Chapter Two

Posted by Sandy on May 11th, 2008 filed in Chapter Two, Sweetwater American Chapters

Mami said she and Dihda were checking out apartments in the suburbs of Maryland the day I was born. January 2, 1976 at 7:30 p.m. in Washington Hospital Center—feet first and jaundiced is how I made my entrance.

“My daughter, the bravest child in the world,” Mami said when I’d ask her to tell me my birth story for the millionth time.

I sat on the floor, a faux fur blanket wrapped around my head, skunk slippers on my feet and a glass of milk in one hand. Mami sat on the couch in her robe, her hands dancing in fabric as she sewed.

“Your birth story,” she’d begin, thick glasses covered most of her face. “I told your papa we shouldn’t leave the apartment. I was overdue and having severe ligament stretching pains. You kicked and punched so hard I thought my skin was going to rip. And the pain, your papa was convinced I was having contractions. ‘No, no, it’s the baby, she’s stretching her legs, the brat is so spoiled,’ “I’d say to him.” ‘Get some ice, hurry, before she tears my skin.’

“The pain, oh, the pain, your stretching episodes caused your papa and me. Poor man turned white whenever I woke him in the middle of the night. ‘She’s doing it again,’ “I’d say. “I’d sink my teeth into a pillow. He’d fly off the bed and into the kitchen. He tripped over your bassinet, once. He was moving so fast.” Her hands continued to dance. Tiny bubbles of liquid left her eyes.

“I’m sorry about the ice, sweetie,” Mami said as if I had memories of when I was in the womb. “But it was the only thing that made you stop stretching. We had to put ice on my belly’s skin to get you to move.” She smiled and spread tears on her face.

“Your papa insisted we take a bus from Adams Morgan, where we lived, to Silver Spring, Maryland. He didn’t want us to live in D.C. anymore. Too violent, he thought. Especially in our neighborhood. Before I met your papa, and after my brother died and my sister married, I lived alone for a couple of years. I remember the night I was awakened by a screaming woman.”

At this point in the story, Mami’s hands stopped dancing. She’d ask me to sit next to her. I covered her waist and legs in the blanket. She could never tell my birth story without digressing to an incident in her past, which caused her pain and regret. Regret she’d not overcome until years later when she’d stand up and visit the police station. Regret which would be replaced with guilt and eventually cause her death.

‘No, leave me alone. Stop it. Please just go away!’

“The voice was coming from the street. It was four in the morning and I had not closed my eyes once.”

“Every few minutes the television that sat on top of my dresser made clicking sounds threatening to shut off. I couldn’t bring myself to replace it. It was the first thing my brother, sister, and I bought when we came to live in Washington D.C.”

‘Please, I beg you. Leave me alone. Someone please call the police!’ “the voice continued.”

‘Get over here. I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want to kiss you. C’mon, give me another chance,’ “a second voice said, a man’s.”

“I pulled the blanket over my head hoping it would be strong enough to shut out the noise.”

‘Oh God, please someone help me. Please!’

“I got up from bed and walked towards one of the windows. But before opening it, I turned around and glanced at the picture on the television. Click Click. I’d been watching a movie where dead people come back to life and start to eat the living.

Normally I’d have been too scared to watch for more than ten seconds, but something caught my eye forcing me to keep watching.

In the background there was a thin woman wearing a nightgown and slippers. She was walking in a completely opposite direction from the rest of her undead group. And unlike them, she had no interest in eating the living. She was simply lost, knowing no other purpose but to drift aimlessly. Her eyes were hollow and wide. Her mouth opened at the absurdity of living while not living.”

‘Please lady, I can see you. Help me!’

“I opened the window and said,” ‘Get away from her. Leave her alone. I’m calling the police!’

“The man chased the young woman around a Volkswagen.”

‘Get away from her,’ “I said.” ‘Leave her alone!’

“The chasing continued. I gave up and closed the window. I hoped it was just a lovers’ quarrel. I went back to bed.”

‘Come back lady. Please come back!’ “the voice begged.”

“I unlocked the bedroom door and forced the slippers on my feet to carry me to the kitchen. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard, turned on the faucet, and watched the water fill it, spilling over its sides. I rubbed my hands together, picked up the phone receiver from atop the kitchen counter and called the police.”

