Going to school is hard when you’re pregnant. The other kids tease me more than usual. They call me a slut and a whore. I try to ignore ‘em, but it hurts my feelings. I already hear those words enough at home from Mama.
*****
My belly’s getting real big. Mama says my baby girl’s gonna be born soon. Mama also says I’m too young and can’t handle a baby, especially since I ain’t married, so she found a family to be my baby’s new family when she’s born. Adoption she calls it. That makes me sad, but Mama says that’s how it’s gotta be. I haven’t met the new family, but they must be real nice, ‘cause they bought Mama a new car. She says it’s a Toyota Corolla. It’s light blue, her favorite color, and the air conditioning blows real cold. She smiles real big when she drives it. Only it’s the kind of smile that don’t make me happy, and I don’t know why.
You were my hope
present
And then Hope begins the story that I’ve been waiting twenty-two years to hear. “You were born on a hot July day in this room. July thirtieth.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my sob. That’s my birthday. The tears blur my vision instantly making Hope only a fuzzy outline in front of me. I tug her hand and urge her into the hallway and back out into the maternity ward reception area before I ask her to continue and tell me everything she remembers. And not to leave anything out.
She takes a seat calmly.
I sit next to her dazed, but alert.
She takes my hand in hers and stares at them in my lap.
And then she tells me about the day I was born. “My tummy had been hurting real bad all afternoon. When Mama came home from work and saw the sheets on my bed underneath me all wet, she took me to the hospital.
“Mama stayed in the room with me while you were born. She sat in a chair across the room. She didn’t look at me the whole time, but I saw her crying.” Hope’s eyes look distant with concentration like she’s lost in the memory, reliving it, recalling every detail.
“The second you were born, the doctor said, ‘It’s a girl,’ and you cried. Your cry was quiet but loud at the same time like you were a tiny kitty on the outside and a lion on the inside. It made me smile, ‘cause I knew you were strong. And I didn’t say it out loud, but I named you Hope ‘cause that’s what I felt. I felt hope.
“You were so tiny, just like a doll, when the nurse laid you on my chest. She smiled at me like she was happy and sad all at once, and she whispered, ‘We’re not supposed to let you hold her, but I think she deserves to know you, if only for a minute.’
“The tears started running down my cheeks, and I couldn’t stop ‘em. They weren’t sad tears. You were so beautiful. I stroked your head real soft like and talked to you even softer. ‘I love you, Hope.’ That’s what I told you. I’d never told no one I loved ‘em before. I never felt like I loved no one until I looked at you, and my heart felt so full I didn’t know how else to say it. And then I told you, ‘Your new mama and daddy are gonna take real good care of you. You’re gonna be smart, and nice, and good, and so pretty. I’m glad I got to be the mama who got to meet you first, I’ll never forget you.’” She looks at me. “I was right, you’re all those things.
“The nurse came back, and I kissed you on the forehead, and she took you away. To your new mama and daddy that my mama found for you. I don’t remember their first names, but their last name was—”
“Groves,” we say together. And my heart clenches for Hope and for me.
She nods. “They lived far away and couldn’t have a baby of their own, so they wanted you. And since Mama said I was too young and wasn’t ready to be a mama, I was glad you were gonna live with ‘em, ‘cause they promised to take real good care of you.” She looks at me thoughtfully, and there’s pride in her next words. “You were so special. Special like something that only happens once in a lifetime. When I looked at you, I only saw good things and it made me forget about every bad thing that anyone had ever said or done to me. You took it all away. You were my hope.”
“Did you ever think about me after I was gone?” All my life I’ve wondered. Dreamed that my mom was out there somewhere thinking about me like I was thinking about her.
“I knew better than to ask Mama, ‘cause she said you weren’t mine no more after that day and ‘cause you belonged to another family she said I wasn’t allowed to talk about you to no one. She told me to forget you, but I never stopped thinking about you. Every night since, before I go to bed I say a prayer for you, ‘Please keep Hope safe and happy.’ I don’t pray for nothing else. Just for you. And every year on your birthday I sing you ‘Happy Birthday.’”
“How old were you when I was born?” I ask.