CHAPTER 45: YOU ARE MY SONG

The neighbors were arguing again and it wasn't helping her headache. Tifa huffed as she stood at the counter and stirred her oatmeal into a thick mush. Her neighbors were always loud. If they weren't arguing or laughing noisily, they were romping around their apartment with that little dog that would bark at all hours of the day. She used to put her radio to use to tune them out, but she didn't have that luxury anymore. Tifa turned and almost sat down to eat before thinking better of it. She opened the pantry door once again, taking in just how barren it was before reaching for the container of brown sugar and sprinkling a heaping spoonful on top of her meal. The baby liked it when she added brown sugar. It would wiggle and move within her, making her sigh with wonder and joke to herself that it had inherited its father's sweet tooth. Every time she felt her little one shift in her womb, it reminded her that she wasn't alone, no matter how isolated she felt. The candle on the coffee table flickered as she settled on the floor beside it, resting her bowl on the wood.

Now mid-March, it had been five months since Cloud had gone. Money was so tight that Tifa had to dip into her savings, even after she had resorted to cutting off her electric to avoid the bill. It still seemed strange to her that she was eating her breakfast at two in the afternoon and could barely see In front of her without the help of a candle. The orange glow of the streetlights didn't help as much as she hoped they would have and her eyes started to grow accustomed to the dark. Along with her precious radio, the clock in her bedroom was now useless. She had panicked before realizing she could look out the living room window and read the large, digital clock above the bank on the corner when she squinted. Washing clothes by hand wasn't a big deal, but Tifa missed being able to bathe without need of a candle or flashlight.

An ache rolled through her abdomen and she sighed. Lately, her body was full of new pains. Tifa rubbed her growing belly and groaned; she didn't want to go to work. The past three months hadn't been easy, but she had pressed forward. She had adjusted to her new work environment and gave work her all despite her constant spells of fatigue, dizziness and nausea. Her baby bump was still tiny for being two months away from delivering, but it allowed her to be quick on her feet and hide her condition for longer than she should've been able to.

Tifa finished off her small bowl, pushing it away to rest her head on the table top. She was so tired. The night before, she had been restless, her stomach aching and her mind racing. Working six or seven days a week was hard on anyone, but being on your feet hour after hour with a baby in her belly was really taking its toll on her feet. Now seven months pregnant, it was getting very difficult to hide. Her belly grew more foreign to her each day, swelling gently outward with a thin line running south from her navel that was slightly darker than the rest of her pale skin. The other girls would give her odd looks when she opted for a uniform two sizes too big or choose to wear her apron higher up than the rest of them. She used the dim light of the bar combined with her black attire to her advantage. A few times, she had thought about telling her boss, but had always shied away at the last moment.

Bailey wasn't the kindest man. He would shout at the girls if they couldn't keep up with his ever changing standards and cut their pay whenever he was dissatisfied. He wasn't sympathetic when a guest mistreated a waitress and didn't bat an eye when he fired a desperate employee. Tifa knew it was likely that, after exposing her condition, she would be fired or at the very least scolded for being deceptive. If she let the truth out and lost her job, she'd be in a real financial dilemma. The only positive outcome would be if Bailey was kind and took pity on her. Maybe no one would yell at her for spending some time in the bathroom if they knew she was always feeling sick.

She'd have to find the courage, somewhere. The truth had to come out eventually.

Cloud haunted her constantly. He was in the empty seat beside her on the train and curled next to her as she slept. His presence lingered in the memory of his laugh and taunted her in every young blue eyed man whom she waited upon. She should've made him stay that day. She should've begged him not to take that extra assignment. If she had, he wouldn't be dead. She missed all of the little things that used to be meaningless: the sight of the sun on his golden locks, the way he'd rub the back of his neck while he stressed over their bills, the way he'd sigh gently in his sleep. The beating of his heart used to lull her to sleep, but now she was met by silence and cold sheets. She heard his name in the wild whispers of the wind and saw his face in fitful dreams. Even after all this time, his death (and the disappearances of Papa and Claudia) had seemed so strange to her; the circumstances of it all made little sense. A tiny shoe box on her dresser was full of newspaper clippings concerning Nibelheim, which ShinRA claimed to have a massive business boom in recent months following the renovation of its mako reactor. There was never any mention of any conflict there at all, so why would Cloud have lost his life? Why hadn't Zack come back? Why wouldn't Claudia write to her if life in the mountains was apparently better than ever? The only thing that outweighed her uncertainty was her sadness and fear for the future. But she couldn't let it eat her alive. She had to be strong for the baby.

