Bosco

The musky dew of the morning mist hadn’t yet evaporated back to its origin in the bluish gray Oregon skies before I was already up and ready for the day. Ready for my beautiful Ann to come waltzing into our new home in a few hours from the night shift and dash me her usual three kiss combo before darting off to shower, inviting me in after the first five minutes! Shower time around here is like our fourplay now that we have a walk-in shower and jacuzzi soak tub that overlooks the garden truly setting the scene for romance. The great thing about my wife is that we could be in an alley next to a dumpster and we still feel connected mentally, spiritually and sexually making any scene or destination just that; a place. As long as I see her face and she sees’ mine, it is the best place that could ever be.

No one could have prepared me for the shock of actually getting what you have always wanted and that is my Ann and our dream that is coming to fruition so expediently I feel as if I’m high living in a dream world so much so that pinching yourself becomes a habitual tic that may shortly become noticeable.

Aside from the splendid wonder that is your dreams manifesting, I was feeling a loss having to say goodbye to my job of almost eight years as Vice Principal of Florence Nightingale Middle School. I find this emotion just as difficult to deal with as any woman does. Because of that, I have buried myself into landscaping this place until it matches our ideal dream home garden and set up our greenhouse saving an exponential amount of money in groceries. We could never grow anything in Pasadena in our little apartment minus the windowsill basil and rosemary which could grow in a dumpster if it had a hole for the elements.

So, rose bushes, Marigolds and Junipers are my newest mindset where I have focused my energy to cope with all of the changing. That is until Ann comes home and everything feels completely right. Well almost completely…

Six weeks ago, Ann had accepted a transfer position as a pediatric nurse to Samaritan Albany General Hospital which would allow her one extra day off per week and a small bump in pay. It also allowed for her advancement as she dreamed of becoming a Nurse Practitioner.

I immediately felt a wave of excitement come over and through me the instant she told me after that fateful phone call. That feeling lingered with me for a couple of weeks. The chance to make our dream of running off to Oregon and owning a cottage or a cozy three-bedroom home on an acre of land to grow food and flowers and grow old together or take that leap into adoption.

That feeling surpassed any and all of the other mixture of things I was feeling, insecurity, instability, fear and I hadn’t felt the loss yet. So, I made the choice for my wife and I to live out our dream and take that chance that I could find immediate employment in Albany. Besides, we are forty-two and forty-one years old and the next time this happens it may not be in alignment with life anymore.

But this was more than I had bargained for with the property that was nearly five acres. Luckily the property came with this golf cart so that I can play landscaping a bit easier.

Honestly the property is a bit much for just us. We have our large three bedroom where Ann and I occupy the master suite downstairs. A home office is only one excuse for the two open rooms because guest room dubs not appropriate for our lives and situation.

Much of Ann’s family has lost communication with her after our wedding in Hawaii four years ago. My hotheaded Irish wife told everyone including her own kin to take a hike if they don’t like her wife. And so, some did. That is pretty normal but not in my family back in Pasadena. My catholic bred family accepted me as a teenager when I brought home my first girlfriend. Almost as if they’d already known it to be so that their Carol was gay.

The haunting of this empty room beckoned us to discuss the timely topic of parenting. Honestly, I was satisfied with my work as a teacher and as Vice Principal. I yearned to hear the outbursts of hormone raged naïve oblivion echoing the halls of Florence Nightingale. Adoption, maybe.

As the morning inched on into the seventh hour I was drenched in sweat and dirt from planting each of the five rose bushes when I realized I hadn’t had any breakfast yet. I called it quits for the day as my back was starting to ache as well and Ann would be due home soon so I decided to run in, shower and make a fruit salad.

I wiped the beading sweat from my brow as I hopped into the golf cart and headed for the bosc patch on the third acre for a couple of pears in the salad. I stopped along the way from time to time to log in to-dos around the property. My wife laughs at my listing but it helps, especially for brain foggers. This list is growing. Possibly because I am overthinking as everything looks like a stuff your feelings down and do some work tasks everywhere, even though others would consider it done.

As I drew closer to the patch, I could see an article of clothing or something on the ground with a live animal on it moving. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing, just movement like a little pig or something. My heart sank when I heard the cry in the wind as I got closer.

