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Chapter 17: Number the Days
- University of North Texas Press
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17 Number the Days A nd then I got pregnant. It wasn’t surprising, not really, since we weren’t using any birth control. But as I hadn’t had a period in over a year, I didn’t think it possible. The summer before, while still in Atlanta, I’d discovered a lump in my left breast. The benign tumor was removed, and I was taken off the pill. It was typical, the surgeon said, to go without a period for months. I thought that meant we were safe. My breasts grew sore, my belly bloated. Depty’s response, like mine, was mixed. We couldn’t picture having a child now when we were still children ourselves. Nor were we sure it was fair to bring another into a world where we had no money, a house without walls, and no clear vision of where our lives were going. The women I admired had worked this all out. Sas was a mother, wage earner, and artist; Margery an educated scientist with a swelling belly of her own. But they were older than me, and far sturdier. At the same time, we couldn’t help be astonished, excited even. We had procreated, in tune with the world. We’d put our bodies together and something new had come out of our passion. Foolishly, we fell in love with this small seed unfurling inside me. We took to spending long hours alone in Udo. One afternoon, a thunderstorm polished the leaves of the leathery rhododendron to a shine. We were stretched out in the boudoir listening to the rain subside, water dripping from the tree house eaves. “Sounds like a clock ticking,” Depty murmured sleepily. I turned to him. “Dep? You ever wondered how many days you been alive?” Eyes closed, he gathered me in his arms. “Vidalia. The things you come up with.” 71 72 | Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley “No, but think about it. How many days have you lived through?” He smiled. “I’ve lived through all of them so far.” “But have you ever counted them?” Lying on my stomach, I did the math on the pillow. “Depty Dawg, you have been alive nine thousand, three hundred and forty-two days. So far.” “Whoo-ee! Don’t seem like so many when you string ’em out like that, does it? How many is it for you?” I figured again. “Nine thousand, one hundred and ninety-three.” I rolled onto my back. “Where do we come from, that’s what I’d like to know.” “And where do we go?” he countered. “’Least with Heaven you got an address .” He put a hand on my belly. “Come from nothing seems like.” “I know,” I agreed. “Seems like there ought to be a bell or a light, or something goes off when a person gets made.” He called down the bed. “She didn’t mean that, Elmo.” I laughed. He lay back, looking up for a time. “Always thought I’d just come and go on this earth,” he began softly. “Know what I mean? Just kind of blow across it and be gone. But now I got something holding me, keeping me here—” “You mean the baby?” “I mean you.” I put my cheek to his. “Oh, Dep. What should we do?” Our confusion was growing; the indecision was painful. We knew we had to act, one way or the other. Finally, we went to a local women’s clinic to see what they would say to us. They offered us the chance to have an abortion that day, for free if necessary, since we had no money of our own. We went outside to mull it over once again. I sank to the curb. “What if I’m like Meander? You know? Just too clueless.” “You’d make a good mother, little onion, I know that.” “Well, what about all the other reasons: overpopulation, nuclear war, life sucks?” The lame response attempted to conceal my terror of repeating my mother ’s tormented domesticity. I was determined not to end up, as I’d often pictured her, shackled to the kitchen sink. “Are you ready?” I implored him. “Tell me the truth, are you ready for this?” He plunked down beside me. “Ain’t had much of a role model in the daddy department.” Number the Days | 73 Frowning, he pulled off his hat. “Didn’t you ever want something that you didn...