Untitled, part I

The hospital waiting room was quiet, subdued, and only the presence of expectant fathers kept it from being utterly morbid. Concerned friends and relatives of the sick conversed in muted voices, afraid to speak normally for fear of disturbing those who needed their rest. Or maybe fear that they would attract some evil spirit of sickness towards themselves. But though the room was quiet, it was the opposite of meditative; the tension that hung thickly in the air hindered concentration by its constant reminder of the grim purpose of the large concrete structure it served.

Sitting calmly in the corner, growing ever more frustrated and impatient, Jonathan was awaiting life; but to his family, this new life was almost another death. He was inclined to view matters more philosophically, as accustomed as he was to viewing the bigger picture, dealing with matters of much greater import than the fate of a single child, but he couldn’t deny feeling a sense of loss at what was going to transpire here today. And that was why he was waiting here, alone, on a mission unknown to the rest of his mourning family. Of all of them, he was the only one equipped to take action, and he was willing to bend the rules a little in order to get what he wanted.

Jonathan was checking his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time when he spied the woman striding out the doors that led into the maternity ward, a small bundle in her arms. Her expression and demeanor were no-nonsense, and her walk was purposeful. She looked as though she would simply walk through someone in her way, but in one swift glide Jonathan moved to block her path. Contrary to what some small corner of his brain had been expecting, she did stop, though her gaze seemed to look through him to the doors behind him.

“Yes, sir?” she said, politely but rushed.

“That’s my sister’s son you have there,” Jonathan said, and was surprised at the emotions that simple thought was able to stir inside him. “Can I please see him once before you take him away?” The woman’s expression softened slightly, but she shook her head firmly.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t allow any contact between the birth mother’s family and the child,” she replied. “Trust me, it’s better this way. Your sister has already signed all the papers. It’s really more healthy to just let him go.”

Well, I asked nicely, Jonathan thought. He locked gazes with the woman, forcing her eyes away from the doors behind him and into his own.

“Please, just one look.” His voice lowered and softened, and he brushed her hand with his own in the lightest of touches. “It won’t do any harm.”

The woman’s eyes widened just a little, and she slowly nodded. Without another word, she held out the baby. Jonathan took him from her arms, leaving them to hang slackly at her side. He looked down at the tiny face, eyes closed in repose, and felt a deeper connection than he could have imagined. What he would do would forge an even deeper connection still. With his forefingers, he touched the child’s forehead, and muttered a few words underneath his breath. The baby stirred but then went back to sleep, showing no other reaction. He held out his sister’s son – soon to be her son no longer – and the woman from the adoption agency took him back, once again in silence.

Jonathan stepped out of her way, and shaking herself from her lethargy, the woman once again strode forward, and was out of the door in a matter of seconds. Jonathan could feel a part of himself go with her, and he ached for the loss. But it did not matter. The boy would return, eventually. All he need do now was wait.