‘You must come now. There’s a lady on the street outside my building being chased by a man. Come, please. I live in El Barco.’

“I gave them the address and hung up. I then unscrewed the sugar container’s lid, dipped a spoon in it, and dumped some sugar in a water-filled glass. After swallowing the last sugary sip, I went back to my bedroom. I could still hear the woman’s voice begging me to help her, to save her from the man who meant her harm.

What else could I do? I had already called the police. What did she want me to do? Did she want me to come down there and help her fight him off? The man was six feet tall and overweight. I couldn’t help her. And besides, it was probably just a lovers’ quarrel. In the morning they’d awaken cuddled in the same bed under warm blankets.

Yes, just a lovers’ quarrel.

I turned up the volume on my television and watched the whole movie. Every ten minutes or so, I’d catch just a glimpse of the undead woman and I was reminded of myself when I first arrived in the States—lost, scared, and mute.

The next day, a child who claimed to have been looking for used toys, discovered a woman’s body in a dumpster. I knew it was that of the woman who had begged for my help the night before. I didn’t need anyone to confirm it.”

I never knew what to say to Mami about that incident in her life. I was a child. What could I say? When she was done, she’d pick up her needle and thread and continue with my birth story.

“The apartment had two bedrooms, hardwood floors which was the norm in the seventies—wall-to-wall carpeting didn’t become popular until later, two full bathrooms, a separate dining room and living room, and a kitchen decorated with flowery wallpaper and green appliances. Did I mention it had two bathrooms? Your papa and I could each have our own bathroom. I wouldn’t have to listen to him fart while he shaved and I took a shower in the morning.”

I giggled whenever Mami got to the part about Dihda farting. Poor Dihda, he was lactose intolerant but refused to stop drinking milk and products containing milk or lactose, which was just about everything, it seemed.

“Avoid bread, cereal, processed meats, cheese, candy and, of course, milk,” the doctor said when Mami finally convinced him to visit the clinic on Columbia Road.

“Processed meats, candy?” Dihda said to the doctor.

“Yes, some meat like sausages and pastrami contain lactic acid, as do some kinds of candy,” the doctor said.

I sat in the corner of the examining room fidgeting with my coat zipper and paying close attention to everything that was being said.

Dihda didn’t have a problem avoiding candy. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth but pastrami, sausages, cheese, bread and milk? No way. So he lived with an eternal bloated stomach and chronic gas.

Mami loved him for what he was—a kind and thoughtful man, who also happened to fart a lot.

Mami continued her story.

‘So what do you think?’ “the young lady who was showing us the apartment said.”

“I remember how nervous she was, couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty years old. The pin on her blouse read, Jessica, Leasing Consultant and she kept touching it. I thought it was going to pop right off and hit me in the eye, the way she touched it.

Your papa and I looked at each other. I knew we couldn’t afford it. He was dreaming again. He was such a dreamer.”

‘Someday we’re going to live in a place surrounded by water and white houses. Someday we’re going to travel to Greece, Italy, and maybe even Australia. Someday we’re going to sleep until noon and read the newspaper until one, then have breakfast and take long walks,’ “he’d say.”

“No water surrounded the apartment building. But it did have a playground with a slide, swings, and seesaw. I thought of you and how you’d someday play in that playground.”

‘When can we sign the lease?’ “your papa said to Jessica.”

“She was so happy. Jumped up and down and said,” ‘Right now. Follow me back to the office and we’ll set everything up.’

“She stopped fidgeting with her pin and took off before I had a chance to say, ‘Are you crazy?’

“Your papa took my hand and said,” ‘I think this is the first apartment she’s leased. It’s a happy day for her and a happy day for us. Two dreams are coming true.’

“And then, splat—thick, gushy water mixed with mucus hit the floor. You were coming and we needed to get to a hospital. But not just any hospital. It had to be Washington Hospital Center because your papa and I had taken a tour of it and all the babies in the nursery looked so happy, swaddled in pink or blue blankets with hats on their heads and bracelets on their wrists.

