She pushed with more force than she had ever exerted in her whole life, but it was no use. The baby was stuck, and it was clear she didn't like being forced out of her home. Carla didn't even try to fight the tears anymore. She had managed to go a whole nine months without crying and it showed. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the nurses pounding on her swollen stomach and tried to pinpoint where she'd gone wrong.
Her friends had warned her that he was bad news. There'd been rumors that he'd served time for car jacking and armed robbery among other things. But all greasers got into trouble once in a while and people were hardly ever as bad as they were made out to be. Lord knew she had plenty of rich bitches look down on her unfairly.
Amos Cade was cool. Amos Cade was fun. Amos Cade rode a motorcycle and could handle two six packs and didn't need to work out to look muscular. Amos Cade could look tuff without ever going near a cigarette, which was more than could be said for most on the North Side. He'd been so tough that some gangs had even nicknamed him Amos Blade. And until Carla's senior year, Amos Cade had also been unattainable. And then one day at a local drag race, her wildest dreams came true: he'd asked her if she'd like to go for a beer.
Her parents had yelled, screamed, threatened, and for the first time in years, her dad had belted her. But why should it matter? She already didn't amount to much. Carla wasn't smart; she'd barely squeezed by on a sixty average. She wasn't pretty; she was flat chested, too short, and too skinny, which now made giving birth that much harder.
"Linda, get the vacuum," a doctor said grimly. "It's clear this kid ain't coming out on its own." The pain was sharp, worse than any fight she'd ever been in. She gave up trying to push and lay limp, waiting to die.
Amos had taken her to a fancy bar where he knew the owner, the best this side of Tulsa. He'd reserved a spot in the back just for the two of them, where no one could see them. How romantic, she'd thought as they smoked and drank and talked about everything under the sun. She imagined how jealous all the girls at school would be and reveled in feeling special at last.
More dates quickly followed, and it wasn't long before every minute was spent with Amos, thinking about Amos, talking about Amos, arguing with her parents about Amos, sneaking out to meet Amos, or lying in bed dreaming of Amos. That motorcycle of his may as well have been a chariot; she always felt like a princess when he swept her onto it and rode off with her.
One night she agreed to stay at his apartment. He had been pushing her to do so for weeks, but not wanting to be thought of as "that kind of girl," she'd shyly refused. But by Christmastime, it was clear she wouldn't graduate with her class and all she wanted was to get out of her neighborhood. Making her parents furious would just be an added bonus, which was exactly what she thought as she held onto her boyfriend, the two of them tearing through the streets as her mother wailed far behind them.
The night had started out wonderfully with the two of them sitting at his table, talking and getting just the right amount of drunk. Not enough for a hangover, but enough to get a slight buzz. Carla recalled later that the place had been dirty, crawling with bugs, and in a neighborhood even worse than her own, but at the time it had greatly resembled a royal palace.
"And here," he slurred, gesturing to his room. "Is my pad." She giggled deliriously. Amos's bedroom was small, with the bed smack in the middle. Dirty clothes and used cigarettes were everywhere. Sheets and comforters were strewn here and there. There was a window right above the bed, but it was so caked with dirt you couldn't see anything out of it. He took her by the arm and pushed her onto the bed.
"Ooh, anxious, are we?" Carla drawled, cracking herself up.
"Rawr!" Amos growled playfully, tackling her. She laughed until the room began to spin, and when she calmed herself down, she noticed he was removing her skirt. She grabbed for it, and he slapped her hand away.
"Stop that." He unbuttoned his pants and slipped them off. She began to get an uneasy feeling in her stomach. "Amos, I'm serious."
Then his shirt. He had a lot of chest hair. "Amos!"
Now his underwear. He stood before her in all his glory, his eyes glazed with liquor, and she suddenly wondered if he'd been drinking before she got there.
"Amos, put your clothes on. I'm not ready for-"
He answered with a slap to the face. "Get your clothes off, you whore."
Carla trembled. "Amos-"
"Now!"
She had no choice. Six pounds and two skipped periods later, she was thrown out of her parents' house. The next seven months were a blur of working three jobs, gaining weight, and coming home to an angry, drunk Amos, who'd only agreed to let her stay with him when she threatened to go to the cops.
The doctor shook his head. "It's no use! We're gonna have to go into a C-section." Carla didn't know what that was, but she hoped it wouldn't cost too much money. Maybe if she was lucky, it would kill her.
