Jack

So, I tried an entirely new style of writing tonight. Mostly because the idea popped into my head when reading The Help and I wanted to give it a try. Basically a rough draft, maybe a short story, maybe the start of a book on abortion back when it first began. Don't know yet. And yes, it's supposed to be grammatically wrong and misspelled sometimes. Let me know what you think and enjoy!

There was a time when the world knew right from wrong. At least that is what some like to believe. Me, I don’t know bout that. I go up to third grade and they learned me my ABC’s and the rhithmitic, so I reckon the world done passed me by. But me, the way I see it, people done good and done bad since there been people. We just gotta learn to find the good gain’. I may not know nothing bout the books and words and math, but I know bout that feeling deep down inside where something ain’t right.

Where you know it just ain’t good.

That feeling of wrong.

I have that feeling now, as I clean what's left off the stainless clamp after he finish up. The room is sterile. Cold. I can hear it crying. It whimpers. It breathes. It has life.

The doctor removes his bloodstained gloves and walks away, the door swinging open and then shut behind him as he dissappears to take his lunch. The world waits for me, the invisible nurse, to finish what he has begun. I am to dispose of it. I not sposed to give it a name. Not even think that it could have a name. Treat it like a piece of old garbage and throw it away and never think of it again.

I walk along the marble tile, looking down at the fancy pattern on it as I do. There are dark red stains in the cracks. They look right out of place on that expensive floor. I know what they be. I squeeeze my eyes shut tight, but my ears still hear him. He hurtin. His cry get caught in his throat before starting up again. I can’t close my heart and my eyes open up, an instinct, like breathing. 

I look at him and see gray pupils staring back into my own. They kinda the dark iron color of a ocean right before a storm. They be tiny, fragile, forgotten, but there they be. I look back at the door. The window leading to the hallway is quiet. I am alone. Except for him. I know what I apposed to do.

I feel the feeling creep up inside me again, that one of wrong, and I give in. I touch the tiny infant, the one thing I never, ever lowed to do, and his small fingers wrap around my own. I lift him up and hold his face against mine. His forced breathing starts slowin down, growing more natural, as we rock. For a moment, it feel as if we one,  his warm cheek pressed against my own. It feel good, like he not a piece of trash. Like he just wanna be loved like we all does.

I unfold a towel, one meant for the cleanup, and wrap him up inside. I sing. It be a lullaby I heard once as a child. It tender, soft, sweet, and the lyrics make my heart hurt. How many babies never gone hear a lullaby, cause a what happen in this room, cause a the gloves with the stains before lunch comes. Now the baby stop cryin and I be startin up. We switch places, you see. 

I keep rocking and hold him up close, soft 'gainst my chest. I feel that achin tearin up at me ‘gain. I peer out the door and into the empty hallway. I step outside, put one heavy foot in front of the other, til we make done with what I spose to be the world’s longest walk. We finally outside. Safe.

I look at Jack, his little, crinkled nose, his baby soft features, and I can't help be smilin. He not an it. He a baby. He have life. The sun shines on his new face, nature’s welcome to the world, and he squints under its brilliant rays.

And for the first time in the longest time, it’s there. That feeling of right.

Yes, I think, looking at his bright eyes, Jack sound bout right.