her

March 3rd, 2005. South Africa. Early fall.

It had been 4 hours after mother went into labor. Blinding white lights hanging above. Cold air whirling through the air vents. Beeping noises from the hospital machines. Strangers in blue coats and masks with stressed eyes. Sharp tools to penetrate the skin of mother. Mother's cruel womb started tightening. The comfort turned into fear. Fear into panic, as the child started choking on the tight walls that were closing in every passing second.

She was introduced to the bright lights first.

Then the beeping.

Then the cold.

Then finally the world around her.

The child cried.

Strange hands were all over her. Strangers passing her from one person to the other at a speed that the child never knew was possible. She didn't want this. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to return to her safe, warm sloshy bed. But that was impossible now. The chains of being a fetus had been stripped away from her that day.

After being wrapped in those uncomfortable blankets, she was returned to mother's hands. But mother didn't want her. Mother didn't feel like a mother. Mother refused to accept the responsibility. She was alone in the room, with gran in the background, idling away.

"What will you name her?" the nurse asked once mother started paying attention.

"Tyler. Tyler Arwin."