Wow, so I'm pretty sure the only thing I can say is sorry for not updating this sooner. So I'm sorry. Genuinely sorry. :( I've been busier than I thought was possible, but I'm trying to get back on track...at least with this fic.
Here's chapter four, and I don't know how many are left. Most likely not a lot.
Thank you SO much for the kind reviews. I don't know what to do with myself. lol.
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"Oh baby- can't do this to me baby Just gotta get out- just gotta get right outta here"
-Queen, Bohemian Rhapsody
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Erica comes home today from preschool with a project, her first real piece of art.
The twins started preschool about a week ago. Surprisingly enough, I found it easy to let them go. The extra rest has done me a bit of good, and I'm nearly back to normal. Nearly.
Her blue eyes sparkle as I pick her and Jack up from their preschool. She skips over to me, arms outstretched, a crinkled piece of blank yellow construction paper in her hand. I read the teacher's carefully printed handwriting across the paper's top: I wish...
And there is nothing on it except for an attached teacher's note.
Dear Mrs. Bing, it reads.
"Today in class we had the children draw a picture of something they wished for. Jack drew a very nice picture of this game of some sort, but there were some problems with Erica. When asked what she wished for, she remained quiet and stared straight ahead. I asked her again and she told me that she didn't want anything. Seeing as it was the assignment to take home the project and explain the picture to the parents, Erica didn't complete it. We would all appreciate it if you would talk to her about following directions, and observe her behavior. She has been rather quiet lately, and only speaks to Jack. If you would like to schedule a conference with me to talk about these issues we've been having with her, please let me know. Take care."
-Mrs. Werth
"Mommy, what's wrong?" Erica looks so scared, handing me that note from her teacher.
"Nothing, sweetie." We walk out to the playground, Jack dashing ahead of us to get in one last quick swing.
It seems like an ideal place and time to talk to my daughter, so I motion for her to sit by me on the bench.
"Mrs. Werth yelled at me today," she utters, with her blond hair shading her eyes.
"Why did she do that?"
"She said I didn't to the 'signment right. But I didn't want to do it like she said."
I take a deep breath as I ask her, "What did she tell you to do?"
"Well, she told us to draw on the paper what we wanted and to tell her why we wanted it and I was gonna show it to you and Daddy but what I wanted was something I couldn't draw on the paper."
"What do you want, Erica?" For some reason, I'm strangely afraid.
She stares above the swing set, into the distance and the sky. "I wished for the sky, Mommy. I wanted to scoop up the moon craters and hold them in my pocket, my moon bits. I wanted to sit far away and hold the moon and watch the stars. I want to ride on the firecrackers and burn like those candles you yell at Jacky not to touch. But I didn't know how to draw it so Mrs. Werth yelled at me."
God help me. That fucking teacher, who the hell does that bitch think she is? She can't tell my daughter how to think and what to wish for, no one can. Is she so dense that she can't see how brilliant Erica is?
"I don't want to go back to school tomorrow, Mommy." Erica pleads with me, sincerity dripping from her innocent voice.
I ponder her words for a minute. "You know what? You don't have to. You or Jack. We can all stay at home all day together and we'll draw pictures of moonbeams, I promise."
Her eyes widen. "Mommy, you know how?"
I laugh and wish I was that small. I can't even remember back to that era of innocence.
"Really?"
I pull her on my lap as we watch Jack enjoy his last post-preschool playtime. We're never coming back, any of us.
"Really."
The clouds cover the sun, darkening the horizon. She snuggles as close as she can to me and I wish once I could have held her inside myself, like every mother does. But I missed out on that chance.
Erica watches in a daze as the clouds drift overhead.
I squint, closing my eyes and delving into a world of peace and silence. Craters and black holes skim across my skin, and I bounce across the Milky Way like I'm on a trampoline. Together, we can blend into the distance, that place in the galaxy where stars wander through space.
When I open my eyes again, I see that Erica's are shut.
I let mine flutter into the beyond again, and for a moment, we are one, wishing on the tumbling moonbeams.
----
So I'm okay, apparently. Well, according to my doctor, that is.
Definitely pregnant, definitely old, but most likely okay.
I watch my children finger-paint at the kitchen table, streaking the ceramic with neon blue. It's been a week since I've taken them out of preschool, and I've regretted it. Every day.
