PART 7

One Year Later

Wait.
Wait.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be real.
This can’t be us.
We don’t deserve this.
Maybe I do, but Carmen doesn’t for sure.
I don’t know what to do.
I am panicking.
I’m breathing and it feels like needles going up and down my throat.
What can I do?
What is going to happen if God doesn’t fix this?
Why her?
Tell me, God. Tell me why.
Tell me why you’re showing me your back all the time when I need you the most.
It’s not for me, this time. It’s her.
Please save her.
Please, take her back.
I need her so much.
Why did you let this happen?
Why?
She could have been anywhere else, but she was there.
She was there because I asked her to.
And now I feel guilty.
Jesus, how I am used to feel like that.
My weapon is guilt.
My weapon is guilt.
Please God let me see that look into her eyes again.
Please God don’t let her look at me like that.
Please God don’t let her feel that I’m a stranger to her.
Please God take whatever you want from me, but let her be here the way she used to.
I exhale. Deeply. Slowly.
And it hurts so bad.
This is the worst case scenario.
No, wait. It’s not.
This is not the worst thing that could have possibly happened to us.
But it’s so close anyway.
The baby is lost. Gone.
Carmen is lost.
I feel lost.
God, please, tell me what I have to do to fix this.

“Shane?”.
She calls me while I’m sitting on the porch, tight fists, heavy tensed body, stinging tears behind my closed eyes like I’m in hiding.
That tone is her voice.
That tone.
I clear my throat.
“I am here”.
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. She looks so distant.
She’s looking at me and she’s so distant.
“Hey”.
That’s her way to say hello. Like before all of this mess happened.
“Hey”. I say, “Did you sleep well?”.
Carmen Morales McCutcheon scratches her head.
“Yes, I did. Thank you Shane”.
“How do you feel?”.
My voice is neutral, but my stomach hurts.
“Still a little bit sleepy, to be honest. But I’ve been in bed all day, and now it’s 11 p.m., and if I keep on doing nothing, I’ll never stop sleeping”.
“You need to rest. You know that”.
“You say it all the time”.
I turn around and stare at her, silently. There are so many things I would like to tell, instead of the same old “Rest, Carmen. That’s what you need. You need to rest”.
There are so many things chocking on me.
So…
So I just keep on staring at her, in the low light of the porch.