Jessica turned around when she heard the splat.” ‘Oh shit, are you okay? What do we do? Should I call an ambulance? Should I get some water, some blankets? Can you walk? Maybe you should lie down,’ “she said as her fingers found her pin again.”

“I wanted to hug her.”

‘Do you have a car?’ “Your papa asked her.”

‘Yes, but it’s low on gas and the reverse gear doesn’t work.’

‘Let’s go. My baby is coming.’

“Your papa took my arm and led me out to Jessica’s car. I walked as fast as I could but not fast enough for your papa. He’s the one who wanted to go apartment hunting and now he was sweating and about to break down in tears because I wasn’t moving fast enough and his baby was coming and Jessica’s car was low on gas and didn’t have a reverse gear and we hadn’t been able to sign the lease.”

“Jessica’s car chocked, shook, and even bounced when she turned on the ignition.”

‘I just got this car. I don’t really know how to drive stick shift that well, yet.’ “She rubbed her palms on her shirt, up and down, up and down.”

“I sat in the middle of the backseat, your papa in the passenger seat. He rolled down the window and inhaled.

She put it in first gear and hit the gas pedal. The car chocked, shook, and bounced again. We bounced and shook all the way to the hospital and not once was our progress hindered by the fact that Jessica’s car didn’t have a reverse gear.

Three hours later you made your entrance into the world, feet first and severely jaundiced. My brave daughter.”

Mami patted my back and then squeezed my shoulder.

“You celebrated your first month birthday in an incubator with sore and punctured feet. You were given a blood transfusion and the only way the doctor could do it was through your feet. Your papa and I had to leave you in the hospital. I threw up every day and convinced myself that you thought we abandoned you. Neither one of us could go to work. I spent my days watching cartoons, dreaming of you, losing weight, and dying. Your papa spent his days crying and praying in a cathedral on Sixteenth Street.”

‘I will renounce the Pope and the Catholic religion if God does not allow my child to live,’ “he said to me.”

‘You can’t do that. You can’t threaten God. You have committed a sin and must ask for forgiveness,’ “I said.”

‘I will renounce the Pope and the Catholic religion if God does not allow my child to live,’ “he repeated. Then he knelt on the floor, cartoons blasting in the background.”

‘I will renounce You. I will. I will. Allow my child to live. Allow my child to live. I will renounce You. Allow my child to live!’

“I knelt on the floor next to him and said,” ‘I will renounce You. Allow our child to live.’

“Your papa and I loved each other and for you we’d have renounced the entire world and every deity in it.”

“The phone rang at exactly ten in the morning the next day. I was in the living room watching cartoons, a clock sat on top of the television. Your papa was in the bathroom shaving. He was getting ready to go to the cathedral. I made no attempt to get off the couch. Your papa made no attempt to stop shaving. The phone insisted that someone answer it. It seemed to increase its volume. Your papa picked up the receiver. The conversation lasted twenty seconds.”

‘Yes, okay, I understand, thank you,’ “your papa said.”

‘Who was it? What did they say?’

‘It was the doctor from the hospital. He thinks we can bring the baby home in one week.’

“I flew off the couch and darted to our bedroom. I walked over to your bassinet, knelt, and said,” ‘Thank you, God. Forgive us. Please forgive us.’

“One week later you were home. I didn’t find out what the voice on the other end really said to him until you had been home with us for several weeks.

We couldn’t touch your feet. The punctures caused by the transfusion needles left your skin raw and sore. It was February when we brought you home. The only thing protecting your feet from the cold was a thin cotton blanket one of the nurses gave us when we checked you out of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. We were not to put socks on your feet until the sores healed. We were not to wash your feet. We were not to touch your feet in any way.

We never let you cry. We shushed in your ear, carried you in a sling, gently bounced you, sang you lullabies, and placed you between us in our bed. I didn’t return to work for six months so I could stay home with you and nurse you. We spent our entire savings but we loved you so we didn’t care. The skin on your feet healed and we prayed your memory of being punctured with needles was replaced with memories of being loved by us,” she said as she stroked my cheek.

“They didn’t think you’d make it one more day, that’s what the doctor told your papa when he called at exactly ten in the morning.”