{Afterhought: My sister just called me and thought that this had actually happened to me. I figured the big box saying 'Fiction Friday' would clue people in that it was made up, but apparently not. :0) This is a story. It is not real in any way, shape, or form. It is part of Jane's Fiction Friday. Go check it out and start writing a story of your own! I do love a good read!}
I hate the doctors office. Between the long lines waiting to get checked in and the waiting room full of sick, coughing people who forget to cover their mouths, it's enough to make a person scream. But there I was, sitting in the waiting room....WAITING....with my two children. We were there for a simple check up for my daughter. None of us were actually sick thankfully, but I had a feeling if we sat in that room any longer we ALL would end up needing antibiotics for something.
What I have found to be so intersting is that doctors have had waiting rooms for YEARS. You would think after all of this time that they would have figured out that children don't WAIT. At least not patiently. And, on this warm spring day, my kids were restless. They wanted to be out enjoying the sun, and instead they were being constantly shushed by their mother and told to sit still. As if that could actually happen! They were squirmy and my daughter, who is just 3, kept climbing in and out of her seat. To make matters worse, her brother kept tickling her and she was screaming with delight over this fun "game". They no longer listened to my constant, but quiet threats of impending doom. They were done WAITING. Honestly, so was I. If we didn't get home soon I was going to miss my soap opera and today was the day that Georgia was going to find out who was the father of her baby. I couldn't miss it!
I remember sitting there for what seemed like an eternity before he even walked in. But the whole atmosphere changed as soon as he did. He oozed hostility. His eyes were pure evil and I couldn't look at him for longer than a few seconds at a time. He scared me. My kids didn't seem to notice though. They kept at their tickling wars. I scanned the waiting room to see if anyone else had noticed this man, but found that everyone else was too wrapped up with their sick ones to notice the dark figure. It made no sense to me. I could actually feel his anger. How could they not? It was then that I noticed that all of the chairs in the waiting room were full except for a few by me. I cringed realizing this angry man was going to have to sit next to me and my very LOUD children. I panicked. I yelled at them to sit still and be quiet. I even promised them ice cream cones and video games. They still would not listen, and HE had come and sat down beside us.
I could feel him glaring at my children. I glanced at my watch impatiently and looked over at the man. He began to scream at my children telling them in not so nice words to "shut the *@%# up". I was horrified. No one was allowed to speak to my children this way! I stood up and pointed my finger directly into his face.
"How dare you speak to my children that way! Do you have any idea how long we have been waiting? They are merely children trying to entertain themselves. If you don't have the decency to keep your rude thoughts to yourself, perhaps you should reschedule your appointment for a different day when you aren't being such an a$$!" I was livid. My children were petrified. Not only did a strange man yell expletives at them, but their usually cool and calm mother had just told that stranger off.
People were staring. My face was red. I still don't know if it was due to anger or embarrasment. Probably a little of both. I grabbed my kids' hands and went and stood on the other side of the waiting room. I wish now that I would have just left. None of us were actually sick and I could have rescheduled. I don't know what kept me there. Maybe it was fate.
My daughter started pulling on my pant leg. She had to go potty. Luckily there was a restroom in the waiting room and so I left my son standing outside the door holding my bag I called a purse as I took his sister inside the ladies room. There were two stalls inside. The wheelchair accessible stall was already taken, so I crammed my daughter and myself into the other stall and helped her up on the potty. The door to the restroom opened and closed and someone walked toward the other stall.
"Are you alright in there? You need to hurry! We need to leave now!" The voice was that of an older woman. She knocked on the stall door when no reply was given. "Kayla! We need to leave!"
I heard the girl in the stall next to me scream as I finished up helping my daughter in ours. I hurriedly opened our stall to see what was the matter. The older woman was older than I had initially thought. She appeared to be around 80. She looked frightened so I didn't bother waiting. I kicked in the door to locked stall. There, on the floor was an unconsious young girl, about 20, and a baby covered in blood.
