Dreama’s Diary–June 20
Just before the lunch rush, Stefan walked in. When he enters a room, it is like time stands still. The gleam in his eye is a gift of tenderness and his half-smile is reserved affection. He said hello and I took his order. He watches as I write down coffee and a roast beef sandwich. I wondered if he thinks my handwriting is too sloppy or my wrists too bony or my nails too chipped. I swim in there like a glob of desperation, silenting pleading for him not to push me away.
“How is your day,” he asked, trying to be professional; whereas, my thoughts are quite steamy.
“It’s going pretty good,” I told him, slyly looking down to pour his coffee and yet leaving my smile wide and welcoming to further invite him in.
“Busy day?” he added, leaning forward on his elbows.
His body language said that he needed me in his world. I stepped closer to the counter, pressing against it with my hips, silently telling him that I didn’t like the barrier between us. I wanted it to stop dividing us into two separate worlds.
“It is slowing down,” I said, still grinning rather inappropriately. My green eyes reached up and demanded him. Every ounce of me sought to bewitch him.
Slightly nervous by his want of me–unless that is just my projection–he changed the subject and said, “I brought you some formula for Ana.”
My smile faded. My heart was stabbed by his thoughtfulness. He was an angel, perhaps a heavenly milkman of sorts, bringing manna to my child while my breasts offered bitter discontent. I didn’t know how to handle his compassion. It moved me. He was a pharmaceutical rep who delivered formula and medicine to hospitals and doctors’ offices, but he always gave me some for free.
I accepted the heavy box and placed it on the bottom shelf near the rows of plastic plates. Without looking, I could feel the disapproving stares of two elderly patrons in the corner. Their hushed tone gave the indication that they thought he was the real father of my baby. Why else would he be giving a married woman baby food? Even my co-worker Stephanie winked at me as she pranced by in her sneakers. Of course, she knows that there is nothing funny going on between Stefan and me, but she enjoys teasing me anyway. Every now and then, Nadine and Milo will join in and say Ana has Stefan’s eyes. We all joke around. The only malice comes from the customers, and some of them have become cold towards me. But Stefan is just a nice guy. He helps me out. If it goes deeper than that, it is only in our minds. Perhaps, they sense it.
It all began late last February. He started coming in for lunch when I was nine months’ pregnant. He would sit at the counter, a perfect gentleman, quietly watching me. With pity? I felt he wanted to speak to me other than to order, but what could he have to say to an aching pregnant woman? I’d quickly serve him roast beef or Santa Fe chicken and try not to look at him; not wanting those beautiful eyes to judge me. And I’d get angry because he’d continue to watch me as I hobbled like I had a bowling ball between my legs. It was so unattractive, not to mention uncomfortable.
The baby just didn’t want to come out. I couldn’t take it anymore! The contractions weren’t regular and my belly felt poked and stretched like Silly Putty. Soon it will be over. Upon that thought, there was a swift kick to my ribs. It wasn’t going to be easy!
Later that week, I finally went to the hospital, though I wanted to shrink away from prodding hands. Then the pain burned fierce and fast. Henry squeezed my hand, and I gripped back as if he was the buoy in my ocean of fear. I tried to stay calm, but I writhed, fighting against the contractions. My whole body tightened, but the nurse forced my chin to my chest and yelled at me to push. I felt as if my neck muscles wanted to detach from my shoulders. My veins protrude as I struggled. All I could do was cry. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t!
But then Henry pushed back my sweaty bangs and kissed my forehead.
“Hold on to me,” he whispered, pressing his rugged face against my own. His breath against my cheek made me think of my baby struggling to tear free so that she could take that first desperate breath called life. I held onto Henry and believed in his strength. With that, I withheld my breath so that I could give it to her, and I pushed and pushed. I did not allow myself more than a few brief pauses of air until, with a final splash of blood, she was free. By opening her tiny mouth to oxygen, she accepted a role in the joy and suffering of our world. It was passed on to her now. May she be beloved to the fiery stars and to the ocean and to the air that connects her on this earth. May she not inherit my pain. I fear she will.
