The mind itself preys on your own patience but not always. And left to your own devices, living fronts itself as a rather predictable odyssey, and as you go on, progress becomes the very things you work for, say putting a baby in your woman. Well, the test strip had revealed its truth and went into the waste basket. John, still appreciative of the freedom to chance this modest association, sat in the tavern drinking his Guinness. If you so easily forget yourself in such a context then you aren’t the right person to be around. Anyways, this didn’t mean Franz wouldn’t wander into his own weirdness, and knowing John always listened, he said, “You know certain months of the calendar spell the name Jason.” A light went off in John’s head.
Come home with a mint in his mouth, he waited for Lara in the living room. It was good to be home. A muted darkness was just starting though it was still light outside. She had made it known to him that her bump would start showing in the third month or thereabouts. Presently she was still herself physically. He saw this as she came to him. Nothing served as a better reminder of who she was than this. She was his wife and as a man of common disposition, he strived to love her his way. In as much as this was sometimes blighted with the uncertainty of just what more needed to be done, he believed he was doing enough. See, to counter her intentional childishness of sending him random cryptic texts at work, he’d reciprocate with responses of his own that were, most times, simplistic and coital. He loved her and so he opened himself up enough so she could lay against him right there on the couch.
Now, I might be wrong but maybe a woman kept in young love sometimes survives on the precedence of prior days, and given that yesterday had been good to her man, today most likely was, and so she didn’t ask. And laying against him as she was harboured within itself a promise she had taught herself to like. I mean Lara was prone to looking into the expected way of the coming years, and as always, she saw the two of them as still having moments like this. Could be she believed it to be the only valid reward for not downplaying non-verbal affirmations. John, with his free hand, rubbed her still flat belly.
“Nine months is a good time to wait, right?” John asked honestly.
“I don’t think anyone would want it any different,” Lara said. And angling her head she looked into his eyes. This also gave her a good view of his chin which was without fuzz. He liked it when she looked at him. He’d come to the conclusion that only she could see things he couldn’t. He was hers now and it was a good thing to be kept away by work because his returns were something. Not special, something.
For two weeks he had sat with the news of Lara’s pregnancy, allowing himself only the promiscuity of thought, to think he needed to get a sky-blue crib, free up the extra room in the house, purchase a Kodak for the moments, and when he finally did something, it was to call his mother with the news. It hadn’t been a long call, done hurriedly in his study, and it embarrassed him to hear her scream her excitement. It wasn’t much of a big deal, was it? His father, on the other hand, intentionally distanced himself from the influence of such emotion, calling an hour later and knowing what to say. Nothing poignant, just his rugged experience come forth. “Well, boy, brace yourself.” John didn’t know what he meant and hadn’t bothered foraging for its meaning.
“So, what do you think of the name Jason?” John asked suddenly. He had firmed his arm around her to keep her from wiggling her body against his. Funny that no one has ever spoken against the illusion that a woman could become one with a man if she tried. And very specific was the effort, this wiggling that John didn’t enjoy. “Never pegged you as the early bird, what’s the rush?”
“Indulge me,” John said desperately. Moments where he pined for her approval, well, they always occurred unplanned.
“To be honest, it would make sense after we know the sex of it. Right now, the only thing it wants is to grow, not to be labeled.”
“Don’t start with that kind of talk,” John said excitedly. And shifting his weight made the leather couch creak. This he did to be comfortable. Lara misinterpreting his intentions sat up. A side of her face was bewrinkled some. Where her head had been, that section of shirt stuck to John.
“It’s how it is. I don’t want to start making assumptions or whatever.” She spoke casually. They seemed conjoined at the hip sitting like they were. They were close and much of the couch unoccupied. She looked at him looking at her, she with the nappy hair cut close.
“But I don’t consider us unlucky,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Lara asked squinting her uncertainty. This done with her eyes was no unique act. Her nature wasn’t going askew. See, her uncertainty was doing more than reporting on her balance, and if she was to tell you what it was then what would it help for John was taking advantage of her familiarity, and so he said, “Lara baby, it’s gotta be a boy.”
He was effusing mintyness this John. The sweet, taken to mask the patronizing smell of beer was now gone, whittled into nothingness in his mouth. The scent lingered. Breathing it in certainly catered to this beautiful functioning of her body, but Lara herself was engrossed in the sudden wonderment of just how this man, once baptized in her love when it was whole and centered, was experiencing a parchedness in his reasoning. This happening, was it a momentary phase or a quick painless affliction? If it be the latter, and by God Lara hoped it was, the only remedy she could give was silence. After all, her conditioning would only compel her to say something common if allowed. “You prick!” she’d say. Annoyance was growing inside her.