The baby...

It hadn't moved despite her heaping helping of sugar and her stomach flip flopped with unease. Tifa had learned from Master Zangan that your mind and body were intricately connected. Maybe her sadness and stress in addition to her pregnancy had made her feel so ill all the time. Maybe the baby wasn't moving so much anymore because it felt her sorrow. Its kicks used to wake her as she slept or made her gasp when taking a customer's orders. But now it was hard to remember the precise last time that she had felt the baby move. Had she been too tired and busy to notice? Was her child as tired as she was?

"Are you okay?" Tifa lifted up the hem of Cloud's baggy sweater to peer at her bare belly, stroking her fingers slowly over it. "Today's the day. I'm going to tell Bailey about you..."

The baby never answered her, but it made Tifa feel better to talk to it out loud. Life seemed a little less lonesome that way. Slowly, she moved to stand. Tifa washed her dishes, bathed and donned her uniform before heading out for another work day. Another pulling pain rippled across her stomach but she tried her best to ignore it as she walked along, carefully avoiding eye contact with strangers. The pub was quiet when she walked in. Tifa had been ready to tell Bailey about her pregnancy first thing, but he was in a bad mood after his meeting with a food vendor and she decided that it might be wise to wait until later in the evening.

It was the most uncomfortable shift of her life. Tifa felt lightheaded and sick as her headache intensified. Her abdomen ached from time to time; making her run to the restroom to try and find relief, but it was of no help. Strong pangs of pain were followed by long pauses of relief, but the time between the pangs was getting shorter and shorter as time went by. She wanted to go home. By midnight, Tifa felt so ill that she could barely smile for her patrons. Something was definitely wrong and she was terrified. Sweat was beginning to mat her bangs against her forehead, the intermittent pains causing her to shift along with an awkward gait. The other waitresses would cast concerned looks her way and Tifa was mortified that her discomfort was so obvious. Her hands trembled beneath the weight of the tray when she realized that these weren't the ordinary aches of a stomach bug. They were twisting, pulling, and squeezing pains in the muscles of her abdomen that sometimes made her belly tense and hard. What if the baby was coming? It couldn't be that, could it? It was too early!

Fearful tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she distributed her patrons' orders and her voice faltered as she thanked them for their business. She needed to tell someone. She needed to get out of here before another contraction tore through her. But what if her boss got angry? Would he think she was a poor worker? What if he shouted and wouldn't let her go? What would she do then? Empty tray in hand, she limped over to the bar.

"E-excuse me, Mr. Bailey?" She squeaked, legs quaking with fear of the next wave of pain.

Her boss glanced in her direction before turning to fill drink orders. "Yeah?"

"I-um..." She swallowed, trying with all her might to keep herself composed even as her voice shook. "May I please g-go home? I don't feel well."

"Can you hold out for another hour? "

"I don't-ah!"

The feared contraction finally came. Tifa doubled over as her tray clattered to the hardwood floor. Her long hair shrouded her face as she bent forward, biting her lip to keep from crying out. In a moment, Bailey had come around the bar and put a hand on her shoulder. He called out for a waitress to watch the bar as he slowly lead Tifa to the privacy of the back room. White hot bursts of pain spread through her abdomen like lightning and she whimpered as she tried to stand on shaking knees.

"What is it?" Bailey asked as he searched for her face beneath her dark curtain of hair. "What happened?"

If she hadn't been desperately frightened and in excruciating pain, she would have been amused that this man could actually sound as if he genuinely cared for her. Tifa's face was flushed with the great effort of reigning in her response to her body's current struggle. She kept her gaze on his boots as she whispered to the floor.

