FLASH FICTION
Baby(e)
Hannah Marie Olanda I cannot sit still. The clinic smelled like alcohol, dead patients, and microbes. It made my stomach churn. “Don’t you think she’s weird? Look at her techni-color jumpsuit. An eye sore,” said a woman who reminded me of an older and angrier version of Olive Oyl. “Look at her belly sticking out. Should have worn a sweater,” the girl whispered loud enough for me to hear. I pulled my blue cropped top down, but it didn’t stay still. I regretted wearing my favorite Minnie Mouse shirt. Olive snickered. “A young flirt.” I intentionally glanced at their direction. They smiled like a Smiling Angel, a statue I always find creepy. They took my mind off my ticking watch. But it came back as fast as their smiles faded. I rubbed my palms. My knees bouncing up and down. Twenty more minutes. I bit my nails, counted my toes, and blinked at least a million times. I stood and my wallet fell from my lap. I sat back and opened it. I touched my mother’s loving face. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mommy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the person in my belly. I felt its tiny fingers clutching my rough palms, its sweet eyes pleading. Sometimes I could hear its laughter and cries and I know it will haunt me forever. It haunts me now. My phone rang, making my heart leap out of my rib cage. Mommy. The phone was wet with my sweat. “H-hello, mommy?” “Where are you, sweetie?” I want to cry I want to cry I want to cry I want to cry…I cannot cry. I ended the call. The nice lady in a pink scrubs approached me at last. “It’s your turn.” Tears fell from my eyes. I ran to her, to the only person I can trust in this mad world. “What are you doing here?” She asked, her eyes wide with fear. I gripped the edge of my shirt, trying to hide my secret. Her eyes looked down. Mommy held my hand tight. “Tell me, who is it?” I bit my quivering lip until it’s bleeding. “It’s—it’s Uncle,” I croaked. The same one we loved. He who put clothes and roof over our heads, he who fed us, he who gave the best hug in the world, and he a father I never had. I couldn’t read her expression, but her skin paled, her palms cold. My hand was still clutched in hers, like a lifeline. “What are we going to do now, mommy?” “Wait here,” she murmured, rubbing my belly and whispering something under her breath. So I waited, rubbing my belly for good luck, for certainty, and for forgiveness.
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