Yes, I love my children more than anything in the world, but I think that they get more unruly each day. Jack does, at least. I'm not sure his medicine is working.
The thing is...there is no thing. I've been thinking lately, thinking hard and long. I've come to a startling conclusion, and it scares the living shit out of me.
As much as I've wanted it, I don't think I was made to be a mother.
When I was a little girl, all I wanted for one Christmas was a talking Sally Sue doll, the kind that pissed herself when you fed her the fake milk. As a seven year old, she was the equivalent of a real baby for me, and that was all I wanted.
So Christmas rolled around, and I got Sally Sue. I played with her, wiped up her fake pee, and fed her that damn fake milk until I was sure her little plastic head would explode.
One day, I saw a commercial on TV for a new doll, Happy Hannah. Would you believe that she talked, complete with five different phrases? Somehow, Sally Sue paled in comparison and I threw her under my bed until Hannah came to stay.
This memory has been bothering me lately, and not because I regret wasting the ten dollars my parents spent on Sally Sue (Ross got her). The thing is, I'm getting tired of my children. No, that's not exactly right. Tired from my children is more correct, but still.
I could only handle one doll when I was a little girl. These days, two kids are a stretch for me.
What the hell am I supposed to do in eight months when baby #3 arrives? I can't toss Jack and Erica under my bed.
It's where I keep my messes.
Rustling through my purse, I search for the thing I've been looking for, the thing I've been trying to feel something for. My fingers clutch the small slip of paper and I've got it.
The sonogram.
Keeping my eye on Jack and Erica's messy foray into the art of finger-painting, I stare at the sonogram.
And between the blurry black lines, fuzzy white masses of static, and the general gray in between, it stares back.
"What do you want from me?" I whisper, feeling foolish for talking to my sonogram picture. But I can't do it, I can't bring myself to love the picture of my baby. It's just too hard.
And more than Sally Sue, more than Happy Hannah, more than Erica and Jack, and more than Chandler's reaction to this situation, this scares the living shit out of me.
What kind of coldhearted person doesn't love her baby the second she glimpses the sonogram?
"Erica!" Jack screams at his twin sister, flinging blue paint into her hair.
I snap out of my daze and yell at my children, hating myself in more ways I thought possible.
"Can you two just behave for a minute? Is it really that hard to just get along for once?" I scream at the top of my lungs, running my hands through my dirty hair. I need a shower. I need a hug. I need a drink.
I need a lot of things I can't have.
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I've abandoned my children downstairs for the telephone. I told you I was a terrible mother.
"I can't do it, Rach. I can't tell him I'm pregnant."
Rachel sighs over the phone. "Monica, I don't know what to tell you. I mean, he'll figure it out soon enough, don't you think? It's not like one day he'll wake up and be like, 'oh, look, I have three kids now!' You know?"
The thing is, I don't. Sure, he'll notice soon enough, but some things are meant to be kept hidden for awhile. This baby is a part of me that I'm not quite ready to share.
"But what if I lose the baby, Rach? I mean, he doesn't have to know then. I don't want to be a burden and--"
"Monica!" She gasps and I can see her face in my head, her mouth is most likely dusting the floor. "You won't lose the baby! And God, if you did, wouldn't you want him there for support?" She shudders. "I mean, imagine going through that alone. You would never be the same."
And that's that.
I am silent. Completely and utterly silent. A rush of feelings creep up through my abdomen, and I know I'm finally going to break.
"Rach, I feel a wave of morning sickness coming on. I'll call you later." Without even waiting for her to say goodbye, I hang up and sink to the ground.
And without warning, my head begins to spin. All of the sudden, I can taste daisies and my palms can sing the sweetest music. I breathe in shades of light, darker when I'm tired and lighter when I'm wide awake. I feel like I'm dreaming so I breathe in black light, not the kind you use to detect codes, but the simple kind. Just black, and that's how I feel. My stomach heaves up through my throat and my eyes flutter like butterflies. There would have been butterflies. And ants and even wind. But instead there was nothing.
And not any nothing, but the kind of nothing that haunts you on summer days, the kind that creeps up on you when you are least aware. It's a dark nothing that breathes dark light, and when you start to become aware again, your palms sweat the most haunting music.
It's the nothing that was, and then suddenly never could be.
My toes curl and I remember Rachel's words. I remember everything. I remember things no one else remembers because I never told. I told myself I would never tell, but in retrospect, this was a really terrible idea, I can tell.
