Emily

And, Emily - I saw you last night by the river; I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water, frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under, Forever, In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror.

As those lyrics came over the stereo they cut through the calm, comfortable silence that had surrounded my presence in my very own living room. Everything blurred around me, and I let the book calmly drop to my lap, unseen.
* * * * *
I had heard these lyrics that summer, hiding out at my grandma’s house with a pile of books surrounding me, and the curtains and blinds drawn tightly against the sunlight outside, more for their protection than for mine. She was kicking that afternoon, becoming as anxious as I was. Placing my hand on my growing stomach, I told her “It’s ok. You can hurry up if you want to.”
Having been in Dyersville for five months already, I had abandoned my entire summer plus the first two months of the school year, the most exciting months, with homecoming and football games and new friends to meet. Instead, I had become master of my new, ever-shrinking domain. When I arrived, not yet four months along, I was allowed outside, Free to do as I wish, as long I hid my shameful body from anyone who might recognize me. As the weeks wore on and I grew and grew with a pace that amazed me every time I walked by the mirror, more restrictions were put in place. “Honey, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to go out anymore. The backyard is ok but not into town. Honey…people are starting to talk…” Grandma said, before she changed the subject and turned back to the task at hand as always. This time, she had to make dinner.
So the wicker chair was dragged out under the maple tree, taking more of an effort than I ever remembered. Everyday I brought out a new book and sat and read for hours, just me and my girl. Miss May’s hat made daily appearances over the fence and I knew without turning that I would be able to see her beady little eyes peering through the crack in the fence, imagining the worst about this mysterious girl and trying to figure out whether she was, in fact, pregnant. I didn’t mind.
Apparently Grandma did. Before long, soon after people began pausing to crane their necks outside our house, trying to catch a glimpse of the neighborhood’s latest scandal, I was restricted to my bedroom. I didn’t mind that. It was closer to the bathroom anyway, and the kitchen, both of which were becoming increasing priorities in my daily life. What I did mind was when Grandma closed the curtains. She said it was for my own protection that, “Too much sunlight isn’t good for someone in your condition,” but I knew what she really meant.
I had already decided what to do when the song came on the radio that afternoon. I knew she wasn’t mine, that I had to give her up. But when you share a body with someone for so long, you start to develop a connection. I had already told her things; that I didn’t resent her. That it was my fault, my mistake, and I was ok with that. I told her that it just had to be done, that I was only sixteen and I wasn’t ready for a daughter yet. When she was older, she would understand.
When those lyrics came on, she stopped kicking. She was the calmest she had been in weeks. Startled by the sudden change, I pressed my hand firmly on the spot that been her target for the past few days. She kicked just once, and I understood.
“Emily,” I whispered, smiling like a child who had just learned a precious secret. “So that’s your name. Emily.”
* * * * *
It was the first time I had thought of her since that autumn. She was born on a Friday in October. I had looked at her just once, ran my palm against her downy dark curls, and said “Goodbye, Emily.” I walked out of the nursery and never looked back.
The following Wednesday I returned to school, filled to the brim with stories about my amazing summer in Iowa with Grandma. I had stayed an extra few months because Grandma had fallen and broken her hip, and I had graciously offered to help out around the house until she had fully recovered.
* * * * *
That was years ago, and I had not heard that song since that day. Hearing those lyrics, once again, I began to think of the daughter I had given up. I began to wonder, for the first time, if I had made the right decision. Losing her means that out there somewhere is a little girl who will never know her mother. Out there somewhere is the daughter I denied myself.
Weeks went by and still I did not stop thinking about her. Everywhere I went, with everything I did, there she was. Sitting at my desk I pictured her playing hide and seek behind the curtains, or carefully watering the spider plant, being careful not to spill. As I watched TV, I found myself pausing at children’s shows, imagining how the magical creatures and bright colors in motion would have captivated her attention. Often times I would space out for several minutes before I realized I was actually smiling to myself, thinking about her.
* * * * *
I was a smart woman and realized it. I had just gotten promoted at work, and was now at the studio more than ever before, and home less and less. I had just moved into my first real apartment, one that always has hot water and virtually no rats or roaches, and I had a great boyfriend, Peter, who slept over at my place almost every night and really took care of me. He really knew how to treat a woman.