She got up without warning and turned her back to him. This was really her leaving. And her presence, not to be unfair, hadn’t promised John anything beyond simple companionship, but to be denied it suddenly was chastisement he didn’t fathom. Leaning to reach for her, just as she started walking, hurrying away, his fingers grazed her behind – twin things made firm by her denim skirt. Up the stairs she went in a huff and it hurt him somewhat to see her go. Knowing not what to say after her, he stayed quiet.
In their bedroom she lay face-down on the bed all too aware of what she had become –a woman with child. Granted, this reality is pervasive, only Lara didn’t see it like this. Yes, there’s sense in saying life comes at you fast, but before this, before this suburban house, before this man, her life was a tapestry augmented with friendships, and back then, made up of assumptions and too much dreaming, it was ok to court a selfishness just right for their little circle. They were three. Now Karen had made partner and Mary was with the Roja Cruz and experiencing the Catalan sun. She was merely a woman with child.
Sometimes it amused her, this life, this pregnancy pitched. To take care of another, to be wholly committed to it, this was to become a function of her life. See, motherhood was never a considered reality for her and her friends. They had agreed on this. Now that it was within touching distance for her, this very truth cast her friends in a different light, and to gaze upon their independence revealed a truth ever so harsh and it was that they had left her behind. And now it seemed a wasteful thing to be potent with memories of their times together. Sometimes they were disorderly, coming forth in a manner she didn’t wish to recall them. How was it right to reminisce that time they got drunk in a frat house when taking a random baking class happened before this? To forget about her friends, she knew she had to stop calling or picking their phone calls. She hadn’t told them about her conception.
This baby certainly pined for the relevance of being outside. See, her annoyance, this feeling John had caused, propped itself against her belief that this child would be nothing but a girl, a female. Yes, she had forgiven herself for that little disappointment she had felt in the bathroom when the test slip read positive. She had and now the name she had picked herself bobbed up in her mind. Sophia it was and free of the constraints of hand-me downs. Sophia would be her; Sophia would live this life she had wanted for herself. A life of shaking off disappointment like how a dog does wetness. Not only this but not teetering on the edge of uncertainty aplenty. She wanted it like this. And doing as John had done, she caressed her still flat belly.
Having walked out on him, her simple display of it, going up the stairs quickly, didn’t call for some sort of defiance. John knew how to sit with the silence, and having turned on the television, well, you could say he was doing something. See, he wasn’t wired for the sentimentality of nature. Watching a mama lion ferry her restless cubs, still spotted and without a roar, into a den did nothing for him. The next channel showed a man and a boy playing catch on a field of green. A boy and a man. This was life and its subtle cueing. John hadn’t asked for this nor willed it. Whatever this was, it was. He watched with keen interest. The man and the boy threw the ball back and forth. One can’t afford to be critical of these claimed moments. So, what if the boy had buck teeth? He was a son to his father. In as much as this was true, John knowing himself was true also. If this were to happen to him, he’d throw the ball over yonder and ask the boy to fetch it. Upon his return he would say, “How about we work on your swing Jason.” How he wanted a son so, to name him Jason and do this with.
Lara had left his presence. It wasn’t too much that she was privatizing her annoyance. He’d have to deal with it at some point, maybe go up to the stairs and into their bedroom and say, “What’s the matter with you?” This was bound to work. Only later. On the television the man and boy now sat under a tree holding hands. John watched them and suddenly knew he had to be fair with himself. See, he wasn’t the type to let himself get discouraged by the generality of the name Brian. It would always find use. Heck, it was more distinguished than James. Or Felix. Brian had been his first choice but then Jason had crept into his consideration. Now he had to be fair. On the television the man and boy were gone. Being shown was rubble and felled buildings in a faraway land. This he had no interest in. To be fair he had to surrender himself to the instruction of his mind. And so, his hand was led into his pocket and out came a coin. Heads for Jason. Tails for Brian. One way or another a man had to know fortuitousness. The first toss, done with much enthusiasm, glanced off the overhead fan and fell on the carpet. Tails. For it to count it had to be perfect. The second toss climbed through the air with sufficient ease, and coming down he caught it in his hand. Heads. Like this he decided his “son” would be named Jason.
……
Image: Dall-E / Adobe Spark remixed