"I-I think I'm in labor…"

… … …

When an especially fierce pain grabbed her belly and robbed her of breath, panic set in. Each contraction took Tifa up and wrung her out like a cloth, leaving her panting and fearful of the next pain. It seemed like an eternity that she had been in this room, memorizing the grey tiles on the floor as she paced and paced along the white walls.

She had been taken away from the pub by an ambulance. The medical technicians who helped her into the vehicle gave her looks of pity when they checked her identification cards and saw that she had no medical benefits to her name. She had been taken to a small clinic in Sector Four. It had been the closest facility with enough space available to admit her, but Tifa didn't find comfort in the cold rooms that smelled of bleach and rubbing alcohol. She wasn't reassured by the unfamiliar people who came to take her vital signs and murmured to each other with words she was too distracted to try and understand, like hypertension and preeclampsia. Left alone for long stretches at a time, she both feared and anticipated the appearance of a nurse or doctor. A sob broke from her mouth as her water broke and washed down her legs in a slow yet steady stream.

"Mama!" Tifa cried, feeling the absence of a beloved face and a pair of tender hands. She leaned against the wall with a whimper, eyes clenched shut. "Cloud...help me!"

How far away they were. How she longed to hear the comfort of their voices. Why had no one told her that her body would become a battlefield, a sacrifice, a test? Why did she not know that birth is the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers?

As if her cries were a cue, a midwife gently knocked on the door before quietly entering. Tifa hugged herself against the wall, trembling and panicked. The woman named Emi was young, perhaps not too many years older than herself. She was petite and a little plump; her short black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Emi's almond eyes were soft and kind as they looked her over, lifting her hospital gown to examine Tifa's progress. She saw the laboring mother's youth and fear and made sure her hands were sure and gentle. Time passed so slowly, but Emi tried to keep Tifa's spirits up. She blew into her face so that Tifa couldn't hold her breath when the pains came, and even made her laugh a little and blow back at her. She gave her fruit juice to sip, wiped her down with sweetly scented towels, and massaged her legs.

Normally quiet and reserved, Tifa was surprised at how freely audible moans spilled from her mouth. She wept and yelled. She gave up all hope and prayed. She vomited and her knees buckled. Her midwife's brows furrowed in response to her pains, but didn't seem anxious. So Tifa fought on, reassured. She began to push because there was nothing else she could do. She pushed and pushed until she thought she would faint, but still the baby would not come. Emi said she was so close; the baby was right there! Finally, the midwife reached up to move the baby's shoulder to help ease its passage. The pain was blinding, but in an instant, the baby was out. The cord was at her neck and her face was blue. Emi hurried, trying to suck death from her mouth with a bulb syringe and blow life into her nostrils. She summoned help and a handful of nurses and a doctor rushed in, sweeping away her baby in an instant. Tifa wanted to scream, but all she could do was lay there, sobbing and shaking. Emi returned to hold her as she watched the medical staff work, obscuring her view of her baby.

There was a great flutter of activity lasting for a stretch of minutes that felt like hours and hours. Their voices were clipped. The doctor shouted his orders, the nurses talked amongst themselves in hushed whispers. The only one in the room that remained silent was the baby. Why wasn't she crying? What was wrong? For fifteen minutes, the medical staff worked and rushed around, until finally everything was still again. Emi stroked Tifa's hair as the doctor shook his head and approached the young mother on the hospital bed. Wide carmine eyes looked to him for reassurance, but there was none. With two words, she knew.

"I'm sorry."

A keening cry broke forth from her throat as her heart bled out of her chest. Her long hair was tangled and matted against her sweaty shoulders and dark strands stuck to the tear tracks on her flushed cheeks. Exhausted and heartbroken, she collapsed back into Emi's arms.

No, no, please! She's all I have left in this world!