It was easy enough for even a greaser girl to get a procedure done if you knew the right people, but Carla was too afraid of the law to even ask around. And the first time her daughter had moved, Carla knew there was no way she would be able to give her up. The gentle, constant motions inside her belly were her only source of joy, albeit a nervous joy.
She'll look just like me. I'll dress her up in pink and get her ears pierced while she's little so she can have pretty earrings. I can teach her about makeup and shopping for bras and maybe help her not to end up like me. I'll make sure she never ends up a hood. My child will go place, do something great…
"Carla? Carla?" She opened her eyes. A nurse with a kindly face stood in front of her with a small bundle in her arms.
"Wha…What happened?" she gasped. The pain was gone. Her stomach wasn't lurching and contracting anymore. It wasn't hard and firm, but soft and squishy, and sagging just a bit.
"We put you on anesthesia and did a C-section. It was difficult; you had us worried for a little while there, but you and your son pulled through in the end. Now it's all over." She held out the bundle. "He's beautiful. A little small, but healthy. Would you like to see him?"
Carla blinked and massaged her temples. She could still feel the effects of the anesthesia, but she was pretty sure she hadn't heard the nurse wrong. "I'm sorry, did you say he? As in son?"
"Yes. You have a son. Your baby was a boy." The nurse smiled lovingly at the blanket that was concealing the precious little life inside. Carla's throat tightened as she realized the blanket was blue.
"There must be some mistake," Carla rasped. "My baby was a girl. You must have me confused with one of the other mothers on this floor."
The nurse looked puzzled. "Are you sure, ma'am? I wasn't there for the birth- I was in another ward for a while- but I'm almost positive this one is yours. He looks a little bit like you."
Carla shook her head. "I'm positive. You've got the wrong baby."
The nurse shrugged. "All right, I'll go check." She left, and Carla tried unsuccessfully to clear her mind. In a few minutes she would see her daughter for the first time. Oh God, please help me to take care of her. Don't let her be a screw-up like me.
"Carla?" She turned her head to see the nurse return with the blue blanket still in her hands. "I've checked the charts, the nursery, and I've asked the other nurses, and I can most definitely assure you that this is your baby. You should be very proud."
Carla felt her heart stop. "You mean…this boy… is my baby?"
"Yes," the nurse smiled uneasily, almost consolingly. "He's got your eyes. And your hair. In fact, he has a lot of hair for a baby. A whole, thick head of it." She gently brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. "Would you like to hold him?"
Carla couldn't speak. She slowly held out her arms. She turned back the blanket and stared into those huge black eyes. There was no denying it. Those eyes were the same as her mother's and grandmother's and great-grandmother's. They gazed up at her in awe.
"He's been so wonderful," the nurse told her as she walked out. "Even when every baby in the nursery started wailing their heads off, he was perfectly quiet. He just sat there and took it all in."
Carla could feel hot, angry tears welling up. "This isn't…there's no way. That precious life that was inside me for nine months had to have been a girl. I could feel it." She sobbed and shut her eyes tight. "She was gonna be just like me."
"A boy, huh?" She whipped her head around to see Amos standing in the doorway.
"Look who decided to show up."
He sent her a glare that made her tremble. "If we wasn't in a hospital right now, I'd whack you a good one upside the head," he growled under his breath. "But I'm glad. Now I can teach him how to be a man."
Tears streamed down Carla's face, and the baby, sensing that something was wrong, began to fret. Her shoulders shook, because she knew it was true.
The baby would grow up to be just like his father. He would drink and swear and gamble and talk trash. Once he learned what his little male part was for, he would use it to impregnate every innocent girl he could get his hands on. Then he would hit her and call her names and tell everyone that she was a dirty, rotten whore who deserved to get knocked up so that she'd have no reputation left.
Carla hit the nurse button and practically threw the bundle at her when she arrived. "Take him away, I don't want to see him anymore," she shouted.
The young nurse, not used to dealing with these kinds of situations, hesitated. "Have you picked out a name yet?"
Carla shook her head. "I only had girl names."
"His name is Amos Junior," Amos spat.
"NO!" she screamed. Then she faced the nurse. "You name him. I really don't care anymore."
The nurse, shocked, cradled the crying little boy in her arms as she quickly left the room. Once she had gotten halfway to the nursery, she tried to think of a name. In her family it had been a tradition to give babies names that were in the Bible, and she went through the list in her head to see which one matched his face the best. Hmm…Elijah? No. Mark? No. Luke? Nah. Joseph? Maybe. John? Hmm…
"Johnny," she finally whispered, and he began to settle down as she wrote the name on his hospital bracelet.