When I breathe in again (lighter this time), my stomach feels heavy, and I can almost feel the baby. I know she's only a seed. How do I know she's a she? How do I know she will be a she?
How do I know she will be anything?
I'm falling apart, slowly and steadily. It's faster now, this unwinding.
"You won't lose the baby! And God, if you did, wouldn't you want him there for support? I mean, imagine going through that alone. You would never be the same."
Rachel is right. And for once, I'm letting myself feel this.
It hurts like hell.
Downstairs, I hear Chandler walk through the door.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Jack and Erica rush to him, showering him in hugs and stories of how 'Mommy's been sick all day and hasn't left her room.'
I can hear his footsteps now, but I'm not going to stand up.
I'm a terrible mother, I didn't even fix my children lunch! Even though I know they ate snacks, I could be on Oprah for this. Or Jerry Springer. Or Court TV, I don't know. If I'm lucky, I could be on all three...
"Monica, can you hear me?" He's lifting me onto the bed, shaking me slightly.
I mumble incoherently. I know I can talk perfectly fine, but somehow I don't want to. I don't need to, it's just that simple.
"Mon, what's wrong?"
You don't need to know, I'm going insane, but you don't need to know why. One of us has to function. And it's usually me, but I just don't think I can right now.
"Jesus, Mon, say something now or I'm calling 911!"
Oh, shit. Then the neighbors will wonder what's wrong. "I'm fine," I look him in the eyes. "I've just had a hard...day."
His mouth falls open. "I thought you died on me, Mon. It didn't look like you heard a word I was saying...What the hell happened?"
Hug me. Just hold me for a minute. Not any longer, just give me 60 seconds. I suppose I gave him a pretty big scare, but still. Is it all about him? I know I'm being selfish, but he doesn't know why. So that makes me look even worse. But if I told him why, he'd be even worse. So I say nothing about it.
"I think...I think I had a nervous breakdown." I shake my head against the pillow, feeling tears roll down my cheeks. "And now I'm crying, great."
He brushes them away with his fingertips. "Mon, what's going on?" His voice is soft and sad, and I know I'll only make it sadder if I tell him. So I lie.
"Nothing."
A lie.
"That's a lie."
He caught me.
"No, really, I'm fine."
A lie again.
"Then why are you still crying?"
He's letting up.
"I don't know."
Another lie.
Lifting me by my arms, Chandler pulls me into him. I sigh and let myself fall, again and again, into his shoulders, melting into his skin. I soak his shirt with my tears. This one will need to be dry cleaned, for sure.
Before it gets too messy, before we get too messy, I pull away.
"Feel better?"
"Yes."
I lie.
"Are you sure, Monica?" His blue eyes pierce mine, and he knows everything is not fine.
"Yes."
Liar, liar!
"But Chandler, listen, give me your shirt."
"What?" He pulls away from me, taken aback.
"It needs to be dry cleaned. I messed it up." Like everything else I've fucked up lately...
He closes his eyes and shakes his head once more. "Wait...what?"
"Just let me go to the dry cleaner's. I think a drive might be good for me right now. Between the kids and everything, I think I just might need a moment of peace." I stand up, unbuttoning his shirt. At any other time, this might be sexy, but now it's just an act of my sheer insanity.
"Okay," he looks unsure. "Just drive safely, okay?"
I bound down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I need to go. I'm going to explode. "Yeah. Sure." I snatch the keys from the table, almost knocking the still-not-cleaned-up finger paints from their perch.
"Mommy, where are you going?" Erica asks me, concerned. She knows I'm not fine.
"Oh, just running some errands, sweetie!" I smile and pat her on the head, tears running down my cheeks. I can't control it anymore. I don't know if it's the result of hormones or craziness, but whatever it is has taken over.
"When will you be back, Mon?" Chandler kisses me goodbye at the door.
"Soon."
Lies, lies, lies.
As I shut the door behind me, I hear Erica's voice ring out. "Daddy, is Mommy okay?"
I laugh, finding the entire situation tragically comical.
"Yes," he promises. "Mommy's fine."
Dear Lord, Chandler. I shake my head in dismay, because that one's the biggest lie of them all.
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Happy New Year! Thank you for reading! If I haven't been too much of a jerk by abandoning this fic, leave me a review. lol. I'll try and update ASAP. For real this time. :)
Mel