Dear Frankie...
Letter 22
Dear Frankie,
I bleed. And it’s like my whole body is made of blood, no bone, no organs, no muscle, just blood inside my huge, huge, huge belly. Blood coming out through every pore. And there’s this puddle between my legs and blood keeps coming out, spilling out of me, thick like strings of bright red blood. I just lay there bleeding, mute and desperate, unable to stop, to move, to scream. I’m dying and so is the baby.
Then I wake up, sweating and shivering just like when you were a kid. And the baby kicks around because it’s frightened too. I slide a hand between my legs. No blood there. Then we both get the hiccups but we’re feeling too panicky to get some water so we just lay in the darkness hiccuping listening to Shawnie’s ragged breathing in the room next door, worrying she smokes too much. The walls are paper thin here and we hear every little sound.
And we just lay here. The baby kicking now and then and me trying hard not to think.
I don’t want to tell you about New York because I don’t want to think about it.
Life is tough and love is rough.
I’ll tell you about the baby, I don’t mind thinking about it, floating softly and quietly inside me. I’m told it’s currently covered in lanugo, a fine, downy hair to protect it from all the water.
They also tell me it’s sucking it’s fingers and can swallow.
I have reached the half of my second trimester. I get to wear old lady underpants now.
It’s fucking scary. Maybe that’s why I keep getting nightmares.
I also got a job. Quick as that. Guess it’s true people just love pregnant women.
Fucking sicko’s. I haven’t showed up yet.
Shawnie, who is acting sort of uncanny since Finn went back to Jersey, got two jobs: one at this most creepy bar close to NYU and the other one at the closest hospital. She keeps bitching’ about being a nurse but keeps hassling me with vitamins and proper posture and granny underpants. Plus she keeps working as a nurse.
But I just want to lay here. I’ll stay in bed all day watching the walls and the humidity creeping behind the wallpaper. Maybe I’ll never get up again. I’ll lay here and have the kid here and we’ll lay here until it’s fully grown and leaves. I’m too exhausted to get up anyway. I guess the ride here was the needle that broke my back.
And maybe I am bleeding and it’s not a dream, only I can’t see the blood. I’m just not sure anymore if I can do this. I’m choking in thin air here, Frankie. I can fake this shit anymore. I want out. Your turn to play a card. No more aces under my sleeve.
Life is bleeding out me. Fucking will to do this, fucking will to pull this off, fucking will to get off the bed and stop sleeping is fucking bleeding out off me. Out of every pore, in every exhale, in every heartbeat.
I just keep thinking that if we just close our eyes and sleep a little longer, maybe when we wake up everything will be alright.
Goodnight Francis.
A.
I bleed. And it’s like my whole body is made of blood, no bone, no organs, no muscle, just blood inside my huge, huge, huge belly. Blood coming out through every pore. And there’s this puddle between my legs and blood keeps coming out, spilling out of me, thick like strings of bright red blood. I just lay there bleeding, mute and desperate, unable to stop, to move, to scream. I’m dying and so is the baby.
Then I wake up, sweating and shivering just like when you were a kid. And the baby kicks around because it’s frightened too. I slide a hand between my legs. No blood there. Then we both get the hiccups but we’re feeling too panicky to get some water so we just lay in the darkness hiccuping listening to Shawnie’s ragged breathing in the room next door, worrying she smokes too much. The walls are paper thin here and we hear every little sound.
And we just lay here. The baby kicking now and then and me trying hard not to think.
I don’t want to tell you about New York because I don’t want to think about it.
Life is tough and love is rough.
I’ll tell you about the baby, I don’t mind thinking about it, floating softly and quietly inside me. I’m told it’s currently covered in lanugo, a fine, downy hair to protect it from all the water.
They also tell me it’s sucking it’s fingers and can swallow.
I have reached the half of my second trimester. I get to wear old lady underpants now.
It’s fucking scary. Maybe that’s why I keep getting nightmares.
I also got a job. Quick as that. Guess it’s true people just love pregnant women.
Fucking sicko’s. I haven’t showed up yet.
Shawnie, who is acting sort of uncanny since Finn went back to Jersey, got two jobs: one at this most creepy bar close to NYU and the other one at the closest hospital. She keeps bitching’ about being a nurse but keeps hassling me with vitamins and proper posture and granny underpants. Plus she keeps working as a nurse.
But I just want to lay here. I’ll stay in bed all day watching the walls and the humidity creeping behind the wallpaper. Maybe I’ll never get up again. I’ll lay here and have the kid here and we’ll lay here until it’s fully grown and leaves. I’m too exhausted to get up anyway. I guess the ride here was the needle that broke my back.
And maybe I am bleeding and it’s not a dream, only I can’t see the blood. I’m just not sure anymore if I can do this. I’m choking in thin air here, Frankie. I can fake this shit anymore. I want out. Your turn to play a card. No more aces under my sleeve.
Life is bleeding out me. Fucking will to do this, fucking will to pull this off, fucking will to get off the bed and stop sleeping is fucking bleeding out off me. Out of every pore, in every exhale, in every heartbeat.
I just keep thinking that if we just close our eyes and sleep a little longer, maybe when we wake up everything will be alright.
Goodnight Francis.
A.