"Oh no!" The elderly woman gasped. "She's had the baby!"
I knelt beside the girl and felt for a pulse. It was weak. She screamed again, "Why does he have to make it so hard? Why won't he leave me alone?"
I tried to calm her and keep her quiet and told the woman to get help. The baby started crying at the same time that my 3 year old did. I told her to go stand out by her brother. Thankfully she listened. I picked up the baby and wiped off some of the mucous and blood with toilet paper. I didn't have anything else. He was a beautiful baby, but there was something familiar about him. I brushed the feeling aside as I calmed the baby down by putting my knuckle in his mouth. He instantly begin to suck.
I turned my attention back to the new mother. She was slumped over. I knew before I even felt for a pulse that she had died. I felt like throwing up. This wasn't supposed to be happening! Stuff like this only happened on my soap operas!
It was then that I realized the older woman had never gone for help. "Are you mad! You let her die! Why didn't you go for help?"
"I couldn't go for help with HIM out there. He would have killed both of them." She was crying now, and if it was possible, looked older than she did just a few minutes before. "I am her grandmother, that baby your are holding is my great grandson."
"Wait. What are you talking about? Who would have killed them?" I asked.
"The father of the baby you are holding. He.....took advantage of my poor granddaughter. She ended up pregnant. She came to live with me to hide from him. She had no other family to go to for help. But, he found us! She saw him come into the doctors office and ran in here to hide. I had no idea she had gone into labor though!" She was sobbing uncontrollably now.
I sat there dazed and confused holding the newborn baby. He had stopped sucking on my knuckle and had fallen asleep. Robotically, I took off my jacket and wrapped him in it to keep him warm. It was then that I realized why he had looked so familiar. He looked like the angry man I had just yelled at out in the waiting room.
"You must take the baby with you." she said.
"What?" Still in shock, I didn't process what she had said until she repeated herself.
"You must take the baby with you. Take the baby and run! I am too old to care for a newborn, and the father knows who I am. If I try to walk out of here with a bundle like that, he'll know and it will be over. You can sneak him out. It's the babies only chance."
I don't know why I did it. I sat there for a moment processing everything that had just happened. I realized how tired I suddenly was and I looked down at the beautiful baby I was holding. And then I remembered the abuse my children took from that man after spending just moments with him. I couldn't let him get his hands on this baby.
"All right. I'll do it." I said. "Get my bag from my son and bring it here."
I opened up my huge tote for a purse and emptied out all the unnecessary things I usually carried around with me. I prayed that the baby would stay asleep for just a few minutes longer as I gently placed him in the bottom of my bag. The father knew I only had two children. I couldn't risk him noticing that I was leaving an extra one.
"Give me your phone number or at least an address so that I can get ahold of you later." I asked the woman. She looked at me as if she was unsure if she should. "At least give me your name."
"Georgia. My name is Georgia Watkins. That's all I can tell you. Now, please, go before someone finds out what has happened!" She urged.
I stopped for a moment realizing this was the name of the woman on my soap opera. Though it was a coincidence, I couldn't help but note the irony of it all.
I hugged the dear old woman and carefully picked up my bag. The baby stirred for a moment, but quickly went back to sleep still snuggled inside my jacket. Taking a big breath to try to calm my nerves, I left the restroom and grabbed my kids' hands.
"We're leaving. Come on kids!" I whispered.
"But mom, we didn't see the doctor yet!" My son said.
"It's ok. We'll come back a different day when it's not so busy." I chanced a quick glance in HIS direction hoping he hadn't noticed us. Gratefully he was glaring at a new set of kids that had taken our chairs. I hurried out the door.
And now I'm here. Sitting in my car as I drive as carefully as possible down the freeway. What do I do know? I have a baby that doesn't belong to me. The father is a maniac, the mother is dead. What have I gotten myself into.
