The door slammed shut. The doors could close themselves with a button, but she slammed it shut anyway. She walked around to the driver’s side of the door. The boy sat in the backseat with his seatbelt so tight that he had to squirm his belly to loosen it up as he slobbered on a strawberry jelly-filled donut that she had given him. Today was his birthday, and he was eating his only present. She opened the door and sat in the car, which started the moment she fastened her own seatbelt.
“Where are you traveling today, Bel?” asked the automated voice with a British accent.
Without hesitation and without blinking her glacier blue eyes, she responded, “Mt. Moriah Women’s Healthcare Clinic”
“Excellent. Expected travel time is ten minutes. Would you like me to play your personalized playlist?”
Her brows furrowed in deep thought and did not react to the question. Her eyes and ears were preoccupied. She didn’t respond. The car backed out of the driveway and began its journey uphill from her home in the city to the suburbs where the clinic was located. She did not have to keep her eyes on the road or her hands on the wheel, but she maintained her unchanging concentration anyway. She had business to attend to.
The boy was eight years old today. He sat in his chair licking his donut as if it were ice cream. Really, It seemed like the donut was licking him. Not a bite had been taken, and the sticky glaze smeared all over his plump cheeks. His eyes were small and beady and glowed with the same glacier blue as his mother’s, only paler and not quite as deep, yet somehow more cheerful. They hid behind thick glasses with a thick black frame. His chin likewise was hid behind a generous roll of fat that gave his head the shape of an oval, but, regardless, he was cute. Many of Bel’s former friends used to say so. He was the cutest Down Syndrome child they had ever seen, and they were telling the truth, not because of the boy and his looks but because they had never seen another Down Syndrome child before. The boy was one of the last of his kind. He wore a striped shirt with a collar (only one or two of the buttons were fastened, not with their proper partner, and the collar was limp from chewing and saliva), khaki cargo shorts that hid a few crayons and race cars, and Velcro sneakers. He couldn’t tie his shoes, but he enjoyed the crackling sound of the Velcro very much and could amuse himself for sometime with the shoes. Today was not only his birthday. It was his consecration day. “Momma, where we going today?” He asked as he remembered something very important. “And today is my birthday, Momma!” He declared triumphantly, waving the donut in his hand.
“We have an appointment. Today is your consecration day,” she responded stoically without inflection or emphasis—without a beat.
“And I am Bel, and you are boy,” her voice lilted then hammered boy this time. “Bel and boy.”
“Ok, Momma. Bel and boy,” he echoed with the same cadence and stress on boy.
She took her eyes off the road and turned around, “Bel. My name is Bel. That is what you call me.”
“I’m sorry, Momma.”
Her eyes were ice. An immovable, unavoidable glacier that the boy’s eyes hit, sinking them, only the water didn’t rush in. They poured out.
“I’m su, su, su, sorry Ma…Bella…Bel,” he wheezed between gasps where he drew a breath. “Buh, buh, buh, Bel, el, el, and buh, buh, buh, boy.” He gushed as his face turned red and his throat gurgled.
Her machine gun turret eyes swiveled to the left, and her frame followed. She fixed her gaze ahead and pursed her red lips shut. She had blond hair and had always been the most beautiful person that she knew, that was until she became pregnant. Her swollen belly gorged.
Her unblemished face was marked with acne. The pills took the nausea away but not the hatred. She hated the boy the first time she felt him move. Like a damned idiot, she passed on genetic testing, and the doctors missed the obvious signs. Her heart had just began to turn towards the boy in childbirth, but when they handed her a boy with droopy eyes, she hated him all over again. She should have just had the abortion done like her mother had suggested, but she did not listen. The boy was born now, and she would have to wait eight years. She wept.
That day had arrived.
“Mt. Moriah Women’s Healthcare Clinic: Destination arrived,” announced the cheery voice of her car.
She didn’t move her eyes.
“We’re here,” she said with an icy, shrill voice.
Recovering from his sobs with a hoarse throat, the boy still found a way to cheer, as the memory that today was his birthday came flooding back to him.
“It’s my birthday, Ma…Bel! And my, co…conc…concer…”
“Your consecration day,” she snapped as she unfastened her seat belt.
“What’s that again?” The boy asked.
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s when I choose whether you stay with me or leave.”
“Momma, I don’t wanna leave you. I love you.”
“Do not say that word. I told you never to say that word when talking to me. And today, you are leaving me,” she paused. “Some kind women are going to take care of you.”
The boy began to cry again. He shed the kind of hot tears that are only cried once or twice in a lifetime.
