Anjelica Vergara wore her usual attire: red pumps, blue dress, white apron, red lipstick. She dusted, swept, vacuumed, mopped and took smoke breaks in between. As she whirled around the space, she felt a twinge. Her mouth turned into an “O” and she sat down. Pangs stabbed at her midsection. In finding a seat, she called from a landline. Vergara’s smartphone was just inches away, but she did not know his code and he washed in the shower, so he couldn’t unlock it with facial recognition. She dialed 9-1-1.

“Emergency. What is the nature of your call?”

“I have sharp…it’s like a sting….”

“Alright, stay with me,” the voice on the other end of the phone intoned. “What kind of pain? Hello?”

Angelica then gathered herself. “I have pain in my abdominal section. Can someone come out here?”

“Okay. I’m going to send a paramedic out to your location.”

She slumped down to the floor and passed out quickly.

Vergara emerged from his shower and dressed. He donned a blue shirt and gray tie and a gray suit. He ventured downstairs. He turned the corner to the kitchen. “Anjelica…I have a missing button on my….” he looked down at his wife. He rushed to her limp body.

“Hey, hey, hey…what’s the matter?”

He then saw the flashing of emergency lights but no sirens. Paramedics knocked on the door. Vergara lifted up Angelica’s head and propped her against the wall. She breathed but still remained unconscious.

When she awoke, she lay in bed. Swapped out of her clothes, a hospital gown now covered her body. Vergara was right by her side. 

‘They’re going to run some tests, dear,” he said. The doctor came in the sectioned off space.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Vergara,” The doctor looked dark-skinned, but not Foundational Black American. Dr. Arin Singh, had a clean shaven face with gray flecks in his hair. He turned to Vergara. “She’ll be fine.”

Vergara planted a kiss on Anjelica’s forehead and then exited from the space.

“What is it, Doctor?” Anjelica’s worry lines in her forehead became prominent.

“Like your husband said, we’re going to find out what ails you momentarily,” Dr. Singh reassured.

“Is it….” Angelica started and then winced in pain. 

“You just focus on resting up. We have the capability and the best medical team on staff.”

Angelica laid back and drifted off to sleep. In the coming moments, the nurses prepared her for a series of blood tests, examined her with a digital read out, and then prompted her to be awake again.

“We’re going to send you to a specialist.”

“It’s nothing you should worry about. All of your tests for cancer or any other illnesses have been cleared.”

“So, what’s wrong with me?” She asked in a tone that didn’t seem fretful, just concerned.

“Once you speak with the specialist, all will be revealed. Just sit tight and all will be well.” The soft tone in the doctor’s voice encouraged her and she rested her head back on the pillow. He left her to be alone with the television blaring some game show on the monitor.

After a few moments, another doctor came into where Anjelica tried to regain an ounce of power. Her mascara began to run a bit as tears welled in her eyes. Like a bird without the ability to belt out a chirp, Anjelica just remained as calm and soundless as ever.

A woman doctor entered space. Dr. Parker Barclay had strawberry blonde hair that rested just above her shoulders. A slight grin colored her face and she looked down at her patient. Anjelica noticed she had a white coat with the letters OBGYN emblazoned on it.

“I am the first person to say you’re going to be a mom,” Dr. Barclay noted. 

“That’s natural. You’re going to experience that from time to time over these coming months.”

Great tears streaked Anjelica’s face, causing more of her mascara to run.

“Don’t be upset, we’re going to give you enough medicin––”

“No, no drugs. Can you do the rabbit test on me?”

Dr. Barclay shook her head with an almost condescending air. “No, we haven’t had to use that tool in decades. We were, however, able to determine whether you were preg––”

“Well, we must give you some drugs for cramps you might feel during this process. We’ll let you tell your husband the good news,” Dr. Barclay soothed.

When she was cleared to go home, she became numb to the fact she would be a mother. In her mind, she thought about how she would be blessed by the unknown and unknowable that she believed in completely. As she dressed, she slid into her pumps and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Smudged makeup became clear again as she cleansed her face with water.

Small rivulets of tears streaked her face and she cried. Joy spread through her frame as the reality of her condition now enveloped her soul. She dropped to one knee and thought about the next few months of carrying another being in her womb. The shock of it had worn off and now she could just weep happy tears mixed with the perceived duty of child bearing. She returned to the mirror and made up her face again. She looked down into her purse and applied lipstick as the finishing touch. A smile swept across her visage. 

As she exited, she saw Vergara punching in characters into his mobile device.

She stood there in front of him. He looked up at her. 

During the car ride, Vergara barked into his headpiece.

“...All I know…That’s what I’m saying…If we can just organize!”

Anjelica just sat idly, not uttering a word. They arrived at the house.

Vergara spoke to his wife. “I’ve got some business to do out here in these streets. Are you alright?”

