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TITLE: Ten till Four By Ronald Mosby 01/07/07 |
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It was an overcast afternoon. Darla felt the clouds follow her as she walked down the street. She had never been in this part of town before. People would not come to this area unless they had business to take care of, and if they were seen coming here, everyone knew their business. She kept her head and eyes fixed directly in front of her, with the false hope that if she minded her own business, others would mind theirs. She was, however, pleasantly surprised at what she saw in front of her. There was a lack of traffic, both auto and human, on the street that afternoon.
She glanced briefly at her watch. It was 3:35 p.m. Twenty five minutes before the last appointment. She wanted to walk faster, but her legs would not respond. It seemed that with each step, the gravity of her worries intensified. This was not supposed to happen to her. She was not supposed to allow it to happen. Yet, she did, and now she alone had to bear this burden.
Darla could not even recall how they met. Her mind strained to remember when, where and how they were first introduced. But, she could never forget those eyes. The memory alone was enough to momentarily hypnotize her. That was how he ended up with her telephone number. Ironically, Darla was not the type that would allow many young men the privilege of calling her. She was not a prude, but she had seen what happened to some of her classmates in school, and vowed that it would never happen to her. It wasn’t a religious thing, either. She believed in God, but she was certainly not devoted to him. Nor did she have some great knowledge of the Bible. Once, during lunch in high school, Darla and some of her friends had a contest to see who could name all of the Ten Commandments. Darla could remember only three: do not kill, do not steal, and do not lie. This was simply a matter of personal principle for her.
He was neither particularly stunning, nor gifted with his tongue. It was his eyes that apprehended her, just as it was with all the other young women. He knew the magic his eyes possessed, and he worked it well. For him, each woman became a performance, like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Darla was simply his latest rabbit. At 23 years of age, he was a stylish vagabond. He would simply work enough to purchase a flashy wardrobe. Food and housing were never worries, because he would always flop at the latest rabbit’s home. He would have his fun, and when he was tired of it, he would hop over to his next trick. This time, though, something went wrong. He was still having fun when Darla told him what happened. He fled like a fugitive running from the long arm of the law. He had scattered, much like his seed.
Questions shot through Darla’s mind like rockets. How many other women had he treated this way? Did it really matter at this point? Should she try to hunt him down, much like he did Darla and those other women? Just the thought of these questions caused adrenaline to shoot through her legs, and she could feel her pace quickening as she approached the office. The entrance was in an obscure location, not easily visible from the street. She opened the door, and began the slow ascent up the two flights of stairs. She opened the door, and looked down the long, empty hall. She had never been here before, but she felt as if she could walk the hall blindfolded. The many stories she heard gave her an uncanny familiarity with this place.
As she walked closer to the office, she looked down at her body. She was so proud of how she looked, just one year out of high school. Darla had crafted a well conditioned body, and it showed. Drugs and supplements were not necessary. She was simply a zealot when it came to athletics. She played basketball, volleyball, and ran track in high school, and she excelled at each. Even after graduation, she disciplined herself to continue her rugged training sessions. She was built; guys loved looking at her, and girls envied her physique.
Now, it seemed like all of the sweat, discipline, and hard work would be lost. She could only watch as those crisp, sharp ridges in her defined abdominals would erode, much like sand dunes that disperse in a windy desert. It doesn’t happen all at once, just a few grains at a time. The erosion is barely visible in the early stages. It is the combination of time and elements that slowly wear away the impressive dunes. Time and elements; these are the same things that will change Darla’s body in a few months, if something isn’t done now.
Darla was definitely not a whiner. Those years of training hardened her physically and mentally. So when her doctor confirmed her condition, she didn’t shed a tear. She was angry, yes, but she would not allow herself to become a bawling naïf there in the doctor’s office. And her parents would never know. She was an independent young adult, able to take responsibility for her own actions. She knew what she needed to do; after all, her income was enough to take care of her, but no one else.
She approached the plain, gray, windowless door. She reached out her hand to open the door, and as she did her eyes caught the time – 3:50 p.m. Suddenly, everything went black. She then sees herself on a table in the delivery room. The pain she is experiencing is excruciating. Beads of sweat hang on her forehead, as if they are simply waiting for the command to roll down her face. There was no training that could prepare her for this. The figures in the room are blurry, thanks to the tears welling up in her eyes. She is alone – no hand to hold, no voice to encourage her. She cannot even hear the staff barking commands to her. She is too busy trying to juggle the screaming, breathing and pushing. Finally, with her throat raw, she gives one last scream and pushes hard – and it is over. A baby boy yelps, and with that, breathes his first breath of life. She cuddles the baby in her arms, and can’t help but smile at the result of her hours of labor.
In an instant, the scene changes to Darla sitting alone at the kitchen table. She is surrounded by barren white walls. She is simply too tired to cook. The demand of working two jobs has depleted her energy for the day. Her body is pleading for her to go to the bedroom and rest, but her mind and spirit tell her otherwise. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and forcefully expels the air as she pushes herself away from the table. She stands, ignoring the pleading from her tired muscles, and begins to prepare a meal for her and her son. She turns on the radio, and a calming gospel sound provides therapeutic relief for her mind and soul. She is now getting her second wind as she focuses on achieving her objective – feeding herself and her son.