“Momma…Bel, you don’t want to choose me?”
Bel said nothing. She got out of the car and walked over to his door. The door opened on its own, and there was the boy drenched in tears, snot, and jelly donut. Bel cursed and wiped his face so hard he began to cry again. When he was clean enough, she unbuckled the boy, but as he was getting out of the car, he slipped and fell. She cursed again, picked him up, and walked him into the clinic.
The place was sterile and glowing with fluorescent, pale light. A woman sat at the front desk with short, curled, red hair and dimples in her cheeks and smiled softly—revealing perfect, white teeth. She asked in a lovely cadence for a name and appointment time.
“Bel ______, March 25th, 2039, 12 PM”
The red-haired woman said, “Oh, it’s your son’s consecration day. Congratulations! I hope you have a great day of celebration planned.” She bent down and selected a paper crown that is given to all the children on their consecration day. When she looked back up from the desk, she saw the boy, and her countenance quickly changed, as did the tone of her voice.
“Oh, I am terribly sorry, Ms. _______. You know, eight years really is too long to wait.
They really should make exceptions when the child is, well, you know…”
Her dark green eyes fell on the boy.
“That’s the truth. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. I am glad we can help you. Please just sign this, and then you can take a seat. The doctor will be right with you.”
“Ooooh,” said the boy. “Can I have that?” His thick finger stretched out to the crown.
“It’s fine,” muttered Bel.
The boy squealed with glee, took the crown, and wandered off, as Bel and the redhaired woman continued to talk. When Bel eventually turned around, the boy was playing with a toy car on the hard, white, tiled floor. Bel sat down and pulled out her phone. Minutes passed, and when she looked up, the boy, wearing his crown, was eating the jelly donut, now falling apart and falling all over him and on the floor. His shirt had a scarlet stain on it, and he had a wide, joyful grin on his face.
She grabbed him by the arm and led him forcefully to the bathroom. His arms were wet and slimy. She lost her grip, and he slipped from her arms and fell to the ground. He let out a cry. She dragged him. She snatched what was left of the donut from his hand and threw it into the trash. He began to sob all over again, and his pudgy, little body squirmed and shook and writhed on the floor.
“But Momma, that’s my birthday d…d…donut…”
“How did you get that in here?” She snapped.
“I…I…I had it in my pocket, Ma…Bel. It’s my birthday, and I wanted to save it.”
She pressed his face hard with a wet paper towel as he continued to cry. He fell again. She jerked him up, and with a fierce grip on his arm, she led him back out to the lobby. When she finally sat back down, she noticed that she had dark, red jelly in between her fingers.
“Ms. _______”
“Finally,” she muttered, exhausted.
Bel stood up, seized the back of the boy’s shirt, and led him through the door.
They walked the hallway to their room, and when they entered it, she began to take off his clothes. He didn’t fight her this time. She removed his jelly-stained shirt. He unvelcroed his shoes one last time, and she took off his cargo shorts and put a hospital gown on him.
“Buh…Buh…Bel,” he stammered. “Can I have my car?”
“No,” she said quickly.
They waited in silence for a few moments, sitting opposite each other. She did not look at him.
“But it’s my birthday…”
At that moment, a distinguished middle-aged woman came in with short black hair and gold-rimmed glassed wearing a doctor’s jacket that read, “J. Priestly. M.D. Women’s Healthcare Specialist.”
“Good day, Ms. _______. Just to confirm. Today is your son’s consecration day, and you will be leaving him with us. Is that correct?
“Yes.”
“Excellent. I am so proud of you, and I wish you the greatest happiness. I hope you can celebrate this evening. Would you like to walk him down with us?”
“No.”
“You may come with me then,” said the doctor, turning to the boy.
Bel did not look at the boy. Her eyes were frozen on the floor. Then she felt something warm, soft, and wet touch her face, and with a shock, her whole body shot back. Her eyes met the boy’s…He had kissed her. Then he reached out his arms and gently hugged her. Bel did not react. Then he turned and took the hand of the doctor and left the room.
Bel stood up, washed the jelly off of her hands, and walked out of the door.
………..
The car pulled into the driveway, and she sat for a moment. From her red-laced lips came a sigh, partly natural but mixed with a hint of force, as if her body were trying to convince her soul that all was well. As she unfastened her seat belt, she turned and saw part of the strawberry jelly donut that had been left crushed and smeared and squished over the tan interior carpet.
She cursed and wept bitterly as the tears left her melting eyes and burned down her florid cheeks.
No matter how hard she cleaned it, the spot would never come out clean.
___________
The featured image is courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.