It would have taken a lot for me to give all of that up, that’s why it took me so long to do what I did.
* * * * *
I made my decision one Thursday afternoon, at the studio. I had just delivered Ted his breaking story du jour, and was turning to leave, picturing Emily doing her makeup in the dressing room mirror on my way out.
“Wow, did you see this?” Ted asked. “Six year old girl, kidnapped, raped, and murdered by her own uncle. Makes me sick. What is this world coming to?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, still with my back to the room. I thought of the girl I had given up to a family all that time ago, and my head began to spin. I had delivered her directly into the hands of complete strangers, a poor, helpless little child unable to defend herself. Girls just like her were having awful, unimaginably terrible things done to them everyday by the people that they’re supposed to trust. I placed one hand on the doorframe to steady myself.
I decided right then and there that I could not, would not, let Emily be one of those girls.
* * * * *

I never really quit, I just stopped showing up for work. I don’t know the rumors that circulated the office, but I imagine they encompassed the worst that they could fathom. I do know that none of them came close to the truth.
The day after I had made up my mind, I took to sitting in the park, on a bench, across from the playground. I sat there all day, waiting for her to show up. Sometime I thought I caught a glimpse of her, but it was always just my hopeful imagination running away with me. I switched parks everyday, knowing that some overzealous nanny would mistake me for a rapist or pedophile.
Even though I had last seen her in a small town a thousand miles away, I was convinced that she would show up here, that she had followed me and was just waiting to come home with me.
* * * * *
I stopped seeing Peter, though he never knew why. I just stopped returning his calls and pretended not to be home when he stopped by. He would only have gotten in the way.
Even though my apartment didn’t have roaches or rodents, it was still not fit to raise a child in. When I wasn’t at the park I spent my spare time fixing it up. I put bars on all the windows, to prevent her from falling out and to prevent anyone from climbing in. Deciding that the dead bolt wasn’t nearly strong enough, I installed four more locks, just to be safe. After thoroughly cleansing and sanitizing every square inch of the tiny apartment, I threw out all the chemicals, toxic or otherwise in order to make our life as child proof as possible.
I bought two new dressers, for my clothes, and bolted them to the floor of my bedroom so they didn’t fall over and crush her. Having done that, I converted my walk-in closet into a girl’s bedroom. She would be safe there, since no one could get to the closet without going through my bedroom first. And I’m a light sleeper.
The room was painted pink, a color I hated but knew she would love. I bought girl’s dresses and shoes, play suits and swim suits and pajamas, all bedecked with ribbons and bows galore. After everything was squarely in its place and the fridge was stocked to the brim with juice boxes and jelly, I was satisfied.
Now I was ready to bring Emily back into my life.
* * * * *
A few days later I found her. She arrived later than the other children, but jumped right in to their game anyhow, breaking free from the hand of a man I presumed to be her grandfather. Her blonde curls streamed behind her as she ran and her overalls slipped off first one shoulder then the other as she struggled to keep up with kids twice her size. Even across the field her blue eyes stood out to me like a beacon in the morning haze. She was beautiful, just like I knew she would be.
* * * * *
Just a week later she was home, sleeping in the bed I had made for her.
Knowing that her grandfather might make a fuss, I approached the playground from the other side that day, arms laden with cookies and a nice can of lemonade. I took up my position on another bench, directly opposite my usual post, but much closer to the swing set. I watched her swing for awhile, her little legs becoming increasing uncoordinated as she struggled, clearly they had not taught her how to pump.
She gave up soon, and ran directly towards me. “Are you thirsty?” I asked sweetly, offering the can of lemonade. Pausing, she contemplated for a few seconds, then her flushed face bobbed up and down a few times, indicating that she was. I beckoned, and slowly she walked forward, her hand extended for the drink.
She grasped it with both hand and drank, spilling it down her chin and jacket. “If you sit down,” I told her, “you can have a cookie too.” Finally letting the can drop a few inches she studied first me and then the bag of cookies by my side. She knew she shouldn’t, but they were chocolate chip, and they proved just too much for her to resist. She sat down and shoved cookie after cookie into her mouth, punctuated by long sips of the lemonade.
