By D.W. Hogan

Mary watched at a distance as new girls arrived to fill the beds once occupied by her closest friends. She didn’t join in when they formed cliques and established their unique versions of dorm room camaraderie.

Mary discarded her never-make-waves persona when she fiercely confronted Rodney and terminated the Dairy Express. “If I find out you’re smuggling anything else in here, I’ll turn you in! All you’ve done is cause harm. It ends today.”

“Hey! No skin off my ass, chick,” Rodney cackled. Taking a drag off his cigarette, he flicked it into the wet grass. Under his breath he pivoted, “You’re a short-timer; there’s always a new crop of lovesick girls more than happy to pay me to do their bidding.”

The completed renovations to the third floor increased the home’s capacity and added to Sister Bridget’s responsibilities. Mary watched the nun create a bond with her new charges, easing their fears the way she’d done with the last batch of girls. Even overworked, she kept watch over Mary’s detachment and finally cornered her in the bathroom to speak privately.

“I get the feeling you’re avoiding me,” Sister Bridget started.

“No, I’m ready for this to be over.” Mary scrubbed her teeth with a toothbrush.

“Careful, your gums are sensitive now; you’ll make them bleed,” the nun told her. The girl rinsed her mouth. “I hate to see you withdraw this way.”

Mary softened. “Every time my baby moves inside of me, I’m reminded I’m going to miss out on a lifetime of touches. I won’t get to see its first steps or be the mommy who cries on the first day of school.” Sister Bridget put her arms around her. “It kills me it’ll never know how much I love it or how its miraculous existence has changed everything about me.” Mary wiped her tears on her pajama sleeve. “Very soon, this child will be born and I’ll sign away, forever, my rights as its mother. If Mrs. Lewis believes I can leave here and act like this never happened, someone needs to take back her diplomas, because she’s a moron.”

Sister Bridget smiled. “Every experience we have in life molds us. Of course, you’re changed by the life you carry inside you. It’s good you recognize there’s a grieving period.”

“Grandma says it’s a path I’ll walk and, at each turn, there’s a new emotion I’ll face.”

“Your grandma’s a pretty sharp cookie. You’re a smart girl too. You’ll get through this.”

“Don’t take it personally I can’t mix with the new girls. The inevitable end is near. It can’t come soon enough, in my opinion.”

Mary’s soon-enough came a couple of weeks later, on a balmy but sunny April day. First thing in the morning, she knocked on Sister Bridget’s door.

Mary explained, “I started cramping at 2:00 a.m., now I’m pretty sure I’m in labor. Could you call my grandmother? I want her to be here.”

Sister Bridget came to Mary a short while later. “Your grandma is upstairs. Are you okay to walk to the elevator?” The girl nodded. Mary felt as if she were sleepwalking, yet her senses were heightened. She found herself grasping at the images and activity around her. The smell of the fresh paint from the third floor, the coldness of the tile beneath her feet, the sounds of the other residents beginning their day: Mary committed these things to memory.

The hours of the morning melted into the pastel hues of twilight before Mary was ready to deliver. Being attentive, Sister Eugenia had given her drugs, dulling the edge of pain. Mary intended to be awake for the birth and strongly objected to using gas.

When Dr. Miller arrived, Mary urgently asked, “I want to push, can I push now?”

“Hold on, let me take a look.” Dr. Miller did a quick exam and gave her the command to push. Mary grasped the handrails and, holding her breath, she pushed.

By her side, Bernice cheered her on, “That’s it, honey. Bear down.”

An hour passed with the laboring girl pushing with each contraction. Exhausted, her hair matted with sweat and her legs shaking, Mary lamented, “I can’t do this!”

“You’re almost there. Three more good pushes is all you need,” Dr. Miller explained.

“You can do it, child. Come on,” Bernice coached. With the next contraction Mary used all her concentration to push. “You’re doing so good! Give a little more, push harder, harder, that’s it!” Mary lay back and rested for a minute.

“A few more,” Dr. Miller coaxed.

“Two more,” Mary clarified. She pushed again, as hard as she could. “It burns! Oh, God, it hurts,” she cried, through clinched teeth.

“I’m going to give the skin a little snip so you don’t tear,” the doctor told her.

The sudden slicing pain came with the relief of the burning sensation. With her next push, the child was born and its cries brought tears to her eyes.

“What is it, a boy or a girl?” Mary begged. The doctor looked at Bernice, who nodded.

“He’s a healthy baby boy!” Dr. Miller announced and held the pink little body so Mary could get a good look.

“Oh, my God, he’s beautiful,” Mary clasped her hand to her mouth, unable to stop the sobs erupting from an untapped well of emotions within her. Eugenia took the baby from him.

“Lie back now,” Dr. Miller instructed. “I’m going to stitch you up like a virgin. On your wedding night, your husband won’t know the difference.”

Across the room, Sister Eugenia cleaned, weighed and measured the baby. Once diapered and wrapped in a blue blanket, Bernice cradled the child, swaying her body, she soothed his cries. “My goodness, you’re sweet.” Mary reached out, wanting to hold him.

“It’ll only make it harder when you have to sign the papers,” Sister Eugenia warned.

“Give me the papers now, and I’ll sign them! I’m not going to keep him. I can’t. But this is the only time I will ever spend with him,” Mary demanded. Sister Eugenia slid the documents in front of Mary; she signed them without reading. Pushing the papers back at the nun, she pleaded, “Let me hold him.”

Bernice gently transferred the small bundle to Mary and stood back while the new mother snuggled the baby. She touched the softness of his cheek, looking adoringly in his eyes.

“Hi! I’m Mary. I can’t be your mommy, so it’s better if you remember me as Mary.” The child looked intently at his mother, transfixed on the voice he recognized.

The next few days, unless sleeping, Mary held her son. She loved to rock him as he slept peacefully in her arms. She talked to him, explaining about Tony and how things didn’t work out. She told him about herself and why she had to give him away. She told him how much she loved him. The infant always calmed to the sound of her voice and seemed to be taking in all of her meaning.

“He leaves tomorrow. I’m afraid you’re going to regret spending so much time with him,” Sister Eugenia cautioned compassionately.

“I want him to feel loved for his first few days; it’ll give him a good start.”

“You did very well with the labor and delivery. You’ll be able to have lots more babies.”

Mary nodded. Blinking back the tears, she handed the baby to the nun. “I think I’ll turn in. I’m kinda tired.”

The next morning Mary dressed in her normal clothes for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. She packed her belongings. Lastly, she changed and dressed her son in his leaving clothes. She picked a pale-blue jumper suit with little pockets.

“Today’s the big day, little guy. They’re going to love you!”

Before she wrapped him snuggly in a blue blanket, she unclasped her medallion of St. Nicholas and tucked it into his pocket. With tears in her eyes, Mary kissed her son’s soft forehead for the last time and whispered in his ear, “Remember me!”

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