Undream the Echoes
A gender-confused sea monkey
Liam
03.24.2000
I am alone today. The mall is filled with hundreds of people but I have never felt so lost and angry in my life. I’m lost because Elle is not here with me; she’s sitting at home, perfectly relaxed, and watching a marathon of Friends episodes. And I’m angry because I absolutely hate shopping by myself. There are so many bratty little kids crying and their bitchy moms yelling at them and their lazy dads just ignoring the whole scene, and I’m forced to endure these noises as I walk from store to store.
But I suck it up and continue shopping. First I go into the Baby Gap and pick out little sneakers half the size of my hand and a few pairs of pajamas. I browse around other stores and get a bunch of silly toys that sort of seem stupid, but I guess when you have the intelligence of a one-year-old they must be pretty entertaining. Then I proceed to buy a small Red Sox baseball hat, because I decide that whether it’s a boy or a girl, the baby is going to be a baseball fan no matter what, otherwise he/she/it will not be living in my house.
Elle’s not due until late October but I promised her I’d go shopping to prove I care and that I’m just as excited about it as she is. I am excited, trust me, I really am, but I refuse to read those idiotic baby books so I’m stuck with shopping to prepare ourselves for the new arrival. But shopping is difficult because we don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. (The doctor said it’s still too early to tell, but I have a hunch that Elle secretly paid him to say that; unlike me, she wants it to be a surprise. I’m not sure which theory I want to believe, because that means that either Elle is lying to me, or if she isn’t, then my baby is still nothing more than a gender-confused sea monkey.) At first I had been set on buying everything in yellow or white – neutral colors – but then I give up and decide to buy boy’s things because I have no clue what sorts of things little girls like. As I pick out an incredibly tiny and very cute Spiderman outfit, I hope that the baby is going to be a boy or a really awesome girl who’s into superheroes. I’ll just have to raise her right.
When Elle told me the big news a few weeks ago I freaked. I think totally panicked and died of a heart attack are good phrases to describe my reaction. I had proposed only two months earlier; wasn’t this moving too quickly? What if we were rushing into things and then our relationship went to ruins? Will we have to get married a lot sooner or wait until after the baby is born? What will our parents and friends say and what if –
But Elle put a firm hand on either side of my face and forced me to look into her eyes. She kissed my lightly, softly, and then said, “It will be okay, Liam.”
And that convinced me. It will be okay, I told myself over and over, and then I finally let myself realize just how fantastic and amazing this was. I could see how happy this made Elle. Even though she had never been good with kids, she was looking forward to this because it was not just any child, but it was ours, a little bit of both of us, a balance of our flaws and perfections. I have never seen her smile more times in one day than I have since the day I met her.
But of course, as all other things in life go, happiness is fleeting. It comes, and it’s great, but then it’s gone again. And then pain follows.
My phone rings; it’s Elle. “Hey,” I say as I answer, “I just bought an awesome Spider – ”
“Come home,” Elle’s shaky voice says from the other line. She sounds worried, scared, but I don’t know why.
“Why? I was going to look at cribs next – ”
“I’m bleeding.” There’s a moment’s pause and all of the sounds of the mall are blocked out; I can only hear Elle’s scared breaths huffing through the receiver. “Oh my god, Liam, oh my god. There is so much blood.” And on the other end of the phone, she begins to cry.
The hospital is cold and smells like nothing. I’m used to the old-people-and-cleaning-products scent of hospitals, but today I can’t smell a thing. Maybe my senses have lost their touch.
Elle is in the emergency room. She had needed blood. The doctors haven’t let me see her yet. I’m sitting in the waiting room, wringing the Spiderman costume in my hands, praying to everything I believe to be holy – God, Allah, Elle’s doctors, chocolate cheesecake, anything – that there is still a baby growing in Elle’s stomach and in a few months it can wear this outfit.
