Freedom

IV. NIGHT: We are fulfilled.

The child received one night of love. Hours of kissing and holding and talking and singing to. Midnight Train to Georgia, hers and Woodrow's favorite song. God Bless The Child. Blackbird. Effie dozed off finally so tired with Charles sleeping and her hand still on his shoulder but awoke some unknown time later to his coughing that got so bad and she picked him up and patted him and nothing she did would stop it. He just kept coughing and spitting and his face turned beet red and it went on and wouldn't stop and then it stopped on its own, and then the world stopped, and the stillness of a baby no longer coughing filled her hands. Inside she screamed NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-NO CHARLES! but on the outside just held the stillness of a baby in her hands. Still soft and warm. Just like before. The scream fades inside and the heavy weight, almost a comfort, begins to arrive. She sits for an hour more holding Charles, rocking him, talking to him, I'm sorry, little one, God took you too, then lifts him, wraps him closer and does what must be done behind the store, telling him I love you and I'm right here with you over and over so faintly only he could have heard.

There is strength and happiness in the smallest stretch of time, Effie thinks, patting down the dirt, and can't help but smile because the thought seems so big and so sad. She imagines Woodrow going, "Thank you, Professor," and giving her his ain't you something look. He's with you now maybe, Woodrow. Maybe he's invisible and still somewhere in the air right here with me. I named him Charles Woodrow and a made-up last name, not ours. Freedom. Pretty silly, huh. But that's what I wrote on his grave, just now in the ground with a stick. It'll wash away with the first rain, but we'll remember. He's next to our beautiful little dogs, Woodrow, our children, next to where we buried them beside the cooler with the little stone markers. A place of honor, don't you think? I won't get a marker for Charles. No one can know he's there except us. He got one day of love, honey, one night of love, I mean, from me and a little bit from you, too. And I never told you but you were good about the other times, not like some men would have been. You seemed like you were as sad as me. Different, more of a man sadness of hardly talking, but I knew, and it made me feel a little bit better. I didn't cry this time. I suppose that makes me strong or something. I could have used you, but I didn't cry. I had one beautiful night with him.

The morning's pink sunlight falls upon the child's grave. Protected by the earth now is Charles. With the stick Effie etches F-R-E-E-D-O-M in the dirt one last time and stands stiffly, walks back inside using the shovel for support, talks to Woodrow again as she closes the back door and stands  inside the storeroom catching her breath. I want you to do something for me, Woodrow. I don't know where you are or what you are, to be honest, nobody knows what heaven is like, but if you're anywhere near God, I want you to tell Him or slip Him a note that maybe, maybe, His plan for someone could change now and then. This little Charles didn't have to be part of His plan for me. I've had enough of His plan for any life. Charles could have lived, and I could have raised him. Just give Him something to think about, Woodrow. Can you do that for me? He needs to know what we're going through down here in real life.

Effie leans the shovel back into its corner and lies down on the sofa where Charles had been. It still smells like him. She will not open the store today, and will write a little note about a family matter for the door. 

"They were breathing what looked like gladness." -- Ellen Bass, poet