Split Infinity

Theres a story my mother tells, in a Carnie hawker sort of fashion. One she dusts off and tells with a languid pleasure. It has all the elements required for ticket paying patrons; sketchy details, morbid considerations, intrigue and a live specimen.

I've been hearing it most all my life, I know it by heart.. I should, its about me.

At first it was shocking and to the unwary; they are in for a particular freakish treat. You see you'd think I'd been born in the Middle Ages in a rural village. But as I consider the prospect, I most probably wouldn't be here today to tell you the tale. Its not really her fault many say, my mother's that is. The way the things happened which began this precarious relationship of ours.

She was a nave and she's wanted to be an innocent her entire life. Unfortunately, life doesnt allow us to remain so. And as she stepped down that path we both began a journey full of mystery and pain.

As she recounts the tale she was pregnant for twelve months. Ignorant of these unmentionable things at the time, it was convenient as well. I was not a planned pregnancy.  In fact when my existence became known, my maternal grandfather attempted to gas himself for the shame of it. His youngest daughter doing the family in this way, promised to another young man serving in the military.

I was the last thing anyone wanted. She doesnt say this as part of the story, because that would change the focus of the spotlight. I am the novelty, the object of wonder.  After being pregnant for this incredible period of time (which allowed for an appropriate wedding), my mother was sitting and visiting with her sisters and my grandmother one afternoon. She hadn't realized her water had broken and its estimated that I laid in the birth canal for three days. Its because of my Aunt Merelda being an RN at the maternity ward that I was even spared.

So I was very much a forceps baby, under the desired weight, replete with the marks and pointed head.  My first glamor shots were grainy brown snaps of this pathetic little creature, too small for the diaper. The forceps barely missed my left eye by millimeters, a space for which I am eternally grateful. The mark I still carry today.

I entered the world a bit roughed for the wear, which would have been a fairly normal outcome, were it not for the other birth sack. One in which she professes my umbilical cord passed through. My twin, my predecessor in sin, didnt survive. When so many other details had escaped her; this had not, the macabre value too great to be lost. My entire life I've heard her words echoing in my head, that I caused my infant sibling's death, my fraternal twin. My mother regaled that my biology ravaged that other little being and there was only one hideous outcome, I survived. And then the focus would shift to my stoic 12-year-old frame, my 16-year-old disdain, and my 30 something disgust for sideshow tactics. Some stories shouldn't be told and this is one.

I've always had a presence which was bigger than the room, though I was usually the most quiet and withdrawn.   At 9 months of age while in the hospital again, I remember reaching for another babys blow-up bunny over the crib's edge. I remember standing in footie sleepers just tall enough to reach, but not much more. I still have that image in my mind, the event, fresh and well lit as the nurse scolded me again and laid me down, then tied me down.. So I wouldnt get up again.

My same maternal grandfather, who had tried gassing himself in the camper, passed when I was 4 years old.  But before passing, he doled such overt favoritisms upon me; I drew the scorn of my aunts, whos children sometimes couldn't gain his attention. The only grandchild he would personally babysit, the only grandchild he threatened a father over. Perhaps he knew how rough the rest of the ride would be for me.

But I've never been alone. Perhaps those secrets whispered to me were part of a willing sacrifice

Like I said, some stories shouldnt be told.