A Cockroach in Brooklyn - A Darkly Amusing Short Story

6. A Cockroach in Brooklyn - Pioneer Roach

Feb 28

Hung out with Sid tonight as I brushed my teeth. He was pacing along the top of the mirror, back and forth, like he's got some heavy sh*t on his mind. Maybe, from his perch there, Sid witnessed the bitter argument between me and Luciano three weeks ago - maybe even saw Luciano pack his bags and leave me, when we broke up for our second and final time. Maybe he's here to keep me company, observing the gaping hole that has opened in my life and he's doing his best to fill it. He feels protective of me. It's a warming feeling. Thanks, Sid. I got your back too.

Luciano knew I wanted children. I talked about it every so often, during that second installment of our relationship,

"Just so you know," I warned him teasingly if the subject of children came up, "I want to pop out some sprogletts by the time I'm 32. I'm giving myself til then to live life to the fullest." 

He squinted one eye, hunched his shoulders and bent his arms into a position of deformity as if he were the hunchback of Notre Dame, croaking the words in mock servitude. "Yes, your majesty. Whatever you say, your majesty. I will do your bidding."

I giggled. He made a joke of everything, that's one of the reasons I loved being with him. We were so goofy together.

 I took on the haughty queen role: "If thou deny mine own deepest desires for offspring, I shall tie thee to the Royal bed and command thy sperm into crevices thoust did not know existeth." 

He contorted his mouth into fear and shielded his face with crooked arms. "No your majesty. Not that. Anything but that, your majesty." 

I threw a pillow at his head, to allow him to enact the death of a crippled outcast of the 17th century.

We were 28, it seemed a long way off. But we both knew that having children would be an integral part of my future.

 When it came time for my 31st birthday. "Happy Birthday," he says, "did I ever mention I don't want kids?" Well, thanks for the whole year's notice to find another soul mate, fall in love again, make sure the unsuspecting victim falls in love with me and start procreation. Plenty of time.

I loved Luciano with a passion. Like a bird loves her song. But to never have children would be like that bird loving her song, but being denied ever singing a note of it: a regret so painful it would slowly strangle my songbird's throat. The relationship I have with my own mother, and with my three older sisters, is essential to my being, it's what makes my world breathe and move. If I can't extend that thread of joy into my own bloodline, I think my body would curl up around my soul and squeeze it out of me. I looked at Luciano, no strength to hide the hurt. Didn't 'love' mean that, if I didn't have a choice, then he would ride with me into the choiceless sunset, because only together, life is worth living? 

If I didn't have nature's burden of a body that ticks like a time bomb ready to scramble my life-creating eggs, I would wait too. For as long as it took for us to both be ready. I would love to focus longer on my career before having kids too, or party-on-demand or spend an entire weekend binge-watching Netflix series on the sofa with a soft blanket. But the female body doesn't offer multiple-choice sign-up plans. 

"Maybe I could wait..." I hesitated. "Like, how long?" And then, he threw the whopper with the works. His words slipped out easily like they had been stirring in his head for a long time, and now waiting for their moment to escape: "Maybe I never want children." 

The shock held onto my breath until I felt I might pass out, and I felt lightheaded and dreamlike...nightmarelike. Then, like an infestation unleashed, he began to list all the other things he wasn't happy about in our relationship. I listened speechless, wondering why he had never mentioned these things before, why I was hearing all this in one big blow to the senses.