Gone

You Are Beginning To See How It Really Is 39

There were billboards of restaurants, lawyers, doctors, and even a baby billboard saying ‘Don’t abort! Don’t abort! Your mother chose life ... follow in her steps. Brought to you by the club of ‘Abortion Is A Sin; AIAS.’ A long time ago when I was a freshman, as an English Honors project we had to choose a big topic and write about it. I chose abortion since everyone had an opinion on it. I didn’t support it. Everyone deserves a chance to live, and if you can’t take care of a baby, then give it up for adoption.

There were cars every where you can imagine. Between houses, which was a driveway, they were pulling in. Below my window, the front of the hospital, was a parking garage. Though there was a roof, you could see headlights drive through, stop, turn off. Next to the garage was the emergency. People pulled through, dropped some off, and simply left.

I knew if I didn’t get any sleep I’d be tired when I left the hospital, and I’d doubt the staff would let me leave if there seemed to be anything wrong with me. I could imagine it - We can’t let her leave. She can’t have her baby. She looks like a loon. It probably wasn’t the first time I got that, either.

I got back into the bed, and turned over. The tubes that were protruding my arm wrapping over my body, securing me in place to the bed. As I sunk into it lightly, all I thought was it was cheap memory foam. If they’re going to die here, might as well make it somewhat acceptable. Then a chorus of Oh yes. True, true. I agree. All in favor? Say I. I. I. I. I. I. I. Majority rules. Memory foam. Where did you say you were getting it from? Oh. Ah. Tell your cousin I said hello, then.

My mind enjoyed doing things like that. Imagining situations. Peoples reactions. Things like that. Sometimes it’d be amusement parks design from birds eye view. Or house’s blue prints. It was something to keep my mind off things.

“Repeat the story one more time, Ms. McDonald and you and your sister can go home tonight, I swear. Sailor’s promise.”

“How can I trust you?” I asked the man for the twentieth time. After so many encounters with him I learned his name was Jon. He looked around my age but confessed he was 24. 5 years older.

“Because I’m in the FBI. Look,” he muttered, getting close to my face. His breath was hot as it hit my cheek. He slammed a hand onto the cold surface of the interviewing table. The black windows across the room seemed to have breath mist all over it, the people behind it excited to see the situation unfold. “Look,” he said again, but looked no where. Stupid metaphors. “If you don’t tell me the story one more time ...” his mind began to muster something to say; someway to punish me, “I’ll enroll you in the witness protection program - permanint. You won’t be with your sister, you won’t see Niall or any of the boys ... you will live with a FBI agent for the rest of your life. I swear. So... tell me one more time what happened.” He pressed a red button on a recorder.

“That’s pretty old fashioned, if you ask me,” I said referring to the voice recorder. “Okay, okay. First we were in that One Direction concert . . . then my hands were bound around a tree, and I got loose, and thought those people Jamie or Janie or whatever and her mom were the men so I threw myself at a rock, and found out it wasn’t the men. They called 911, I blacked out.” The story took about an hour, and by the time I was finished I was yearning for a glass of ice cold water. My breath was gone the minute I finished telling my long story. The story could be a book. A novel. A movie. Who knows, maybe a huge motion picture. Heck, surely many people would watch it since it had One Direction in it, the others curious on what happened. It was a idea, actually.

“Wow.” He sat back in the cold metal chair. The chair cried out in protest. “OK.”

“I get to see Adrianna?” He sat in a smug look of content. 

“Sure thing. But -” I froze when he said that. But could mean such a bad thing. ‘I love you but ...’ ‘You are smart, but ...’ ‘You’re pretty, but...’ ‘You can leave, but...’ My metal chair was pushed under the metal interviewing table with the only thing seperating the table and chair my thighs squished under it. The chairs were just like the kind you see on NCIS and CSI or Law and Order. There was only two cups of water for the interviewer and interviewee. The tinted window where the other cops, and sometimes the family stood. And of course the metal chair and the metal table. “But Mr. William and I will be dropping around to see how you’re doing. If anything happens ... expect to see us.” He folded his hands on the interviewing table. Mine on the side of the chair, squeezing it till my knuckles were white and numb. “OK. Willard-” He waved a hand at the metal door with a tiny window. There were 9 squares in it, and black string inbetween the two layers of glass. There was a man in a black suit who nodded and opened the door, and I saw Adrianna.

She had tears rolling down her face, and she rushed in, even dropping her purse on the floor as she rushed in. She practically fell into my arms when she came in. Jon picked her purse up and handed it to her. She cried into my neck, and mumbled a bunch of different things. Finally she pulled away, using a tissue to wipe her nose and eyes. One tissue ended up being 4 tissues. “I missed you ... and I love you.” And she began crying terribly and 4 tissues ended up to be 9.

The sun was bright; even for late August. My curtains for the window were pulled open, and the curtain hiding me from the passing visitors was pulled back as well. The crib was back but it was next to Adrianna who sat quietly in her chair. She rocked Kennedy back and forth, all attention on Kennedy. She probably didn’t even see I had awoke. 

“What time is it?” I inquired, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Adrianna looked up, surprised she hadn’t noticed me awake before.

She pulled her Iphone out of her pocket, and answered, “It’s 11:13. Jon and William are coming soon. They called a little while ago.” She looked back at Kennedy, and laid her in her crib. She pulled the crib back over next to me, while I pressed the up button on my bed. Basically, I was in a sitting position. “Do you want to hold her?” 

“Yeah. I’ll change her clothes, and put the onesie on that Liam got for her.” Adrianna lifted her up, and she fell into my lap perfectly. Kennedy lifted her tiny hand and wiped her forehead. Adrianna also handed me the basket that Liam got, and opened it up to the onesies. I pulled the first one I saw out, and looked at it. In fancy writing it said, I’m a Princess and a tiara hanging off the P. I unbuttoned the back, and slipped Kennedy into it, buttoning it back up.

Adrianna pulled her phone back out and snapped a picture of me holding Kennedy. Kennedy seemed to be asleep, and I just seemed estatic. My hair was in a tight bun ontop of my head, and Kennedy was in one of my hands, and my other hand laid on her belly. It seemed like it was a photographer photo. The bed covers were pulled down above my lap, and up to my hips. My bed was in a sideways L position so I was sitting straight. Kennedy’s eyes were open and her mouth was ajar. 

“This is going on your Facebook page.” She smiled and played with her phone, plopping back into the chair. 

“My Facebook page? I have a Facebook page?” She smiled warmly and nodded.

“Yeah. When you went missing I made a ‘Where Is Andrea McDonald’ Facebook page.” It triggered a memory when I had just gotten out of the FBI’s custody - Adrianna mumbling to William, “The damn Facebook page helped none.” William laughed flirtatiously at her joke. I didn’t bother asking what page; I was just glad to be home. “You have like 3 million likes. When the police released the announcement you were most likely being held with One Direction, everyone had a heart attack, and searched your named and wala. My page came up first.”