The baby was brought to her swaddled in a thin cotton blanket. Just as there is no warning for childbirth, there is no preparation for the sight of a first child. The nurses looked away from the tiny doomed girl, but Tifa saw only her perfect beauty. Her eyelids were veined like a butterfly's wing, her toes curled like the petals of a flower. She wasn't afraid to hold that small death. Her face was peaceful, her hands perfectly clean, and it seemed like she would wake up at any moment. The tears from Tifa's eyes fell upon her alabaster cheek, making it appear as if the baby mourned the passing of her own life. It looked like she was simply sleeping. In the midst of her trance, Tifa barely realized that she had been left alone to mourn the still birth of her baby.

Pallid and shaky, she clutched her daughter. Tifa fixated on her perfect little nose and the fan of her eyelashes on her round cheeks. The newborn's downy hair was light brown with flecks of gold that glimmered in the artificial light. A small tuft of feather soft hair stood out like a cowlick on her little head, making the new mother reminisce about Cloud's crazy locks. It was easy to see that the baby was small and underweight, even at seven months gestation. Tiny and perfect from the little shells of her ears to her miniature fingernails, she was the most beautiful thing Tifa had ever seen.

All this time, she had been too distracted to think of what she would call her baby. After all, she thought she had at least two more months to decide. Perhaps, Tifa realized, she had put it off all along in hopes that Cloud might return to help her pick a suitable name. But Cloud wasn't coming back. The baby was dead, just like Mama and Papa and Claudia. Everything was all jumbled up in her head, thoughts and emotions whirling together like a hurricane. But in the eye of the storm, there was one thing she knew for certain. Her daughter's name rolled smoothly off her tongue like the gentle press of a piano's keys.

"Don't go without me, Aria." Tifa held the baby's head to her chest as she whispered her plea. "Take me with you, please…"

It was a way to honor her mother's talent, a way to remember the only thing that had brought Papa peace, and a way to reflect upon the melodies that Cloud had found so comforting in his youth. Aria: her little song. She was a jaunty little tune that had passed through quickly, spreading merriment towards those who had been aware of her small presence.

'You're with your daddy now," she whispered to the little girl with trembling breath. "You're with your grandmothers…and your grandfathers, too. They'll take care of you, I promise."

There was nothing left for her. Her entire family had left this life and now the baby had gone, too. Why was she still here? Tifa felt like a little girl, lost and alone in a nightmare that was impossible to wake from. But she wasn't a child anymore. She had crossed over from girlhood when she became a mother, she realized. But could she still be called a mother if her baby had never even taken a breath? Tifa shifted Aria to lie cradled in her arms and stroked her smooth hair with the pad of her thumb. A morbid thought crossed her mind. Was it better this way? The baby would be peaceful forever, eyes never once opened to the cruelty of this world. Aria won't have to suffer an uncertain future of destitution and desperation in the slums. She won't be subjected to living without a father and a mother too young and lost and inexperienced to give her a chance at a decent life.

Tifa had always thought that they would make it. That somehow, she'd find a job where she could make enough money to get out of this place and take the baby to live by the sand and surf under the warm sun. But everything went wrong, and everyone who had ever known her was dead. Was there anyone left in the world who knew her name? She swallowed at the rush of utter loneliness that thought had summoned.

Tifa's throat tightened as she stared at her daughter's face and thought about how she'd never know what her voice sounded like. Quietly, softly, the young mother began to sing a song she hadn't heard in many, many years.

'Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through the night'

In the short hours that the baby was in her arms, she told her of a sleepy mountain village surrounded by a sea of evergreen and described the beauty of the ocean that was as blue as her father's eyes. She told Aria of her Lia's apple pies and Claudia's hearty stews. She described Cloud's gentle heart and protective spirit. But most importantly, Tifa told her that she loved her, over and over again. She held the baby tight, since she was her only comfort and her only blood link to Cloud. Tifa told her that she would always love and remember her. Mind foggy with fatigue and sorrow, she whispered sweet promises to her baby until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

Exhausted from labor and the overwhelming heaviness of despair, Tifa fell asleep, intoxicated by the smell of her newborn.

