I look up and out the window. I see lights flashing one after the other with dark spaces between them. I can feel the bumps under my bottom as the car zooms down the road, but still I stay quiet.
A long time passes, and I curl into the smallest ball I can so as not to bother the other children and fall asleep.
When I wake, I see a dark-haired woman looking down at me with kindness in her soft brown eyes. She’s holding something in her hand that smells so good my mouth gets wet. It’s a white ball of sweet bread. It tastes so good, but when I hold out my hand for more, she passes me a yellow fruit peeled and ready to eat, I take a bite and enjoy the heavy feeling my tummy gets after I eat it all.
My eyes want to close as the lady hummed and fed the baby a bottle. The little boy smells like the same fruit I just ate, and he has white powder around his lips. He must have liked the soft, sweet bread too. I smile as I drift to sleep thinking how different this was than the tiled room with straps on the bed.
Maybe this lady will be nice to us. Maybe she’ll give us more white sugar bread.
Time passes. Weeks, months, years of safety and happiness helps me almost forget the needles, white lab coats and pain. Almost.
I wake and see the lady smiling down at me. She’s rubbing my back and telling me all about a fun game we’re going to play today. It’s a game called, “Guess What I’m Thinking.” I call her “Mommy” and ask her if we can play out by the pond afterward. She pretends to think about it before tickling my tummy saying, “Yes, little fish!”
My little brother just started to talk three nights ago when the storm came with fat raindrops that blew into the windowpanes sideways. He was scared and Mom helped him feel better. The rain filled our pond and shook the worms from the mushy ground.
My baby brother isn’t just walking, he’s running now! He chases the chickens around the yard.
We swim and play in the pond, watching the cattle come to get big sloppy drinks and stare with wrinkled noses at their fat spotted tongues.
I’m older now and holding a fragile baby pup in my hands. He can’t lift his head, he’s so weak and his eyes are barely open. Mom is handing me a medicine dropper full of goat’s milk and sugar. I hold him close to me hoping my warmth would revive him, and the sound of my beating heart would remind his of what it was supposed to sound like.
“Don’t set him down, Meg. He needs to feel your warmth, your love. Keep putting drops of milk on his lips and see if he’ll take any of it in. When you’re tired, let me know and I’ll take over. Are you up for this, honey? Do you understand that even after all your effort, all your love, he may still die?”
I looked down at the tiny ball of fur in my arms. He was so little he could fit into the palm of my hand. How amazing he was. This beautiful gift. I loved him immediately and unconditionally. “I understand, Mom. I’ll take care of him. Every minute with him is,” my voice caught in my throat, “precious.”
The pup in my hands morphed into a dead little boy. His lips were porcelain blue as though the blood had just stopped flowing minutes before, but I was too late. I was supposed to tell Mom if I got tired of trying to feed him. I must have fallen asleep, and now the boy is dead.
Time raced by. A deep voice asked from the shadows, “It’s a little late for a stroll, isn’t it?” At the sound, I whipped around, tense and ready for battle.
“Whoa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a hint of a smile as he stepped into the light.
Creed.
Creed’s dark-blue eyes watched my every move. I could feel his thoughts wrap around me like a protective white blanket.
“When the fighting is over,” his warm breath tickled the tiny hairs on my neck. “I want to take care of you. I want to protect you and stand by your side always. I love you, Meg. I love your family, too. Would you,” he stopped and cleared the emotion from his throat, “would you do me the honor of allowing me to give you this promise ring?”
Yes.
I belong to Creed. I love him.
And my family—they mean the world to me.
Meg’s eyes fluttered open and she squinted into the light.
I know who I am, she whispered in her mind.
The thick, coppery scent of blood slapped her half-moment of joy square in the jaw and she was back to the anguish she felt over the loss of her friend. She frowned deeply thinking back to the night before and the tragic events that led her to watch the sun rise over Niche’s lifeless body.
Careful not to move too quickly, Meg turned to look back at the little boy who had died during their escape. He almost looked peaceful, as though he saw something beautiful at his last breath.