Her screams could be heard all the way around the corner at Patty’s Pancake House. They were beyond deafening. It sounded like the poor lady was being mercilessly tortured. I cringed in fear of what could be going on just around the corner.
Miss Patty relieved me of my worries, “That’s Annabelle, fourth child in 3 and a half years. I pray for the others.” Sigh.
Neighborhood like this, a woman in labour with mediocre assistance and probably midwife to herself, was nothing new to my ears. It was that part of town you know.
“Poor souls, and the father?” I asked, my curiosity heavily enveloping my pretense of concern.
She stared me down, and I almost expected a stern warning against my inquisitivity.
Her lips pursed together, “If we all knew where that vagabond was, well…..” another sigh. “Disappears every time poor Ana is in her third semester.” “Piece of…”
I didn’t hear very well, but I guessed how that sentence ended.
Miss Patty walked away, after pouring me another cup of distasteful coffee. Good enough. I sat there for awhile, listening to the miraculous beauty of childbirth. Damn, we couldn’t have had it better. Sigh.
An ominous silence took over the atmosphere, and then out of nowhere, we heard the final push. We knew it was over then; Miss Patty gave me a disapproving yet oddly enough, reassuring nod. I nodded back. All of a sudden, an air of equanimity swept over us.
It was over; a child was born into this pathetic excuse of a world, only to live a life of destitute poverty where his mother would probably abandon him to fend for himself by the age of five or six. Scraping for a day’s meal, yearning for an education he was sure to never be blessed with and to make matters worse, the child will probably end up on the streets by the time he’s a teen, smoking pot, dealing crack, handling guns like toys. Living a man’s world. It’s a man’s world, no doubt. But not a boy’s world, and sure as hell not a child’s..