Finally the doctor comes out to see me. We stare at each other for a minute, completely silent. The doctor’s eyes are tired and wary and my eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. “The good news is that Elle is going to be perfectly healthy by tomorrow,” he finally says. “But the baby…” He doesn’t finish and I know exactly what that means.
I go into Elle’s room and there she is, pale and tired and sad. I crawl into bed next to her and hold her in my arms. Her skin is very cold.
“It was a girl,” she says softly after a few minutes. “Last week, at the ultrasound, I saw the doctor’s charts by accident and it said the gender of the baby. I tried to pretend I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to tell you because I hoped maybe they were wrong and it could still be a surprise.” She looks up at me with her forlorn, dusty-blue eyes and tears streak down her face.
“Shh, Elle, shh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper and rock her back and forth. She takes the Spiderman outfit from my hands – I must have brought it in here without thinking. This is only going to make it worse. Idiot. Idiot!
She looks down at the red and blue material and smiles softly. “She wouldn’t have liked this,” she says and then she tosses it to the floor almost violently, her miserable mood replaced by an angry one. But her fury quickly evaporates, and all that is left is a broken, baby-less girl. “Marilyn,” she finally chokes out and a sob escapes her throat. “I wanted to name her Marilyn.”
“Elle, stop, we can try again,” I say and I wonder why my face is wet and then I realize I’m crying as well. I’m holding her tightly in my arms, trying to keep this shattered woman together to prevent all the pieces from falling apart, while trying to hold onto myself as well. “We can try again.”
But all Elle keeps repeating is, “She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead…”
The weeks that follow are filled with misery and a lot of tears. Elle falls into a bit of a depression. I’m always there for her and eventually she picks herself up and so do I, though it takes a lot of effort. But even after she’s okay again, after she can smile once more and laugh a real laugh, I can always see the shadow in her eyes, the pain that will never leave her heart. I know that losing the baby had been too much for her.
We don’t try again.
03.24.2000
I am alone today. The mall is filled with hundreds of people but I have never felt so lost and angry in my life. I’m lost because Elle is not here with me; she’s sitting at home, perfectly relaxed, and watching a marathon of Friends episodes. And I’m angry because I absolutely hate shopping by myself. There are so many bratty little kids crying and their bitchy moms yelling at them and their lazy dads just ignoring the whole scene, and I’m forced to endure these noises as I walk from store to store.
But I suck it up and continue shopping. First I go into the Baby Gap and pick out little sneakers half the size of my hand and a few pairs of pajamas. I browse around other stores and get a bunch of silly toys that sort of seem stupid, but I guess when you have the intelligence of a one-year-old they must be pretty entertaining. Then I proceed to buy a small Red Sox baseball hat, because I decide that whether it’s a boy or a girl, the baby is going to be a baseball fan no matter what, otherwise he/she/it will not be living in my house.
Elle’s not due until late October but I promised her I’d go shopping to prove I care and that I’m just as excited about it as she is. I am excited, trust me, I really am, but I refuse to read those idiotic baby books so I’m stuck with shopping to prepare ourselves for the new arrival. But shopping is difficult because we don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. (The doctor said it’s still too early to tell, but I have a hunch that Elle secretly paid him to say that; unlike me, she wants it to be a surprise. I’m not sure which theory I want to believe, because that means that either Elle is lying to me, or if she isn’t, then my baby is still nothing more than a gender-confused sea monkey.) At first I had been set on buying everything in yellow or white – neutral colors – but then I give up and decide to buy boy’s things because I have no clue what sorts of things little girls like. As I pick out an incredibly tiny and very cute Spiderman outfit, I hope that the baby is going to be a boy or a really awesome girl who’s into superheroes. I’ll just have to raise her right.
