RIGHT NOW
It was pretending to be human. It was moving, writhing, wriggling. It was trying to force dirt from its lungs as it clawed its way upward. Its skin was torn by small rocks and sticks buried between it and the sky, but the skin was healing far too quickly for it to claim humanity. It didn't realize this, however, and therefore believed itself to be human.
The grassy earth by the old oak tree bent into a mound as it pushed its way up from the underneath. Two hands broke the surface, fingers bound together by a chain of beads. The trapped hands jerked about wildly, widening the opening they had found until the thing's head broke the surface. Darkness met it once more, but a different kind of darkness. The darkness of night, not earth. For eyes so accustom to being closed, the sprinkle of stars through the boughs of the tree above was enough for the thing to cringe back, burying its face back into the upturned dirt. It moaned in fright until its old brain told it that the lights were only stars and they were certainly too far away to cause any harm.
It took an hour for the thing to pull itself free of its grave and it laid on its face for another ten minutes, gasping in dirt and grass and air as it tried to remember what it was like to breathe. Its heart beat like a hammer banging around an empty tin barrel. It felt like the only thing it had inside, banging around and looking for a place to be.
When the strength to move was finally achieved, it rolled itself onto its back and lifted its arms, staring at the unbreaking chain of metal that bounds all ten of its fingers together. It didn't see a heavy duty chain. It saw a rosary. Dirt was clogged in the fine metal loops of its delicate chain and the glass beads of prayer were scratched by the voyage to freedom. The thing yanked and pulled, trying desperately to break the rosary but the string of beads simply wouldn't give. The creature recognized its panic after a time of useless struggling and stopped its violent yanking. It sat and stared at the way the rosary was twisted around its finger, locking the digits together. And slowly, with inhuman patience, it began to move the chain around, slowly and painfully undoing one delicate knot at a time.
When the holy relic finally fell from its fingers, the creature immediately grabbed the unbreakable chain and held it close to its dirty chest. It now had time to look around, squinting against the glare of streetlights off granite, against the shine of the stars above. Strange shapes, all over. Too many. It became confused. It decided to just start moving.
It climbed to its feet slowly, feeling pieces of its dirty clothing fall away as it went. No matter. It took a tentative step before it notice something out of the corner of its eye. The curious object was black. More black then anything. Darker then the night. Darker then being in the ground. It seemed like a void in the fabric of the world and it drew the eye. The creature went to a knee and only after a long moment of staring did it finally begin to see details. Its brain told it that this thing, blacker than black itself, was a bird. A dead bird.
The thing felt its third emotion of the evening. First fear, then panic. Now pity. Poor dead black bird. It reached out and touched a wing, spread out over a piece of granite embedded in the ground. The creature was surprised when the dead bird gave out a faint and sudden squawk. It flinched away from the bird in astonishment. It hoovered there, half way between bending down further and getting up to walk away. Then the bird squawked again and the indecision disappeared. It leaned down and, with its free hand, scooped the not-so-dead bird up into the crook of its arm. It didn't look at the stone the bird had been lying on. It didn't read the name. It turned, stood and began to walk.
The cemetery was closed for the night against vandals, but the lock must have been extremely old and rusty because it came away with a simple tug. The wrought-iron gate creaked open as it moved and sent shivers of pain through the creature's head but it continued to pull it open. It certainly couldn't stay here. This is where it started, but it wasn't where it was suppose to stay. The black bird squawked in agreement at the offensive sound and curled up under the creature's arm and fell quiet again.
This city was a fairly quiet one at night. A good number of the houses were abandoned or burnt out and the rest of the community knew better then to go out at night. Still, dark as it was, the street lights were on and the creature stuck to the shadows, more to avoid the brilliance against its sensitive eyes than to remain unseen. But as it walked, its legs grew stronger and its eyes grew more resistant to the light. It no longer had to huddle its face against buildings as it walked. A few cars drove by, but no one saw the dirty thing walking slowly inside the shadows of buildings.
As it walked from one neighborhood to the next, there were less burned out houses and empty lots and more flower beds and mowed lawns. They were nowhere near as perfect as the manicured and landscaped lawns of the suburbs, but it was a nice little cluster of houses and the creature found it vaguely familiar.
It found the familiarity comforting and it walked aimlessly, looking around but not at anything in particular. It would have walked past the house if the black bird, long silent now, had not cawed so loudly. The creature stubbed a bare toe in its attempt to stop and see what the big deal was. When its dark eyes fell on the house at the end of the walk it was standing in front of, its chest closed up with sudden emotion. Home.
