Tired

By Amethyst Turner

Maybe if you rest for a little awhile

You will be able to recover your smile

Maybe if we lay here quietly

I can save you and you can save me

XXX

Amethyst didn't like the way the maternity ward smelled. There was a sharpness about it, like cleaner mixed with blood. Did babies smell like this? Aimee wasn't sure, but she didn't know what else could cause such a catastrophic scent other than a tiny being crawling out of its mother and into the arms of a waiting nurse.

That, Owl had said, was what was happening right now to her mother. She was in the room down the hall, pushing a baby out of her.

Aimee wasn't quite sure how she felt about babies. She'd only seen them in pictures, mostly, and even when she'd seen them outside, she'd never been close enough to decide if she liked them. They seemed sweet enough and small enough to fit in your arms. Amethyst thought that if she thought back real hard, she could almost remember having been a baby herself.

She did, at least, have one memory, one that she'd never told anyone because she couldn't be sure if it was real or not. In the memory, the world seemed too big and she was trapped inside a little brown box with the rest of the bureau drawers stacked up above her. The way she remembered it, she was crying and hot tears blurred out the sharp outlines of her world as the light faded and a blanket smothered her face, heavy and dark. Then, there was a sound like a creak and a whoosh, and then total silence.

The memory confused Amethyst, but who was she going to ask about it? She could ask her father, but she had a feeling it would upset him. She could ask Owl, but how would she know anything about it? She hadn't made an appearance in Aimee's life until just a few months ago.

But, maybe babies were different than that. Maybe they weren't all sobbing masses of mystery. Amethyst leaned against the wall and smiled. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, at least, even if they couldn't talk back.

XXX

He brought hot chocolate, that last time.

Still warm, kept safe in a mug clasped between his mittened hands, shielded from the harsh January wind through the shield of his back. He could feel the steam rising from it, briefly warming his face before the wind changed and brought the warmth another way.

Daniel hoped it went to Amethyst, wherever she was, because she certainly wasn't in the garden. He sat down by the bare shrub to drink the cocoa alone, deciding this was the last time he would come back here looking for her.

XXX

"Push! For the love of God, push!"

Libby gasped for breath, feeling sobs struggle out of her diaphragm. She couldn't push; her muscles were too entirely focused on the pain, on averting it, which they couldn't seem to do. It shot all through her like she was made of shattering glass.

It started in her neck and went all the way down to her toes. In the middle, it swelled, a burning hot furnace with long tendrils that made her insides cry out in pain. Sounds were coming out of her mouth that she had no power to stop.

Someone was holding her hand, but she didn't know who. At first, she thought maybe it was Richard, in which case she had better get quiet before he went off on her. But then she realized, the fingers were too thin and delicate to be his and the scent from beside her was crisp and vanilla.

She felt something hard and burning between her legs.

No, no, no, she thought. She hadn't really been thinking about it this whole time: she was giving birth. The baby was coming out. No, she wanted to shout, this isn't supposed to happen yet. This isn't supposed to happen for another two months!

But there was no one to yell to in Libby's mind, where she was alone in her suffering.

XXX

"You know, I actually met somebody today. We're going out this Sunday."

Melissa poked her fork at her reheated rice and wondered why she and Ashley still had dinner together every night. They didn't have to; they could eat whenever they wanted. So why did they always end up eating the same thing at the same time at the same table every evening anyway? "Did you?" she said, trying to be interested. It wasn't every day that Ashley met someone; she needed to quiet the sorrowful stirrings in her stomach and be happy for a minute.

"Yep. At the library."

"Good. You both like to read then, at least."

"Yeah." Ashley blushed a little, smiling at her plate.

"What's his name?"

"Sue."

"Sue?"

"Well, Susan, I guess. She calls herself Sue. She's the librarian, actually."

Melissa blinked once, twice, three times. She couldn't stop staring. Her brain screamed, look away, look away, but her eyes wouldn't obey.

