21 years later

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My mother gave birth to me at 19 years old. She went into labor with me during a power outage and delivered me in the dark. It was a small, local hospital run by the few people who knew how to practice medicine in the smaller parts of Hawaii. In her hospital room was a nurse, an OBGYN, and my grandmother, her name was Peggy. I've never met this woman, but I'm told she was a tall, skinny, unhappy old woman who was not pleased to hear of my arrival. She said I was a mistake, I mean obviously she was correct, but my mother didn't see me that way. 

When my father learned that my mother, Lily, was pregnant, he bailed. She told him Friday night, and by Saturday morning he was on a flight to Alaska. She never heard from him again.  When she told my grandmother about me, Peggy wasn't pleased. Before my mother moved to Hawaii she lived in Texas with my grandparents. When her father died she decided to come to Hawaii for college. Peggy said it was her way of running from her grief. My mother denied this, but I believe that maybe my grandmother had a point. My mother moved down here and immediately fell in love. My father's name was Rico, and he was an art major. He would paint my mother the most beautiful paintings of the life they would have together some day. He painted them on canvas, and painted them in her mind. But when he was threatened with domestic life and a child, he panicked.  And he left.

So there she was.  Giving birth with literally nothing but Tylenol, and some wet towels. I was told that when I came out, I came out screaming.  My mother died the same way, the same night. Screaming, while she bled out. My grandmother didn't want me, I killed her daughter. So where do you put an unwanted screaming baby in the middle of a hurricane? most people don't think outside. But for whatever God forsaken reason, this nurse did. they wrapped me up in a laundry basket with an umbrella propped up behind me.  In the morning, a firefighter found me and took me to the police, who placed me in foster care. I jumped from home to home, even as an infant. Nobody wanted me, I was always the cause of something. The first home I went to, was robbed the night I arrived. The robber had a gun, pointed at my head. He held it there while he took his fill of my foster parents' stuff. These supersticious native hawaiins decided I was bad luck, so away I went.  What social services didn't realize is that my mother had never filled out a birth certificate. However, when they called the hospital (yea, the one that abandoned a new born in a hurricane. They got away with it) The nurse told them she wrote my name on a napkin. My name is Lani, and I've never been truly happy.