Basha's Story

Basha’s Story

By: Lady Lolita

My name is Basha. You see me as most see me at the moment, I’m sure. Crying out as pain wracks my body, my feet in stirrups and my limbs strapped down. If you weren’t here with me, watching me, you might not know where I am. A prison infirmary. I’m pregnant and in labor, soon to be a mother. A select few members of the press are here to witness and take tasteful pictures. Nothing below the belt and they are allowed to take snapshots of the baby once it’s out.

One might wonder why I’m here, a woman who is barely twenty-one. The first thing that comes to mind is drugs. I’ve done drugs and got caught, or I was running them. No one thinks the truth is possible. That I murdered my boyfriend.

In truth, it was an accident. I only meant to scare him away from me for a while, at least until he cooled down. But, no, it didn’t frighten him away. As the pain of labor gets worse, I start to think about that fateful day, the day that changed the course of my life, and the lives of his family, forever.

***

“I don’t see why you’re being so stubborn about this. Just get the abortion! It’s not like you won’t ever be able to have kids again.” Cale said, glaring at me from his position on the couch.

“It’s important to me, Cale! I’m already attached to the baby and besides, I can’t just kill it before it’s had a chance to live.” I say to him, trying to appeal to whatever sense of morality that he had.

“As opposed to after it’s had a little while to live?” He asked me, smirking.

“That’s not funny.” I say, glaring. “I’m not getting an abortion. And that’s the end of this discussion.” I said, turning to walk away. But, before I knew what was happening, I was slammed up against the wall face-first. For a moment, I didn’t know what had hit me, but then as the punches came along with the slaps and kicks, I realized it was Cale.

“Cale, stop! Please! I’m sorry!” I say, in an attempt to pacify him. It doesn’t work.

“If you won’t go to a doctor, then I’ll give you the abortion myself!” He yelled, obviously meaning to make me miscarry. I scrambled away from him by ducking down and crawling between his legs, then getting up and running to the kitchen as he tries to regain his balance. I suppose I threw it off when I crawled between his legs, but right then I was just happy that I wasn’t too big to run yet.

By the time he got to the kitchen with me, I’d grabbed the only thing I could see that could be used as a weapon. A large kitchen knife. I brandished it with ease, glaring at him. “Keep away from me.” I warned, making a slashing motion with it, so that he might not see the way my hand was shaking.

“What are you going to do? Stab me? Go ahead, I dare you.” He said, grinning like he was insane. He lunges at me and for a moment we struggle over the knife…then I feel this awful, warm, sticky liquid over my hands. My eyes widen as I realize…it’s blood.

I call 9-1-1 as quickly as I can, his blood getting all over the phone as I dial the three digits and hold onto the receiver. The person on the other line is calm and collected, as if she’s heard this sort of thing many times and is no longer surprised by it. Perhaps he has.

When the police get there, they find that Cale is already dead, having bled out his life’s blood on the kitchen floor, his last sight probably the linoleum of the floor. They also find me crying. When his parents are called, and of course they are called as they are his next of kin, they are angry and press charges against me.

***

I’m pushing now, whimpering as I do so. It hurts so much! Crying as I push, I hear someone shouting that they can see the head of the baby crowning. The press are taking pictures of me crying and pushing, obviously wondering if they shouldn’t just take a picture of the baby’s head crowning and hope no one notices through all of the confusion.

After a lot of blood and fluid, the baby comes into the world and takes it’s first breath, only to let it out with a long, loud cry of bewilderment. It’s a baby boy. I already have a name picked out for him. Galen. He’s so beautiful as I hold him for the first time, and possibly the only time, as a baby.

It’s all too soon that he’s taken away from me to be brought to my parents. Though there was a trial to determine who the baby would go to, Cale’s parents or mine, the judge ruled in our favor. Galen would go to my parents and if at all possible they would make sure that I saw him often. At least through pictures, if not in person.

And that is my story. I loved Cale, it was an accident that he died, but the jury didn’t see it that way. They convicted me of a lesser charge than murder in the first degree, because I think they saw something wrong with condemning or putting away for life without the possibility of parole, a pregnant woman. Thank God for large favors in little packages…