what the midwife told me
by stephanie thomas berry [one of our short short story contest winners]

We are sittin’ in the doctor’s office, me and my momma. I’ve been throwin’ up, can’t eat nothin. The doctor’s a weaselly lookin’ fellow, and he comes in and asks me, like it’s an everyday question, “Could you be pregnant?” Lord my momma turns and stares at me. I just say, “No, sir,” and swallow hard. That doctor’s no fool, though, ‘cause he takes me outta the room to “run a few tests” and has me pee in a little cup. That’s when I know for sure. Before anybody else, I know, but that little piece of knowin’ don’t mean nothin’, ‘cause five minutes later he’s askin’ me what I’m gonna do and my momma’s all angry and yells, “Why, we’re havin’ that baby!” She grabs me by my elbow real hard, and pulls me out the door ‘fore I can even ask, “What can I do? Tell me what can I do?” I am almost sixteen years old.

Momma don’t say nothin’ all the way home, but when we pull into the drive she starts cussin’ me, which she’s never done before, bein’ a good Christian woman. But I guess I ain’t no Christian, doin’ what I did. So I just sit there, all my feelin’s just drainin’ outta me. The only thing I can feel is this cold weight in my belly like a black hole, suckin’ all my life outta me ‘fore I ever have a chance to make it my own.

That night I creep out, ever so quiet, just to sit out in the yard. Just to feel the wide air and the stars all shinin’ down. Like me and Grandma used to do when I was small, and she wasn’t dead. But the sky was dark-cloud-covered, and the wind was blowin’ too much for me to stay warm. So I went back in and sat on the couch, which is where it all happened.

I told Sam he couldn’t go to my room, cause that would make even the pictures of my Momma hangin’ on the wall mad. He laughed, and I did, too. We thought that was just so funny, and Momma’s smile on the wall was already glarin’ at the sound of our laughter fillin’ up the room. Then he started to kiss me, all wet and crazy, like he wanted to disappear into my mouth, and I didn’t like it, I really didn’t--but I kissed him back. When he reached his hand up my shirt and grabbed me I tried to push him off. But I felt as weak as a baby bird fallen from the nest, and he knew that, he just knew it, I’m sure. He said, smiling sweet-like, “Look, baby, I ain’t’ gonna try anything real big, OK? Let’s just play a bit. It’s OK.”

But that was a lie. He took what he wanted. All I could do was whisper no. He left me on my own couch with a shame so great it fell like a rock sinkin’ me to the bottom of my soul.

Momma’s thinkin’ I’m gonna marry Sam. When I get up the mornin’ after the doctor’s vist, Momma and Daddy are sittin’ at the kitchen table. They wanna know who’d done it. And when I tell them, Momma says, “You and that boy need to get married, and do this proper.” She stands up, walkin’ towards the phone.

“Momma, I ain’t marryin’ him.” I say to her. I wanna say it strong, but it comes out like a whimper. She turns to me and slaps her hand ‘cross my cheek, and as much as that stings I know it ain’t nothin’ compared to be married to Sam.

“I still ain’t marryin’ him,” I whisper. Then I just sorta break down cryin’, and Daddy—he never says a word—he just gets up and walks outta the room. Momma sits down at the table again, next to me, and says, “Look, you’ll make it. It’ll be alright.” I just cry and cry and when I‘m done, she’s still there. I say to her, “Momma, I don’t think I can love this baby.”

My Momma stands up, puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “You ain’t gotta love it, girl, you just gotta raise it.” Her hand squeezes my shoulder, the way you press your fingers into a dog to make it mind. Then she pulls a cigarette out, lights it, and closin’ her eyes she sucks it in, long and slow. She goes into the kitchen to make breakfast, her smoke trailin’ behind her.

Now I know I ain’t nothin’ to nobody in this world ‘cept maybe this baby inside of me, and I don’t know if I’ve got anything real to give to it neither. I feel like my whole life’s just happened to me, like I never got a chance to find out what I coulda been. And now my Momma’s tellin’ me I ain’t even gotta love my baby. What kinda life is that?
In the afternoon, when the Sun’s high up and warmin’ the Earth for Spring, and the bugs and the bees decide it’s alright to set out on their wings a bit, I take me some of my momma’s cigarettes and I head up into the woods. I follow the trail up and up till I’m at the top of the ridge, lookin’ down at my house. It gives me a sinkin’ feelin’ to look at it so small, so I keep goin’ till I’m way up in the hills.

It’s so peaceful, high up with the trees and the wind. Grandma used to take me up here, and tell me the stories of this place. How my Great-Grandpa would carry two hundred pound sacks of seedcorn on his shoulder and plant corn on the sides of the mountains. How he and my Great-Grandma and all their children cleared the rock outta the fields together, heftin’ it into piles. The trees have all grown up where the fields used to be, but those rock piles are still there. Laid there by my great grandparents and their children. Laid there by my Grandma. I think about her small hands carryin’ rock after rock and I start to cry. “Grandma, if only you could be here now. I know you’d help me. I know you could tell me some story that would give me the strength to do what I gotta do.” All this cryin’ is tirin’ me out, and the Sun is startin’ to sink a bit--it’s golden light fillin’ up the forest so pretty. I guess I fell asleep. That’s when I had my dream.

Or maybe it was a vision. I’m not really sure. All I remember is that the shadows of the trees start to mingle and shift and the next thing I know there’s a woman there, the color of the shadows, with dark eyes, starin’ deep into me. I’m scared as all get out, but I can’t move or say nothin’. I’m just frozen as I watch her movin’ closer to me, her eyes piercin’ mine. She’s standin’ right in front of me now, and she pulls from her cloak a bird—a dove—and she places it in my hands. I hold it tight and she says somethin’ to me. I don’t remember what, I just remember that it felt like her voice could make me strong and alive in a way I’m not. Then she’s gone. I open my hands a bit, and the dove lights into the air, it’s feathers all white and flutterin’ in my eyes. I watch it fly up through the trees and out into the open blue sky. But when I look down I see that my hands are covered with blood. I try to scream but I can’t. That’s when I wake up.