Its eyes remained painfully dry as it shuffled quickly up the walk and stepped up onto the porch. It looked at the dark green door with total love and trust. It stood there staring happily for a few minutes, rocking slowly back and forth from leg to leg. It squeezed the bird under its arm and the rosary in its hand. It opened its mouth to call out a name but it was struck by a sudden coughing fit. It nearly dropped the bird as it doubled over. It watched in horror as chunks of dirt fell from its mouth onto the concrete porch. It managed to not fall by leaning against the door and coughing until the dirt and grass and rocks stopped falling from its throat.
When the door suddenly opened, the creature nearly fell into the foyer of its own house. The balance it suddenly found was unprecedented and it was able to stand up and back suddenly. A familiar click filled its ears but the voice that accompanied it was not recognized.
"I've got the police on speed dial. You get off my porch right–oh!"
The creature blinked at the small black woman standing just inside its home, handkerchief covering curlers in her hair and shotgun pointed outward. The woman's dark eyes widened in shock at the sight of the creature at her front door.
"Oh what happened to you, baby? What's your name? You look awful," The old woman quickly put the shot gun aside and reached out and grabbed the creature by the hand that was clutching the rosary. She looked up into the creature's face with true concern. "Are you alright, honey, can you hear me?"
The creature opened its mouth but it still hadn't remembered how to speak yet. The woman who was in the creature's house quickly pulled it inside and closed the door behind it. She hustled the creature into its own living room . . . but the living room was different! That couch . . . it use to be a black leather couch. Now it was gree fabric. And the hardwood floor was covered in a yellow carpet. The pictures on the wall . . . faces unknown. There was a piano in the corner. There hadn't been a piano before. The creature's face crumpled back into fear and confusion as it looked around.
"Alright, child, alright. Don't you cry. Betty's gonna help you, okay?"
Betty didn't even pause to put a towel or plastic bag of any sort down before leading the creature over to sit on her small couch. It sat and looked around at its house that had someone else's stuff in it. "Can you hear me, darling? Can you tell me your name? . . . No maybe not. That's a big bird you have there. Is it alive? Let me go get something . . ."
The creature just stared around until Betty came back with a shoe box filled with tissues. "Why don't you put that sick bird in here, darling. Give it a rest, okay?"
The bird squawked in weak protest as the creature leaned forward and set into the make shift bed but it settled in once it was there, just small enough to fit. It lay still, panting with its beak open. "What's that, a raven? Or a crow? It sure is big, though it's not looking too good. But you're not looking too good either. How about we get you washed up and put some food in your stomach? Does that sound good, child? Then we can call some people and find out where you came from, alright? I'm gonna go run a bath for you. Would you like some tea? I'll make you some tea."
The creature sat unblinking, listening to Betty moving around the kitchen to put the kettle on. It heard her shuffle into the bathroom and start the water running. Its eye twitched a bit when the kettle began to whistle but Betty turned off the stove before the pain became too great. She came back to the couch with a steaming cup of tea. The creature held the tea cup when it was handed over, but did not try to drink from it. Betty sat in an old green chair and watched it quietly. She was twisting a finger on her ring nervously, not sure what to do now.
"You don't want that tea?" There was a long moment of silence which had to be accepted as a response. Betty leaned forward and took the cup back and put it down on the coffee table. "Your bath should be about ready now. How about you try that? It's bound to make you feel better. Come on." She stood slowly and took the creature's hand and pulled it up from the couch. She lead it out of the living room and down a short hall to the bathroom. The creature stepped into its bathroom and looked at itself in the mirror.
Dirty. The mirror reflected a person so completely dirty that the colorless skin beneath it seemed almost grey. The eyes were wide and black and the hair hung long and dirty down past the shoulders. The face was attractive but too rough around the edges to be considered beautiful. The formless mass of cloth that hung around it seemed to be a dress. It was a bit surprised. It hadn't remembered being a woman.
Betty stepped over to the tub and turned off the faucet. She hurried around, taking down a towel and a robe, opening a new bar of soap. "Take your time, alright child? Just get yourself cleaned up right good and we'll have some more tea alright? You call me if you need me."
Betty closed the door behind her as she left and it, or perhaps it could be called she, stared at herself a moment longer before looking over at the tub. Betty must have put some salts in it because it had a nice smell and a slightly purple tint to it. She stepped over to it, lifted a foot and got in. She stood with hot water up to her mid calf, then slowly sat down into the water, tattered dress and all, rosary still clutched in her hand. The pretty water began to dissolve into brown but she didn't notice. She slowly curled forward until her face pushed below the surface of the water and she just sat there, eyes open, staring through the water to the bottom of the tub. Her tub. She had never been a big bath person, but she had taken a bath here a few times. Once or twice with Martin, if they were in that kind of mood. Martin!