Ashley frowned at her. "What, Liss?" The firm set of her jaw dared Melissa to say something.

"I just . . ." Melissa wanted to take another bite of rice and shrug her shoulders like she didn't care, ask what Sue was like, but she couldn't. She kept seeing her sister with a woman, thin hands on her neck, on her arms, on her hips. "I just didn't know you were . . ."

Ashley squinted. "You didn't know I was what?"

"A . . . A . . ." Melissa looked down. She couldn't take the pressure of Ashley's gaze along with the weight of this new knowledge. "I didn't know you were gay. Or, well, a . . . lesbian, is that what they call it? I didn't know you were a --"

"I never said that, did I?" Ashley sighed and speared a piece of salad with unnecessary ferocity. "I just said I met someone and we're going out on Sunday."

"But you said it like . . . like it was a dating thing."

"Well, we'll see where it goes."

XXX

Silence fell over the room like a harsh wind. Libby's sobs went muted and the yelling of, "Push! Push!" came to a sudden halt. No more nurses' shoes scuffling on the floor, no more latex gloves being opened. Owl held her breath, unsure what she was supposed to do.

Libby's hand felt clammy and warm under hers, slipping with sweat. The woman's face, shiny with sweat and pale as a sheet, seemed to personify pain in a way Owl had never seen before. Everything about her, the furrow of her eyebrows, the tears in her eyes, the curl of her lip, seemed to be full of hurt and nothing else.

Then it occurred to Owl: wasn't the baby supposed to be crying?

The room broke back into noise, and Owl sat down so she wouldn't have to look.

XXX

There was nothing Hannah hated more than crying babies on airplanes, especially when the crying baby happened to be hers.

Poor little Robbie, he wanted to nurse, But wedged between Mari and a stranger, Hannah was reluctant to unfasten her bra. Behind her, Ryan had Lucy and Jude hooked up to their gameboys, so no sound came from behind them.

Mari, however, would not settle in. She kept looking between the window and her mother, asking questions like, "What do you do if you crash in the ocean?" and "If we crashed on land, would we all die?"

"Read a book," Hannah kept telling her, but fantasizing about dramatic airplane deaths seemed to be the more alluring occupation.

Robbie let out a raw scream, opening his lips as far as they would go to reveal the few teeth growing in his mouth. The stranger next to them gave them a sideways glance, frowning with contempt. Hannah thought about standing up and walking up and down the aisle to calm him, but she figured that bringing the noise all around the plane wouldn't help her situation.

Instead, she held the crying child to her chest and tried to fall asleep.

XXX

"Hey Baby," Amaya called when she heard the door squeak open behind her. "You're back late, aren't you?"

Owl didn't say anything. Amaya listened to her hanging up her bag and coat, pushing her heels off of her feet. Her bare feet scuffled across the rug toward her, slow and almost sad in their endeavor. Amaya craned her neck to look at her roommate.

Owl looked disheveled, her cheeks stained like she had been crying. Her clothes were clean, but her hands looked scrubbed raw like she'd been washing away the day a little bit too hard.

When she collapsed onto the couch, Amaya wrapped her arms around Owl's shivering frame and kissed her cheek. The skin was cold and goose bumped. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Owl shook her head and leaned in closer. "I can't believe how the world is."

Amaya buried her face in Owl's shoulder. She breathed in the familiar scent of vanilla and citrus, but underneath that was something different, something sharper. She sucked on the side of Owl's neck, trying to calm her, but Owl sighed and squirmed away. "What happened?" Amaya demanded. "I'm worried about you."

Owl rolled onto her side, sighing deeply. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Okay. Well . . . what do you want to talk about, then?"

"Let's just lay here for a minute."

"Okay."

XXX

to die unsung would really bring you down
although wet eyes would never suit you
walk through no archetypal suicide to
die young is far too boring these days

-Unsung by Helmet