*******************************
Me and Momma go to see the midwife. Momma don’t want me to go to the doctor that tested me pregnant. She says he’s got an evil tongue and is gonna tell me to get an abortion. She don’t use that word, though, she says he wants me to “murder my child.” So we sign up with the midwife. Momma comes in with me. She’s there every minute, breathin’ on me like the walls of my life. The midwife looks tired when she comes in. She introduces herself as Kathy. Momma does all the talkin’, though. I just answer questions that Momma don’t know the answer to, like when my last period was. Kathy eyes me, squintin’ up a little, like she’s studyin’ me real good. I think she knows all about the no good that I am, and I’m thinkin maybe she wants to tell me somethin’ different, but I can’t hear it cause Momma’s right there, runnin’ her mouth about the me getting my GED, and how we’re all gonna do it together. The weight of her words is fillin’ up this little room and drownin’ me. I can’t breathe. When we leave all I know is that by Christmastime I’m gonna have me a baby.

I hadn’t been to school in days, since all this started. But that night I get a little plan, and in the mornin I’m ready for the bus. I don’t stay at the school, though. I leave. I just walk outta the bus and towards town, which ain’t but a mile or so away. And once I’m there, I go to the medical clinic.

I tap on the window. The receptionist turns and raises her eyebrows. “Yes?” she says. as she slides the glass open. I can tell she recognizes me from yesterday, but she’s not acting very kindly.
“I don’t have an appointment,” I say, “but I really need to talk to Kathy.”

She needles me a bit with her eyes, then says, “Well, I can’t make any promises, since you don’t have an appointment, but I’ll let her know you’re here.”

I go and sit in the corner of the waitin’ room, tryin’ to hide myself in case someone walks in that knows me. I probably wait about an hour and a half when the nurse finally calls me back.

“Are you havin’ any pains?” she asks, as we walk down the narrow hall.

“No, mam, just some questions.”

She kinda glances back at me, givin’ me a look I’m already real tired of. Then she opens the door and says in a fake cheery voice, “She’ll be with you in a minute.”
The door clicks closed, and I’m alone, sittin in this little room again. I’m getting’ real nervous, startin’ to feel sick. I try breathin’ real slow but that don’t help neither. I pick up a magazine. My hands are clammy and shakin’, and the magazine is filled with pictures of babies, all fat and smilin’. I put the magazine down and close my eyes. I think about my Grandma. Finally Kathy comes in.

She’s not nearly so tired lookin’ today, and she greets me warmly. “What can I do for you today, darlin?”

“I wanna know about abortion.” I say it fast, so I can get it out. “I wanna know if it’s murder.” I can feel my Momma threatenin’ me, even though she ain’t here. I don’t care.

Kathy sits down, and takes a deep breath. We talk for a long time

....................

My name is Zada. My Grandmother’s name, and her Grandmother’s name. But this is my life. And I want it, and I don’t want it like this. Any maybe there’s lotsa things we can’t change. But bringin’ life into this world is a holy thing, and somethin’ I’m not ready for.

I walk back to school. When I get home in the afternoon, I fumble round in my Momma’s drawers till I find her little phonebook. I look for Lily’s number. That’s my Daddy’s baby sister. They don’t talk much, but I know she’s the one who can help me. She lives by herself in the city. She’s the one I’m gonna call. My fingers quiver while I dial the number. It rings, and rings, and my belly turns in on itself. The answerin’ machine picks up, and her cheery voice tells me to leave her a message. What do I say? “I need to talk you, Lily. It’s Zada. I got some trouble and I need your help. Please don’t call me back.”

That night I wait till two in the mornin’. I wanna be sure my Momma’s deep down in her sleep ‘fore I make that call. It rings and rings. Lily’s sleepin’ voice picks up the phone.

“Zada, is that you?”

“Hey, Lily. How’re you doin’?”

“Zada, what’s wrong? I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m pregnant. I didn’t even wanna do it. It just happened.” My breath catches on the wind of my words, and I have to pull myself together ‘fore I can say it. “Lily,” I whisper, “I wanna get an abortion. Can you help me?”

I hear her draw a deep breath, but I know there’s no smoke. “Oh, baby,” she says, “I am so sorry. How do you wanna do this?”

She picks me up from school the next day. We go to the city where she lives, two hours away.

e go to the clinic that very afternoon. Lily signs a paper that says she’s my momma, and that she gives her consent for me to have an abortion. And then it’s done, just like that. Lily takes me to her home. She settles me into her spare bedroom and lays one of my Grandma’s quilts over me. She brings me some hot tea. She says she’s gonna tell my Daddy how things really happened with Sam. She says she’s gonna talk to him about me livin’ with her for a little while. I think that’ll suit him just fine.

When the bleedin’ is done I go for a walk. Here in the city the dogwoods are bloomin’ creamy white, flutterin’ in the Spring air. I think about the dove, and the blood on my hands. I think about God. I know that I am a woman, a creator of life. I know that puts me mighty close to God. That I can choose when to bear that life, and when not to, is a great responsibility. A woman has the power of life, and the power of death. Lots of folks don’t like that. They don’t like a woman bein’ so close to God. They don’t like a woman claimin’ her power. This is what the midwife told me. And when she did, all my momma’s words and Sam’s poison kisses just fell away from me, and finally I could say, “No.” And I stood up and walked out on my own two feet, into my life, into the blue sky of my power.