Just as I was hoping, the sedative worked quickly. Only a quarter of the bag was gone before she began to nod off. She was completely asleep in only two minutes, slumped against the pine, and the empty can rolled away down the sidewalk.
I gathered her quickly in my arms and carried her home.
* * * * *
Of course she was startled when she woke up, I had expected that. What I hadn’t counted on was the crying. My explanation that I was her mother did nothing to stop her tearful demands for her mommy, and she didn’t even seem to want the juice box and peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had so carefully laid out for her. I had even cut off the crusts.
The dolls and toys I had bought for her didn’t calm her either, even though I had wrapped them in pretty paper and ribbons. Realizing she probably couldn’t read the gift tag, I helped her. “Look, it says it’s for you. Emily, it says, that’s your name.”
“My n-n-name’s not E-e-emily,” she managed through blurry eyed sobs.
I thought she just needed a few days, so I shut the door to her room and locked her in, letting her calm down.
* * * * *
After a week or so, she did calm down. She even began venturing out of her room, slowly and cautiously expanding her world. Once I even caught her looking out the window, but I had to usher her away quickly. The neighbors had begun asking questions, and I had told them she was my niece here for a visit. I couldn’t let anyone see her. I knew they would take her from me again at the earliest chance.
She hadn’t changed clothes or even brushed her hair since she’d been here, so I gave her a bath. She mostly sat there in silence watching the rubber duck float by silently, but after awhile she even gave a small smile at the pile of bubbles on the top of her head.
She ate a little bit too, nibbling here and there on the sandwiches and desserts I set out for her. They still had her brainwashed though, as she kept insisting she wasn’t Emily.
I never left the apartment, afraid that if I did somebody would come to take her away. I had to lock her bedroom door at night, to keep her in as well as anyone else out. A few times I had caught her trying to pull open the front door, and I just couldn’t let anyone take her away from me again.
* * * * *
After only two weeks, they came for her, just like I knew they would. It was the middle of the night, but I was a light sleeper and heard them first. I rose quickly, checked the lock on her door, then quietly I crept to the hall closet and grabbed the bat. I heard the locks being rattled, then the door being broken down altogether. I was waiting for them.
I kept the lights off so they couldn’t see, and came into the room swinging. I hit the first one and he fell down on the ground. The second one I hit too, but he only stumbled. The third, fourth and fifth ones surrounded me and grabbed my arms. I picked my feet up and began kicking over the chairs, trying to block their path. I could still swing the bat a little bit too, and managed to launch three vases across the room at their heads.
They were screaming, screaming her name. Not Emily, but the other one. Just as I was thrown into the wall I heard her respond. The bat was wrenched from my grip, and I bit down hard on the hand clenched on my shoulder.
I was knocked down to the ground, hard, hitting the corner of the cabinet on the way. I managed to raise my head up just enough to see them, with her. These barbarians were carrying my beloved daughter out of my life once again. I lost it.
“Get your hands off my daughter! Emily! Leave her alone, that’s my daughter! Stop! Keep your hands off of her!” I screamed. “Let me go!”
I saw her carried out the door and out of sight, out of my life, and then everything went black.
* * * * *
I woke up here, in this room. The room is white, and the comforter is blue, like my pajamas. I haven’t left since I got here, and I don’t suspect I will anytime soon. The tree outside my window is my only refuge, my only link to the world outside my prison. Everyday I sit and watch the leaves, counting them as the fall off the branches and flutter down to Earth.
The food really isn’t bad, it’s the pills you swallow for dessert that ruins it. There’s only water to drink, anything else might spill in one of the patients trembling hands, and stain the pajamas. They try to cut down on the laundry. The nurses try to be nice, but I’m just not interested. I just ignore them and remember the way it used to be. Once I had it all, I had a daughter.
I still think about her all day, everyday. I’ve made many mistakes in the last few weeks, but I’ll never regret her. I only regret that I let them take her from me.
Someday, I’ll get her back. They can’t keep us apart for long.