In a flash, she sees her son’s bedroom. It is very basic, with plain white walls. Her son’s crib is flush against the left wall. A baby tub is underneath the crib, and there is a dresser on the opposite wall. In the crib, the baby boy is crying incessantly. Darla has had to leave the room, her emotions frayed by her inability to diagnose the cause of her son’s crying. She runs to her room and shuts the door. She runs to the bed, and desperately reaches for her pillow as if were an oxygen mask needed for a breath of life. Darla screams as loud and hard as she can into the pillow. Her muffled screams are heard by no one. She inhales, and screams again. Exhausted from her episode, she drops her pillow on her bed. She is about to throw herself on her bed when she notices the silence. She walks into the other room to find her son has cried himself to sleep. She decides to follow suit, and returns to her room and closes the door, grateful that she survived this latest trial.
The scene quickly changes to her kitchen again, where Darla is seated at the table with her son. Her walls are no longer bare, but sprinkled with various spiritual ornaments. Darla has been attending church regularly, and her disposition has reflected her strengthened faith. Now, she is seated at the table, coaxing her son to take his first drink from a cup. His little fingers manage to grasp the two handled cup, and he awkwardly attempts to negotiate the cup to his mouth. She laughs heartily as he spills water all over himself. She stops, and realizes both time and faith have brought maturity, and she is now enjoying her relationship with her young son.
In a flash, she is outside with her young student on his first day of school. He is smartly dressed. He resembles more a young businessman than a student. Darla could not be more proud of him. She recites a litany of do’s and don’ts to him as she makes some last minute adjustments to his wardrobe. She kisses him as he is walking across the street with the other children. His excitement is magnetic as he begins talking with the other children. A tear begins to roll down Darla’s face; she is now beginning to see the fruits of her labor, and she is getting a glimpse of how her son will touch the lives of others.
In an instant, the scene changes to his school. He is awaiting his turn to recite in the school program. He is struggling to find her familiar face among the sea of mothers and fathers in the audience. His face displays an obvious concern. It is a communication that only a mother can understand. Darla communicates to him by standing and removing her coat. As she sits back down, she smiles, seeing that merely her appearance has comforted and encouraged him. It is now his turn to recite. Tears well up in Darla’s eyes as she hears him confidently recite his lines. Darla worked with him for a week to learn his part, and she cannot help but to weep tears of joy as she hears the audience applaud his performance.
Next, she sees the young man seated with the rest of his band members. Darla did not have the privilege of learning how to play an instrument when she was younger. She took joy in learning how to read music along with her son. She had never heard of an oboe; now here was her son about to play one in his very first band performance. Oh, how he looked so professional, so determined to do well. The performance was not perfect; it didn’t have to be. The mere fact that he was performing was success enough for Darla. As the performance concluded and the lights went up in the auditorium, Darla paused, and look high toward the heavens, thanking God that she had this opportunity to see this young man develop.
Suddenly, the vision changes to an empty track field. Darla can feel the soft spring wind kissing the back of her neck as she helps him stretch on the grassy infield. His friends may be any number of places – playing, at the mall, watching television. Yet, here are the two of them. Darla the trainer, passing on something she loves to the next generation, and the student, eager to learn. They jog around the track together as Darla explains to him in scientific fashion how he should run his race. Other contestants trickle into the stadium. This is the day they have prepared for. Darla thought she was preparing him for a race, but she was able to teach him so much more. Through this, he learned the importance of practice, discipline, and sacrifice. As his race was called, Darla took her place near the finish line, stopwatch in hand. All of the training came down to this – one lap around this track. The gun sounds, and the young men sprint around the track toward the finish line. The crowd roars as the runners enter the final turn. Darla watches the determination on his face as he focuses on the tape. He is exerting every last ounce of energy he has as he crosses the finish line. Darla looks at her stopwatch, and smiles. He ran faster than he has ever run before! He may not have won, but he is a winner. She runs to him as he is hunched over, encouraging him with the good news. Darla never knew it could feel this good.
It is graduation day. Throngs of parents, relatives and friends begin to fill the auditorium, anxious to watch their candidates receive that coveted diploma. He is eighteen now, with a clear vision for his future. He didn’t get that way overnight, however. It happened moment by moment, day by day. He was transformed from an adolescent male to a man. And Darla was there every step of the way. Her eyes well up as she begins to reflect on their lives together. She nurtured him as a child, and guided him as a teen. Yet, she knew she could not be all things to him. In those areas where she lacked, the men of the church helped to cover her and fill in the gaps. They were not judgmental, but not sympathetic either. They set standards for Darla and her son, and expected both of them to meet those standards. Through those experiences, Darla learned that family was not confined to blood relatives. And now, here she was, weeping tears of joy, surrounded by the men who helped raise this graduate. Darla’s heart swells with pride as she watches him stroll across the stage to receive his diploma. As he thrusts his fist in the air as a sign of victory, Darla and the men give him a standing ovation. Then, like credits at the end of a movie, she sees three simple words scroll continuously in front of her: His Life Matters.
Darla awakens from her trancelike state, and looks up at the clock on the wall. The time is 3:55 p.m. She pulls her hand away from the doorknob, and smiles as she turns to walk out the building. She doesn’t know if the life she is carrying is a boy or a girl, but she does know that the life inside of her matters. As she leaves the building, she looks up at the sky. The clouds are moving away, and rays of sunlight are breaking through. Darla’s infectious smile is still beaming as she begins her journey back home. Now, it doesn’t matter who sees her.
© 2006 by Ronald F. Mosby
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