The little secret, the big secret she kept hidden from him. It was not out of fear or distaste for her spouse, she just needed him to be in the mind frame of someone who would actually care. As she returned to her house chores, she felt woozy from the drugs, though she resumed her cleaning regimen, the knowledge of what she would go through in the next few months nestled into her consciousness. The cramps never returned and she felt at full power again. Vergara had sped off into the remainder of the day. Left alone, she peered at her pack of cigarettes and picked up the box. In discarding it, she felt as if she could do that with the rest of her life. If she could just pick up and go once this baby came, she would be free from the fetters of her lifestyle. She banished the thought. More cleaning followed.

Finally, she finished her housework and began to look at her smartphone on how women coped with the beginning phases of their pregnancy. As she scrolled, there became a certain clearing of the fog as she read testimonials about beginning a family. She wanted this. A yearning in her spirit called for her to have children. The pain would be worth it, she figured. Thoughts of baby proofing the house and buying formula and diapers enlivened her. This excellent amount of thinking pushed her to become even more aware of her role as a wife and soon-to-be mother.

She relaxed on the divan in their living room. Her thumbs and forefinger tapped away like a pianist performing a concerto. Every tap produced even more information which allowed her to become present in the moment. She rose to get some lemonade. As she opened the refrigerator, she saw a notice in the mail on the counter about Vergara’s business plans. Never did she open up his mail and she didn’t start now. What she did do, however, consisted of stacking it at the top for them to discuss when he arrived at their home. 

By knowing she had a prominent figure in her midst, she kept in her place and waited. Now, though, she had a power; it rested well within her being that she had something over him. Something like an amulet of wonder that he didn’t know about. With her one day stepping into motherhood, she could taste the prospects of her undeniable ability to withhold information from him…for now. It all appeared to be a blur, and the drugs had nothing to do with it. After she finished her lemonade, she began a feast. Propelled by the news, she felt a surge of laying out a full meal of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, parsnips, corn, and green beans. From scratch. It was early afternoon and she prepared it all with a smile. 

That song stuck in her throat belted out as a Phyllis Deaver opera. Each note struck with precision and purpose. All that she had been through this day, the past years, her life flooded into her mind. To say she had been exhausted would lessen the gnawing sensation tugging at her spirit. The wonder of what would come next always surprised her. With everything in the oven or on the stove, she looked at the pack of cigarettes. Technically, she had not been entered into the first trimester. Or so she made the excuse. She plucked a cigarette from the trash and lighted it. She coughed profusely and stamped it out with speed. No, she thought, not for the next nine months or more…or ever. She would have to set an example. Her child would be able to make his or her own decisions. It would be her role to guide them along paths of righteousness. That would include being tobacco free.

She prepared the meal. It looked like a panoply of colors painted on the table. In a sense, she was that artist that not only dyed the kitchen and filled it with great smells of rosemary and sage, pepper and onion, she included in her tasks the notion of hope. This sprouted from the fact she could be the mistress of the house and command it with might. Then, she heard a loud laugh and the door slam shut like the closing of a book.

Vergara staggered into the kitchen. His eyes looked bloodshot.

“When were you going to tell me…?” he said, anger rumbling in his throat.

“You know what…” He grabbed her hair and she stumbled but stayed standing. 

“You’ve gotta baby in you?!” He then snatched her back and slammed her against the counter.

“I have to go to the hospital and ask what the hell was going on…they didn’t tell me immediately…but I know now.” He shoved her down to the ground.

Vergara hauled off and threw the entire dinner on the floor. All that she had worked for, the feelings of mirth and goodness dissipated and evaporated like water on a hot burner. 

“You clean this mess up. I want every last drop of it off this kitchen floor.”

“I was going to tell you!” She whimpered. Anjelica struggled to rise from her feet. Vergara stormed out of the kitchen and ran upstairs. The pounding of his feet sounded like some movie monster trudging on each step. Anjelica inhaled sharply and began to find some order in all of the chaos. The area looked like non-objective artwork without form or representation. No tears fell from her eyes, however. She inhaled again through her nose and out through her mouth. Once she had picked up each morsel and discarded the remains of the meal, she sat down and thought. She ripped off her apron and just contemplated how long she had gone without saying a word to her husband. Even if he destroyed the meal, she felt a fleeting sense of strength. The few hours of him not knowing caused her to glow. A smile crept onto her face.

Chintan Jani

Smartystan

An Ounce of Power

Anjelica Vergara wore her usual attire: red pumps, blue dress, white apron, red lipstick. She dusted, swept, vacuumed, mopped and took smoke breaks in between. As she whirled around the space, she felt a twinge. Her mouth turned into an “O” and she sat down. Pangs stabbed at her midsection. In finding a seat, she called from a landline. Vergara’s smartphone was just inches away, but she did not know his code and he washed in the shower, so he couldn’t unlock it with facial recognition. She dialed 9-1-1.



Smartystan

An Ounce of Power

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of Skyler Saunders

About the Creator

Skyler Saunders

Comments

Upgrade to see comments and join the conversation

Keep reading

With a Wig

Smartystan

An Ounce of Power

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of .css-13w9qce-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-accent);}Skyler Saunders

About the Creator

Skyler Saunders

Comments

Upgrade to see comments and join the conversation

Keep reading

With a Wig

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of Skyler Saunders