Seeing our wrinkled, bald baby peeking cautiously at the fuzzy world touched Henry. He cried at the sight of her. That made me cry. I was so in love with him at that moment. I stroked his graying hair and kissed his rough cheek. This was my world and it was perfect.
Then two weeks later, Henry got laid off from the shipyard and he became angry and distant. He secretly took to the bottle. He smelled of cheap whiskey. Its foul odor clung to him like a cloud of despair. I tried to comfort him. Whenever he was around, I loved on him as best as I could even though I wasn’t healed, but he pushed me away. I think he went to a girly bar now and then because his clothes were permeated with smoke and musky perfume. I didn’t mention it. Instead, I concentrated on being a good wife and mother. I even juggled bills without bouncing a check. I was proud of myself. I wanted him to see that I was needed. I’m not sure that he did.
I returned to work before the third week. I had to buy diapers, and due to stress, breastfeeding was a disaster. I couldn’t bear to see Ana hungry and frustrated any longer. I didn’t want to be a failure to her too, so I struggled to afford formula.
At first, it was hard keeping up with the pace of work, but sitting home and not being able to buy necessities would have further strained our situation. My family didn’t understand why I went back to work. I couldn’t bear for them to know the truth about our struggles. My mother offered to watch Ana. For that, I will always be grateful. It was just a tough time, but I knew we’d make it.
In the beginning, work was everyday drudgery. Then I saw a stranger who had always watched me when I was pregnant. His eyes bathed me with compassion, but I didn’t make any effort to speak with him.
Nadine was stocking napkins and mints near where he was sitting and I heard her say, “Stefan, did you know that Dreama just had a baby?”
“That’s wonderful,” he said, “Congratulations!”
I thanked him. I tried to be polite and I expected that to be the end of it. I was wrong.
“I work for Matrix Laboratories. I’m a pharmaceutical representative,” he told me. “I bring medicines and BabyCare formula to hospitals and offices.”
“That’s the brand I use.” I was just making conversation.
“I can give you some.”
That comment froze me. It was sweet of him.
“Umm, you don’t have to do that…to give me any,” I nervously said. I wanted to hide.
“It’s no problem,” he shrugged, finishing his coffee.
I tried to busy myself. I helped Chef Celia wrap some homemade cookies. Then I went to gather slimy plates and to wipe off crusty tables. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched the handsome man with the wavy hair prepare to leave. Nadine called out, “Bye, Stefan,” but I pretended not to notice or he may have felt obligated to do what he said he’d do. What blew my mind was that he returned a moment later with a case of 24 cans of baby formula. I stared at the box, completely speechless. Such a box would cost a lot of money. It would certainly help us out. I couldn’t believe the good fortune.
His tender smile met mine. I thanked him profusely, but I was still in shock. He just smiled and slowly walked away.
He continued to come in over the next few months, usually leaving formula every other week. That saved me from ever having to buy any. I always hear stories about how men today aren’t supporting their kids, but here was a stranger caring for mine.
Then it happened. I tried to be friendlier to Stefan Hill. I started talking to him. That was all it took. I discovered a warm, intelligent friend in him. It fulfilled something inside. Even if he talked about the weather, I wanted to hear it. I cared. My heart opened, and it was too late.
One day, I gave him a picture of Ana. She was dressed in a pink dress, holding a white teddy bear and she was grinning, revealing a single dimple. I wanted to show him the child he was helping and that she was worth it. I thought it would make it more personal.
“She’s beautiful,” he told me as he eyed my hair, my eyes, my lips. Was he implying that I was too?
So, there it is. This was how it all began–in complete innocence. And that’s all it has been. There’s nothing to be guilty about, so what do I feel like I’m doing something wrong?