My Inner Child

 Her eyes fell upon my bump: my round stomach, not of fat but of a miracle growing within me. It was beautiful and to her it should have been more so. Yet the actions of the past made it so difficult for us to see each other as we should. Our relationship had always confused me and her, though she would never admit it.

I knew now was the time I should make this move. Not that I hadn't tried before, in fact it was me who wrote three times with only one response. That's what it was a response not a reply.

Now it was important, not for me but for my unborn. That was the reason I was here. I couldn't imagine a more important reason.

As we sat on mutual ground I felt somehow like I had the upper hand. Right there in my stomach was my trump card; I knew I could win this game. That doesn't mean she won't play.

Obviously no one had told her though they all knew; I'd asked my sisters to be godparents. Yet no one had told her. I guess they didn't want to hurt her. I could see I had. I had seen the look upon her face so many times before: the mixture of disappointment and of hurt. I could see it in her eyes. Other than her eyes she looked strong and controlled but her eyes sent out a message of disappointment and of hurt.

"How's your coffee?" Stupid I know, I may have had the upper hand but that doesn't help me with the conversation.

"Fine," she replied even though I knew she was lying. She hated 'proper coffee' and would much rather have instant.

We sat there again in silence, not the appreciative sort but the awkward sort where no one wants to speak yet there is so much to be said. This silence had lingered for four years now, even at parties we would avoid eye contact and always 'happen' to be at opposite ends of the room if not in different rooms.

I had a lot I wanted to ask like: why it is hard for her to answer my questions? Why I was the problem? Why she hit me? Why she hurt me? I wanted to scream at her! I wanted her to feel the humiliation I had felt for years! Only I had something stopping me. Like a silencer to a gun my unborn was making me selfless so my noise was unheard.

I felt the magical pain of my unborn kick me hard as though pushing me forward from the front line out into no man's land. My unborn already knew me so well.

"I'm guessing you know why I wanted to meet?" The words left my mouth easier than I thought they would.

"When are you due?" She never seemed to answer questions that mattered. I'd forgotten that. I'd forgotten how alike we were, how alike we are.

They always say I look like her. I have her bushy brown hair, her child bearing build, her deep dark eyes, the only glimpse of her true emotions. Our eyes always gave us away. It wasn't just looks it was everything: I had her personality, her front which made people believe we didn't care, her insecurities and her stubbornness. It's funny; I always say it is her qualities in me that stop me from being honest until the last minute, which is often too late. Was it too late for us? Or had I made us more time?

I realised I still hadn't answered when once again my unborn gave me another little push.

"June," I replied. Almost instantly my mouth went dry as thought I knew what was coming.

"Do the others know?" Now I know she was trying to hide it all, all the hurt not just by me but by the others. I knew what was coming not now but later, behind closed doors. They would get what I had tried so hard to protect them from all those years ago. I could do it then, stand in the middle, like a wall protecting them. Blow after blow I would stand strong until I knew they were safe. I had to protect them both. I had to protect them now. With my unborn I still had my trump card.

"Yes, but I made them swear not to tell you; I had to do it myself," I realised I also lie like her.

Her eyes gave her away again; I could see she understood the reasons behind it. I always believed her lies and now I know she believes mine. The truth for us has always been hard. We never understood it – it was easier to lie. I would take the blame for what they had done. She would blame me knowing it was them. That was how it was!

Just because I knew this doesn't mean it didn't hurt! It hurt every time I saw her. Every time I craved her affection. Every time I wished things were different. Every time I thought about it, us and our relationship. Our relationship, to me, was like a huge tug of war for me; between love and hate!

The love I felt for her, after all she had done for me. The unconditional bond I knew we would always have, regardless. The moments I caught the truth in her eyes, the times I could believe I was right and the times I felt that strong pull towards her she had never shown in return.

Then the hate, hate for what she did. What she gave me. For how alike we were, and still are. I hated the connection between us, the unconditional bond. How I craved her affection when it wasn't there. Hate for what I missed without ever receiving.

I sat there over my hot tea preying my unborn would not be thinking this in 25 years' time, I hoped my unborn would see I would never hurt them, never embarrass them, never want them to feel ashamed or alone because of my actions.

Despite the past, I hated myself for the hurt. I wanted to make it ok. I had carried my unborn for 7 months now. I understood the connection. My unborn was mine as I was hers. I knew I needed her, despite my independence. I was like my unborn and her at one time. I'd never understood before. Never felt the feeling of achievement and worry at once. Never felt protective and curious for anther before. Never so selfless.

I knew history was repeating itself at that very moment. That moment of realisation. I knew I was not the first and would not be the last, not the same yet still not different. Different events yet same story. Different back grounds yet same present. The selflessness over present actions yet no regret.

I knew then that the past didn't matter. At that time the past was the past, no regrets yet no resentment. I knew I would still have moments, were it would not be easy but I could be strong. For now I was not alone. Now I would never be truly alone. Now I understood.

Her eyes fell upon my bump: my round stomach not of fat but of a miracle growing within me. It was as beautiful to me as it was to her, her eyes told me so. For now it was over. If only for now.