Angel
VI
It had been six months. Six months since that little angel had started materializing inside me, since her little face and body and heart had begun to be made from my genes and his. Neither of us could very well imagine how such a thing could happen. We knew, yes we knew, but it is unfathomable, to have something growing inside you, from your own being, from the same things that make you, they are going into an entirely new part of you.
I no longer had the seemingly flat stomach I had worked with Erin to achieve, but instead, an even well-placed bump protruding from my body, broadcasting what I was creating, a tiny being incapable of anything else but simple perfection.
We still had shows, I still stood beneath flashing lights, but there was no fog, no smoke, no chemicals or drinks. I still sang alongside Andrew, who stayed as near to me as possible, keeping others away, and as the people in the crowds watched, we had our own conversations through eyes and movements. A touch here, a look there, nothing too provocative, nothing really considered to be sexual at all. His hands only glided across my stomach, caressed my arm. His eyes only looked into mine, only watched that little bump with the concentration of a crow, always loving, always protective. My hands only glided along his shoulders and back, and my eyes only met his as they stared into mine and only concentrated on his nimble fingers moving along the strings.
As I sang, I remembered, and held onto that scrap of hope that I would still be able to keep doing this. Doing these shows, and taking care of our angel. From four months on, from as soon as Angel’s little head was susceptible to miscarriage worthy damage from excessive movement, I had been confined to standing behind the microphone stand, no more jumping around, rousing the crowd, getting them to sing along, nothing. Andrew and Erin had taken on that responsibility, Erin from behind her keyboard and Andrew from behind his guitar. I stayed still and protected that sacred bump, holding onto our angel, an angel that now belonged to the entire crew, players, and fanbase of Matching Cities. We had given our baby to everyone who knew us, whether personally or not, from the start.
Our hands often collided with each other’s skin, hungry for what we had so few months ago at any time we wanted it. We kept away from what had made Angel for her sake.
In all honesty, we couldn’t stay serious and intimate enough to make it happen, thinking of her and so many other things, and that bump that formed her home often found it’s way between us no matter what we did.
Both of our minds would and could not stay on one single thought for those entire six months, and as six turned to seven, and seven turned to eight, and I decided to stay with the band to go through with Warped and not disappoint the fans, we would not think of anything else other than keeping Angel safe through the music and heat and bumpy bus rides. It was never as bad as we thought it would be, and Angel was strong, always kicking and causing me to jump with each one that made contact with my stomach wall. I stayed still and sang and thanked the fans that came up to the tent we shared with multiple other bands that shared our label. I stayed with Andrew and Erin, the three of us becoming inseparable even more so than before.
As the weeks of July passed by and August showed itself to be more and more present, Warped tour ended, leaving us burnt and tired and happy to be back home to the coolness of the beach in our hometown. Two weeks after we had left the summer festival Angel kicked me into labor.
We had prepared for this, we had prepared for everything, and as I leaned into Erin as Andrew drove with Jake in the passenger seat to the hospital, I became aware of something being wrong. I knew what was supposed to happen, how I was meant to feel, and nothing of the usual sort made itself present. Nothing.
I stayed sweating in the backseat, nervous and clinging to Erin’s hands and words, pushing the thoughts from my mind.
I no longer had the seemingly flat stomach I had worked with Erin to achieve, but instead, an even well-placed bump protruding from my body, broadcasting what I was creating, a tiny being incapable of anything else but simple perfection.
We still had shows, I still stood beneath flashing lights, but there was no fog, no smoke, no chemicals or drinks. I still sang alongside Andrew, who stayed as near to me as possible, keeping others away, and as the people in the crowds watched, we had our own conversations through eyes and movements. A touch here, a look there, nothing too provocative, nothing really considered to be sexual at all. His hands only glided across my stomach, caressed my arm. His eyes only looked into mine, only watched that little bump with the concentration of a crow, always loving, always protective. My hands only glided along his shoulders and back, and my eyes only met his as they stared into mine and only concentrated on his nimble fingers moving along the strings.
As I sang, I remembered, and held onto that scrap of hope that I would still be able to keep doing this. Doing these shows, and taking care of our angel. From four months on, from as soon as Angel’s little head was susceptible to miscarriage worthy damage from excessive movement, I had been confined to standing behind the microphone stand, no more jumping around, rousing the crowd, getting them to sing along, nothing. Andrew and Erin had taken on that responsibility, Erin from behind her keyboard and Andrew from behind his guitar. I stayed still and protected that sacred bump, holding onto our angel, an angel that now belonged to the entire crew, players, and fanbase of Matching Cities. We had given our baby to everyone who knew us, whether personally or not, from the start.
Our hands often collided with each other’s skin, hungry for what we had so few months ago at any time we wanted it. We kept away from what had made Angel for her sake.
In all honesty, we couldn’t stay serious and intimate enough to make it happen, thinking of her and so many other things, and that bump that formed her home often found it’s way between us no matter what we did.
Both of our minds would and could not stay on one single thought for those entire six months, and as six turned to seven, and seven turned to eight, and I decided to stay with the band to go through with Warped and not disappoint the fans, we would not think of anything else other than keeping Angel safe through the music and heat and bumpy bus rides. It was never as bad as we thought it would be, and Angel was strong, always kicking and causing me to jump with each one that made contact with my stomach wall. I stayed still and sang and thanked the fans that came up to the tent we shared with multiple other bands that shared our label. I stayed with Andrew and Erin, the three of us becoming inseparable even more so than before.
As the weeks of July passed by and August showed itself to be more and more present, Warped tour ended, leaving us burnt and tired and happy to be back home to the coolness of the beach in our hometown. Two weeks after we had left the summer festival Angel kicked me into labor.
We had prepared for this, we had prepared for everything, and as I leaned into Erin as Andrew drove with Jake in the passenger seat to the hospital, I became aware of something being wrong. I knew what was supposed to happen, how I was meant to feel, and nothing of the usual sort made itself present. Nothing.
I stayed sweating in the backseat, nervous and clinging to Erin’s hands and words, pushing the thoughts from my mind.