… … …

She woke in the darkness, a single dim light softly glowing next to the door. Her daughter was gone. Frightened, Tifa tried to stand, but the overwhelming post-birth pains kept her pinned to the bed. Tears welled up and seeped from her eyes as she took in her surroundings. Emi was there, monitoring her bleeding, speaking kind words and mercifully holding ice packs between her legs. But her presence didn't soothe the girl, who lay broken and silent in the bed. Hours stretched by. The midwife could not bear the emptiness in her eyes, or the despair that hung about her like a fog from the world of the dead. She took to visiting her every night to whisper words of encouragement into her ears and brush her long hair. But she only laid there, deaf to any hope. Tifa was alone in her own black night.

On the third day, she left the clinic holding a plastic bag with the blanket Aria had been swaddled in and her birth and death certificates. Tifa was in anguish as she struggled to leave without her baby. Since she had been aware of her daughter's existence, they had been literally connected. Being separated, even though Aria was no longer living, was overwhelming. She lingered in front of the clinic for a while, unable to rid herself of the thought that she was leaving her baby behind. But her daughter was no longer there; it was just her little body. She would be cremated and that would be it. What a terrible mother she was not to have enough money for a plot of land for a tiny grave or a pretty urn for her ashes. Facing the street, Tifa realized that the world would never again be the same. Nothing on the outside had changed: people hustled along, oblivious to the death and blackness in her eyes. But to Tifa, everything had changed. Any scrap of happiness in her bleak life had evaporated into smoke. She wanted to scream out in her pain, to call for her mother, for Cloud…

But she was wholly and completely alone.

The walk home was agony. Tifa didn't have the gil for a taxi on her, so she had no choice but to limp her way to her apartment in the next sector. Her healing body screamed in discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the suffering of her heart. The abandoned areas between sectors were always the most dangerous; monsters and thugs crept like shadows among the debris, waiting for their next victim. It was these streets where the crowd thinned to nothing and Tifa found herself alone. Most of the street lights were dark due to disrepair, a few flickering in the dark. The black world stretched out before her, the only sound was the clack-clack of a train in the distance. She could walk into a hole and be swallowed up forever, and she never would've known it was there. But at this point, she didn't care. Tifa slowly trudged forward and limped through the pain; she was easy, injured prey. But the monsters never attacked. Thugs never came for her. Maybe they all knew she was wretched and cursed and unworthy of love and happiness and peace. Even they knew she wasn't worth the trouble.

Hours later, she reached her destination. Her eyes burned with tears and Tifa tried not to cry out as she climbed the stairs of her apartment building, each step stretching tender flesh between her legs. She hid away in her bedroom, reading her baby's birth certificate again and again by candlelight. She discovered that Aria had been just over three pounds, was fifteen inches long, and had red eyes: like Mama's, like her own. It was unbearable to think that these two sheets of paper would be the only proof that her daughter existed. For the handful of days that followed, Tifa fought against the irrational fear that she had forgotten her baby somewhere. Her mind was coming to accept that Aria was gone, but her body did not yet understand, and she constantly whimpered at the hot ache of her full breasts. This was her punishment for getting Mama sick. This was her punishment for escaping Nibelheim. This was her punishment for abandoning her father. Had anything ever been right in this life? Had there ever been a time where laughter bubbled freely from her heart? She began to doubt her memories as the grey of the slums washed over her heart.

Mama's slender fingers against ivory keys. A lone daffodil against grey gravel. The tinkling of a jingle bell. A brightly colored bird house.

Nestled in Cloud's sweatshirt, she curled into herself in the cold bed. Aria's blanket was squeezed tightly against her chest as she chased after dreams of the sound of a piano and the smell of pine. But sleep often eluded her, and Tifa's mind would slip into dark places in the stillness. She lay there alone, counting her hatred and screaming in silence. She had been defeated by grief, exhausted past seeing, but hatred had stiffened her spine. Any thoughts of ShinRA would jolt her into a rage that fed upon itself as she lay on her blanket, rigid and alert. They had taken everything from her: her home, her family, her hope.

If everything that gave her purpose was gone, why was she still alive?