When Elle told me the big news a few weeks ago I freaked. I think totally panicked and died of a heart attack are good phrases to describe my reaction. I had proposed only two months earlier; wasn’t this moving too quickly? What if we were rushing into things and then our relationship went to ruins? Will we have to get married a lot sooner or wait until after the baby is born? What will our parents and friends say and what if –
But Elle put a firm hand on either side of my face and forced me to look into her eyes. She kissed my lightly, softly, and then said, “It will be okay, Liam.”
And that convinced me. It will be okay, I told myself over and over, and then I finally let myself realize just how fantastic and amazing this was. I could see how happy this made Elle. Even though she had never been good with kids, she was looking forward to this because it was not just any child, but it was ours, a little bit of both of us, a balance of our flaws and perfections. I have never seen her smile more times in one day than I have since the day I met her.
But of course, as all other things in life go, happiness is fleeting. It comes, and it’s great, but then it’s gone again. And then pain follows.
My phone rings; it’s Elle. “Hey,” I say as I answer, “I just bought an awesome Spider – ”
“Come home,” Elle’s shaky voice says from the other line. She sounds worried, scared, but I don’t know why.
“Why? I was going to look at cribs next – ”
“I’m bleeding.” There’s a moment’s pause and all of the sounds of the mall are blocked out; I can only hear Elle’s scared breaths huffing through the receiver. “Oh my god, Liam, oh my god. There is so much blood.” And on the other end of the phone, she begins to cry.
The hospital is cold and smells like nothing. I’m used to the old-people-and-cleaning-products scent of hospitals, but today I can’t smell a thing. Maybe my senses have lost their touch.
Elle is in the emergency room. She had needed blood. The doctors haven’t let me see her yet. I’m sitting in the waiting room, wringing the Spiderman costume in my hands, praying to everything I believe to be holy – God, Allah, Elle’s doctors, chocolate cheesecake, anything – that there is still a baby growing in Elle’s stomach and in a few months it can wear this outfit.
Finally the doctor comes out to see me. We stare at each other for a minute, completely silent. The doctor’s eyes are tired and wary and my eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. “The good news is that Elle is going to be perfectly healthy by tomorrow,” he finally says. “But the baby…” He doesn’t finish and I know exactly what that means.
I go into Elle’s room and there she is, pale and tired and sad. I crawl into bed next to her and hold her in my arms. Her skin is very cold.
“It was a girl,” she says softly after a few minutes. “Last week, at the ultrasound, I saw the doctor’s charts by accident and it said the gender of the baby. I tried to pretend I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to tell you because I hoped maybe they were wrong and it could still be a surprise.” She looks up at me with her forlorn, dusty-blue eyes and tears streak down her face.
“Shh, Elle, shh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper and rock her back and forth. She takes the Spiderman outfit from my hands – I must have brought it in here without thinking. This is only going to make it worse. Idiot. Idiot!
She looks down at the red and blue material and smiles softly. “She wouldn’t have liked this,” she says and then she tosses it to the floor almost violently, her miserable mood replaced by an angry one. But her fury quickly evaporates, and all that is left is a broken, baby-less girl. “Marilyn,” she finally chokes out and a sob escapes her throat. “I wanted to name her Marilyn.”
“Elle, stop, we can try again,” I say and I wonder why my face is wet and then I realize I’m crying as well. I’m holding her tightly in my arms, trying to keep this shattered woman together to prevent all the pieces from falling apart, while trying to hold onto myself as well. “We can try again.”
But all Elle keeps repeating is, “She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead…”
The weeks that follow are filled with misery and a lot of tears. Elle falls into a bit of a depression. I’m always there for her and eventually she picks herself up and so do I, though it takes a lot of effort. But even after she’s okay again, after she can smile once more and laugh a real laugh, I can always see the shadow in her eyes, the pain that will never leave her heart. I know that losing the baby had been too much for her.
We don’t try again.
♠ ♠ ♠
Please, please, please comment.I have a little cousin (a girl) who is legit obsessed with Spiderman. She has a costume and a mask and she wears them both all the time and refuses to take them off. By far the coolest little girl ever.