Martin! Martin. Martin was her husband. It was the first name that came to her and it immediately filled her with tenderness and love . . .
. . . She called out to Martin. She kept staring down at the sink and the indicator that told her she was pregnant. She heard him moving through the house so she called out to him again. "I'm in the bathroom. Come here."
"What's wrong? Is the toilet plugged up?" He opened the door and stepped in, moving past her to peer into the toilet. Looked alright. He looked at her reflection in the mirror and found her beautiful. She looked a little pale, but a slight flush highlighted her cheekbones wonderfully. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her neck. "Do you want me to compliment you? Because I will but only if you promise not to call me a over-romantic pussy. You're beautiful. Your hair is like the night, glistening with stars." He kissed her neck and moved a hand up to fondly squeeze her breast. "You're eyes are like pieces of eternity, glittering with endless light," His eyes moved down to the sink to where she was staring. "Your skin is like . . . like. . ." and then he finally shut up. He stared down over her head without a word, processing what he saw there.
"Is that. . ."
"Yeah."
"Does that say that you're . . ."
"Yeah."
His eyes jumped up to meet hers in the reflection of the mirror. She was still pale but there was excitement in her eyes and her lips twitched a little as though fighting one killer of a smile. His face split into a grin. He stood back and grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around and catching her face in his hands. "We're going to have a baby?"
Her voice was shaking as her face finally gave in and she smiled. "Yeah." She put her arms around his shoulders and jump up, locking her legs around his waist. He crushed her in a hug and haphazardly spun in a circle in the small bathroom. She laughed and kissed him and held on tight.
He kissed her back and kissed her and kissed her before finally letting her down. She backed up against the sink and pulled him with her, kissing him passionately, hands roaming. He broke free long enough for her to pull the t-shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. He stepped back and led her into the bathtub where he pulled the curtain closed because it was funny. She laughed as he dipped his mouth to her throat and drew a line of kisses down her tank top as he went to his knees. When he reached her belly, he stopped and stared. Her copper skin was smooth and taut over the well trained muscles of her stomach. There was a small birthmark just below and to the right of her belly button. He gently laid a hand against her smooth abdomen.
She watched him, her chin to her chest, and ran her fingers gently through his dirty blond hair. His hair was always so impeccable, parted the same way, combed the same way. The hair of a lawyer. She mussed it up with a smile as he leaned forward and kissed her belly. He put his cheek against her skin and rested his head there with a smile. She put her forearms around his head and held him. They stood like that for a long time, closed off in a shower of gleaming white porcelain and tile.
"You know this officially makes you a motherfucker, right?" She said with a smile in her voice.
"How is that?" he questioned, eyes closed and content as he hugged her hips.
"Well, I'm going to officially be a mother, and you like to fuck me, so . . ."
"Then I can't wait to get my Motherfucker's Day tie every year and grill hot dogs out in the backyard in celebration."
"Hey, ten bucks says this kid's first word isn't going to be a very nice one . . ."
. . . The ache in her chest was unbelievable. The memory had been so real, so right now. It had been more vivid then any memory or dream could be. She stared down at the bottom of the bathtub, thinking about Martin. About the way he smelled. About how he drummed his fingers against a door instead of knocking on it like a normal person. About how piercing his green eyes were and how bright they had been that day in the bathroom. Her arms moved slowly through the water until she was hugging herself. She rocked slowly, making the water slosh gently against the front of the tub and then the back.
She jumped a bit when a knock came to the door. She lifted her face out of the water and tilted her head to listen. "Are you alright in there? It's been a half hour. You need anything else?"
A half hour? She'd been sitting with her face under water for a half hour? She looked back down into the tub and could no longer ignore how dirty the water was. How dirty she was. She splashed around a bit so Betty would know she was still 'alive' in here and looked around. She saw a big bottle of generic shampoo and she picked it up. She leaned over and put her head in the water again, this time using her empty hand to pull all her hair under, to get it all wet. She sat up with the dark veil of wet hair hanging in her face and squeezed out a huge amount of shampoo into the palm of her hand. She slapped it on her head and began working it in, keeping the other hand ever closed and against her chest. When the suds were thick enough, she submerged her head again and shook her head, rubbing her scalp until all the soap was gone. She sat up and pushed her hair back out of the way and reached for the soap.