Horrors of Us...

Jaime, brimming with excitement, created an advertisement sign for her new play — The Dreamer. The sign was riddled with factoids and plastered with pictures of herself and her visions for the production. She debuted it outside of the local schoolhouse. 

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Jaime stood by her sign for two hours, until the sun seeped through her ratty hair, at which point she felt compelled to sit criss-crossed on the pavement. While the kids were in school, she toyed with the rubble, jolting up with enthusiasm each time a new class walked out for recess. Several faculty members approached her in concern, but Jaime refused to leave. Two police officers even stopped by, but upon closer examination, found that Jaime’s campaigning location lay just outside of the property line, meaning they had no authority to escort her away. Jaime stayed until long after the last bus carried the last students home from their after-school activities. 

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That was before she told her family about the pregnancy. Now, one year later, she sits at her first Thanksgiving dinner accompanied by her daughter, Rosy.  The scent of cranberry sauce and gravy wafts through the air, mingling with the tensions of family newly conjoined. Jaime sits at the end of the elongated bridge table, covered by the flimsy paper table cloth, and fields the stares of cousins and aunties alike. The peppered conversation swirls around between the compartments of her mind, uncategorized, her only focus remaining the daughter she has lost. 

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The last time she saw Rosy was her birthday – the real day of her birth, not one of those yearly anniversary parties. Jaime had just been discharged from the hospital, and was carrying Rosy in her arms, when she was greeted outside the hospital by her entire extended family. It almost seemed as though they were trying to cause a commotion with the gaggle of people they shuttled in. The family greeted her with feigned enthusiasm, blowing sad, deflated party horns. Before she realized what was happening, Rosy was being shuffled into her father’s car, Rose abducted from her arms. She hasn’t seen Rosy since – Until now.

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Jaime watched Rosy squiggle and squirm in Suzan’s arms, her gentle tufts of hair poking out. Jaime stared and stared, absorbing every detail of that precious face. Rosy had grown so much over the last year. She had the sweetest little berry lips and such long, beautiful eyelashes. All Jaime wanted to do was grab her and run away forever. 

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Jaime leaned her elbows on the table swiftly, smudging her sleeve in some cranberry sauce. She would have never chosen to eat dinner with these horrendous people, had it not provided her the chance to see her baby. She shuffled the turkey breast and sweet potato around on her plate, blinking back the hot tears that brimmed her lids. She didn’t understand why they acted as if Rosy wasn’t hers.  

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She watched as everyone talked and laughed, pretending as if they didn’t steal her child. They did. Jaime knew they did. But, why wasn't anyone acting like it? 

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When the plates were cleared, the family moved to the couch to watch the Thanksgiving parade. Baby Rosy was put down for a nap. Trying to avoid suspicion, Jaime excused herself to go to the restroom. Instead, she snuck into the guest room where Rosy’s crib lay. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Jaime scooped Rosy out of her bed. At the slightest touch, Rosy started to cry. 

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“Hush, hush.” Jaime whispered.

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It was too late. Suzan and Mae came rushing into the room, one of them grabbing Jaime by the arms, the other gently lifting up Rosy. Jaime cried out. 

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“She’s not yours. She’s aunt Suzan’s remember? You just met this baby.” Mae said calmly. 

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Jaime sobbed. She heaved. Rodge and Rich dragged her out of the room by her elbows, as she kicked and screamed. “Jaime please, calm down.” Rich said. But that only made Jaime angrier. She whaled and screamed as loud as she could. She wanted to wake the entire world with her cries. 

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She knew there was only one thing left to do. With brute force, Jaime slapped Rosy out of Rich's arms. Jaime's head filled with rage, as she lashed and thrashed her limbs, trying to cut through everyone in sight. ​

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Rich tackled her from behind, pinning her body to the floor. Everyone else shuffled out the door, locking her in the guest room all alone. Jaime rolled onto her back, breath shaking with sobs, and stared up at the ceiling. 

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When she stood up, the guest room bed was gone. No longer was there dainty wooden furniture, or freshly manicured flowers on the night stand. No longer was there a cozy house full of turkey and family. It was just her, alone and afraid. It always will be. It always was. 

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