook my head violently and tried to tell them to stop tugging at me.

 

Then the baby came, Jacob. He was beautiful, his blonde bush of a hair all over his head, all bloody and looking like an old man. He was cute, I thought. I hated his smell though; it was like blood with some life to it. I cringed.

I closed my eyes thinking, “Wow, I made it.”

And the thought got to me… I made it!

But my grogginess also got to me and I lost consciousness.

 

I was half-asleep and half-awake when I heard the doctors yell my name. My mom screamed from somewhere and my dad sniffled down a cry. I heard the nurse tell Ethan I’m gonna be alright.

Suddenly I felt a tug at my heart, someone’s ripping me open, I guessed. I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea, but a sudden wave of tranquility filled me up and I felt a part of me leave, my soul. I didn’t know what was going on but it was still annoyingly loud.

The doctor talked to my parents aside, I can only faintly hear them... He’s saying I need some kind of surgery, and it is possibly fatal… To fix my heart, I assume; my failing, useless heart that seem to still beat and still love, fully capable of holding down my emotions, but not my health.

I pictured Jacob, with his grandfather face and wrinkly hands, the white and red stuff on his cheek that I wanted to so badly take off… He was my rope, I thought. The mentality of seeing him grow up and seeing him so calm and innocent. Imagining him in my arms, I smiled because there was my mission in life… My reason to live and I thought for the last time, Screw it… I’m gonna make it and if I don’t God owes me big time.