Caitlin held onto her secret for years, remaining a burden she was willing to carry. She desperately wanted to protect her son Zion from this world and from his father Bronze Marcelo, the most prominent artist of the rap industry. Simultaneously, sh...
In the pitch darkness, her fingers searched the waves of sheets for a pair of chubby baby feet. The alarm clock shun like shadows; in blood red, it read 2:33 A.M. Her right hand pressed the corner of the bed and felt emptiness. No warm body, no fuzzy curls, no tiny fingers or toes.
"Zion," Caitlin whispered. "Baby?"
Her heart took one giant lurch against her chest.
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She scrambled out of bed and tripped into a pile of rainbow, washed-up toys and questionably clean laundry. Crawling in the direction of the light switch, she felt pain shot up to her knee from the pricks of old legos. Finally, she reached the wall. Her fingers wiggled all over, a strange sensation - a cross between gelatin and worms. She let out a huff and punched the wall. The lights flicked on in a blinding yellow fluorescence. Her eyes scanned the room - dresser, bed, night stand, closet - but her baby wasn't there. A long drop of sweat rolled down her forehead, hitting the right eye. Oh, it burned like hell.
The bedroom door was ajar and her ears tuned to the unmistakable sounds of Mickey Mouse. His usual greet of chuckles, followed by "Hello Everybody," created the usual reaction of hand-clapping from Zion and a response of an infectious giggle. Adrenaline and lightening footwork and suddenly she was Usain Bolt.
In giant leaps, she raced down the narrow stairs through the crammed kitchen into their miniature size living room to see her toddler sprawled on the carpet floor. His wide eyes were glued to the flat screen while Mickey repeated his lesson of shapes and colors. One of his hands held the back of his foot and the other kept his head perfectly balanced. Caitlin never reached that level of yoga expertise. She leaned back to catch her breath.
"What are you doing awake, silly boy?" she asked.
Zion glanced up and then hid his face on the carpet, shaking with an outbreak of laughter. She scooped him off the ground into her arms in a deep cuddle and sat crisscrossed on their leather couch.
"Mommy, no, I watch Mickey," Zion mumbled against her nightgown.
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He yawned, his mouth stretching into a perfect "O" form, and his eyes drooped instantly. His tiny fists rubbed those tired eyes and his breathing steady to a deep inward, outward motion. The wild Tarzan curls of the little escapee tickled her lips while she reached down to kiss his forehead. She lay down with Zion on her chest and forced her eyes shut.
If Zion's father, Bronze, could see his splitting image, he probably would've stayed right here in Kelvin County. His dreams of fame, money, and music outweighed the importance of their lovely Zion. His dreams must've erased her.
How pathetic was I.
She would often dream of a perfect unit, with a great warm welcome would be waiting for her. One that consisted of the mother, the father, and their love formed into a child. Lovers that shared the same bond of an unbreakable connection. The idea ceased to exist in the mind of Bronze Marcelo.
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Mickey's closing song shook her out of those circling thoughts. Maneuvering her toes toward the edge of the couch, her toe pushed down on the power button and a combination of darkness and vibrating silence surrounded her. She hated that she kept a constant flashback of could've, would've, should've.
The heck was wrong with being a single parent.
Aside from being the only source of income...not to mention the paycheck to paycheck, limited "me" time, the can't-take-a-dump without company, no days off-EVER, the emerging cycle of outgrown clothes based on the three-month growth ratio...okay, she admitted then. It was hard, harder than anything she've ever done in her entire life.
