Nine months has passed and I am 22 now.
I am recovering from giving birth to a baby boy in the local hospital and the time has come to name my son.
"What'll it be?" A nurse in Spongebob Squarepants scrubs asks.
"Daryl Dixon jr.," I respond. She laughs at me. The doctor laughs at me too. They think I'm crazy. They don't believe me...no one does.
"Daryl Dixon is a fictional character," They scorn. "He's on that show...what is it?"
"He's on AMC's The Walking Dead but he-he's real. He made love to me and made this baby! I'm telling the truth!" I yell at these fools. They horselaugh at my expense. In anger I whisper, "Daryl is love, Daryl...is life." Then suddenly, an arrow impales through the nurse's head and into the doctor's. They both fall to the floor in the death of disbelievers.
"I believe you," a scratchy, southern voice states in a shadow on the other side of the curtain. My heart flutters. Prince Charming donning medical scrubs instead of his usual ragged, dirty clothing, comes to my bedside and takes our baby out of my arms and into his.
He smiles. He is as pleased with our son as I am.
Daryl passes D.J. back to me and grabs the birth certificate out of the nurse's death grip. He dips his long, skinny finger into the pool of blood and sloppily prints his name on the line that reads 'Father's name,' then signs a sloppy signature on the signature line. He hands this to me with a wink.
"Everyone I've told about you says you're just Norman Reedus pretending to be Daryl Dixon...but I always call them jealous fucks and tell them to eff' off."
Daryl retrives his arrow from the doctor's skull. "Atta girl.." I drop my eyes onto Daryl jr.
"I know you're real Daryl, I know you're not Norman Reedus...you'd...you'd tell me if you were Norman, right?"
When I look up again, Daryl is smirking at me with those beady little eyes and standing at the hospital window. I raise a brow in confusion to this. "Take care of our little asskicker," is all he coldly replies with and he sticks his shaggy, dark head out the window and observes how high up we are in the building. He pokes his head back in and blushes. "Better take the elevator."
"Daryl, wait..."
He is gone in a flash.
But most importantly, I am a mother now, the mother of Daryl Dixon jr. I have never been happier in my entire life.
My mom dashes in the room, her eyes wide. "Did you see that guy?! He looked exactly like Norman Reedus!" She exclaims.
I turn to her slowly, my son burbling and squirming in my arms. "No mom, he looked exactly like Daryl Dixon, that's who he looked like."
Daryl is love, Daryl is life.