There was drifting.

A baby is born.

There was drifting.

 

In a hospital, three miles down a long stretch of road that cut through the city, a baby was born. He was forced out of a pain riddled woman after his nine month lease was up. With the woman, there was a man. She held his hand lightly at first. Now, his hand suffered the worst of this woman's birth pains as he repeatedly yelled, “Calm down, woman. Just push.”

The woman pushed and pushed until she felt the child's head forcefully exit her birth canal allowing her a small reprieve from the pain of child-birth. It was this small victory that made her forget what this child meant to the dark and morally crippled family who had long awaited his arrival. It was with great happiness that this woman, long ago, married this man.

As time passed, her happiness grew into an overwhelming sadness. Later, when she found out she was pregnant, it became unadulterated hate. The past she wanted to leave and the future she found herself trapped in, met to force her hand.

His birth marked the first of many penances left to pay, for the deeds of his father and the sins of his mother. His life was a gift unwillingly snatched from Death. When the child was grabbed by the doctor and lightly spanked the pain of his first breath made him cry.

One would expect a smile as the child’s lungs filled with air. Instead, the boy's death was immediately welcomed before the curse his life would bring. He was seen as nothing more than a disruption that would become a nuisance, if not properly managed. It was when the guests left the cramped birthing room that the boy’s mother reacted.

Her throat tightened as she held the boy. Her eyes filled with angry tears. She hated herself for giving birth to this small defenseless creature. What really aggravated her was the fact that this child wanted to depend on her and be protected by her. Who did he think he was to take the small bit of freedom she had left? It was then she realized, unwanted as he was, he was hers.

She pushed the child into a nurse's arms with a disgusted look on her face. At that moment, the boy felt the first seeds of fierce cruelty take root as he was carelessly handled by the woman. The boy's father had witnessed the exchange between reluctant mother and innocent child.

He saw the frigid emptiness with which the woman had held the child and knew she had no intention of being a mother. His wife's cold dark eyes confirmed his suspicions, leaving behind a sad impression that would continue to haunt his memories.

The tiny crying child wiggled in the nurse's hands. He whimpered opening his eyes to the brightness of the world. That small gesture made the nurse hold the child tight as she cautiously walked to the door. Glancing back at the baby's mother it became clear (to the nurse) that she had no intention of caring for her bruised newborn.

Instead, the nurse saw a look of hurt and betrayal. Looking down at the small reddened mass she held in her arms she hoped he would never know that his mother wished he was dead; a stillborn child waiting to be buried.

The nurse left the room in silence as she walked away with the boy who had arrived into the world like some bandit Jesus. She made her way down the long hall to the nursery slowly rocking the child. She stared at the baby in her arms, wondering what could make a mother react so badly. Arriving at the nursery window, she stopped. Her eyes moved to the babies in their temporary cribs waiting to be taken home.Then back to the child in her arms.

Standing by the door to the nursery, she hugged the boy. The nameless child opened his eyes again. She looked at the baby and whispered, “Gift.” She paused and smiled at the baby before adding, “You're a beautiful gift.”

The baby closed his eyes and settled in the nurse's arms. The nurse continued to rock the baby as she walked into the nursery. She placed him in a small crib labeled “Vassago”. The nurse left and the baby drifted off to sleep.

Two days quickly passed for the boy’s mother. All the while, the boy's father observed. He saw the woman hold the child with immense irritation. Displeasure twisted her face. Her cold stare passed over the child. The boy’s father felt the tension. He watched the woman hand the boy off to a nurse as soon as he was done with a feeding.

Walking away, the nurse looked back catching a glimpse of the woman’s eyes, which only confirmed the distance she would always keep. As the nurse left the room, feeling sorry for the tiny child, she asked what his name would be. The mother turned to the nurse and said: “Why should I give that thing a name? It's nothing but a curse.”

The next day another nurse returned asking the woman to name the child. The woman flatly refused. She woman simply responded that this child was nothing to her. She despised the child. She knew the nurses called the boy “Gift” for lack of any other name.

This only strengthened her resolve; she would NOT name the boy. When her husband sat beside her soliciting a name, she would not waver. “I want nothing to do with that thing,” she said in a voice lined with disgust as she pointed to the child.

The boy's father then spoke to the nurses hoping to ease the tension caused by his wife's refusal to name the boy: “Choose a name, ladies. One that will become synonymous with strength and power. Remember that the chosen name must fit. Keep in mind our last name, Vassago.”

That night, the nurses buzzed with excitement as they headed home. Each nurse chose a name that seemed fit for the boy. The next day, fifty-three names were dropped into a large dark jar. At noon, the jar was brought to the boy's father.

He shook the jar and put it down. The nurses waited. Some held hands. Others looked around. Only two looked down. The man pulled out a white slip of paper with crumpled edges.

“Thank you all for your suggestions,” he said with a slight toothless smile on his lips. He unfolded the piece of paper to announce the boy's name, “Doren. Doren Vassago.” His voice was deep and low as it penetrated the light atmosphere in the room and darkened it. “Thank you all again,” he added.

The nurses could feel something different in the room after the announcement but none dared speak. The boy had suffered enough so far. To say there was something unsettling in the room would be too much. They clapped once a name had been chosen.

Then after holding Doren and receiving the father's thank yous they left. None looked back or talked about the presence they felt that day. They all simply wondered if anyone else had felt the awkward chill down their spine or the goose bumps on their body.