I pulled the cart up just feet away and hopped out. I couldn’t believe my eyes; had I been dreaming? Pinching myself signaled no relief as it only suggested factual reality. Right under the pear tree lie a crying baby half wrapped in a bloody white pillow case. It’s cry dry and eyes jammed shut.

I immediately picked him up and wiped him down with the pillow case cloth. I held him tight to my chest and spoke softly to let him know he was going to be okay.

I eagerly looked for the mother. “Hello. Is anyone here? I’m looking for this baby’s mother...hello?” I cried out. I must’ve covered every bit of property and then some looking for some evidence of a mother or a birth but only found a bloody handprint that led behind the tall pines into a back neighborhood with dozens of immediate neighbors.

I couldn’t go looking for the mother with this unprotected infant in my arms I thought so I clutched that baby tightly and headed home.

Once inside, I ran for the phone and rang the authorities. Still holding on to the infant like a football against my chest as I briefly explained between being put on hold three times that I came upon a newborn infant in my yard and I do not know where the mother is. After a grueling twenty minutes of confusing deputies and a newborns dry crying in my ears and invading my phone call and sanity, the Sherriff tells me it’ll be a few hours before someone can come out here and make the report with child welfare services. Without much of any opportunity to respond or protest the call ended and it quickly set in, complete panic.

As tears were going to fill my eyes Ann’s car pulls in and several minutes later drudges through the door.

Ann looks at me before putting her bags down and points a finger at me with mere concern bolted on her face and asks “What uh, who is that?”

“I don’t know darling; this little guy was under the pear trees on the third acre with no mother in sight and I’ve called the authorities and they said it would be a few hours before child welfare services comes to take a statement.” Before I could finish my sentence, Ann was preparing a warm wash towel for the baby.

As she wiped him down, he settled down to just whimpering and I finally got the chance to really look at him. His cute brown eyes started to open and look at us in curiosity. His skin was still pinkish newborn looking but seeing beyond his brown skin as it matched my Hispanic hues. His hands gripping my fingers to pull them toward his suckling mouth. “Wow he is so cute.” I must've said aloud because Ann responded “Uh huh and thirsty, we have to find his mother right now. She can’t be far.”

We quickly wrapped him up in one of Ann’s warm shoulder wraps and headed for the back neighborhood first since the handprint is our only arrow.

Walking through this neighborhood seemed like a whole different side of Oregon. There was louder music, graffiti and the smell of marijuana permeating the air.

Twelve houses in to asking and meeting neighbors proved exhausting and awkward. “Hey new neighbor that we’ve not yet met, do you know the mother of this newborn?” Sure, that’s not weird. Of course, more than half suggested to call the authorities, then of course that just opened up another ten-minute conversation and before we knew it, it was closing in on the noon hour. We would have to go back for the report.

Before we walked off the chatty lady’s lot she started “I wouldn’t go over to that house” pointing to across the street.

“And why is that?” my wife and I both asked in synchronized harmony. “Those people are Walla Walla’s and they don’t like talking to us folk. They stay to themselves except for the kids who go to the public schools. They don’t even use electricity.” She replied.

Just because it was suggested not to go, Ann and I were moved to go and so we did. By the third knock an elderly Native American woman opened the thick cabin door and without speaking showed us in where there was an immediate table to sit at. It wasn’t long before silent Ann and I noticed that this woman was blind. The creek and shutting of the door awoke the baby now in Ann’s arms and he begat his dry little cry.

The old woman stood there comfortable with strangers in her humble abode of just a carpet, pillows, table and a ton of clay pots and an indoor masonry oven in a twenty-by-twenty-foot space. There was one doorway and as the baby cried, a girl quickly looked and gasped taking a step back out of sight.

The old woman said something to her in their tongue and she seemed frightened but hastily responded running to scrub a clay pot in the corner. She looked about fourteen/fifteen. As she knelt down wide, teary eyed scrubbing with fear, bruises and lesions appeared along her backside when her long black braid revealed it.

The blind woman still looking at us now uncomfortable asked us “What can I do for you neighbor?” Ann and I looked at each other and back at the girl speechless but her expression said it all as her breasts were soiled with fresh milk, her hands in a pleading motion between them.

Ann nodded to the door “We’re new and wanted to meet our neighbors” I said standing up and walking to the door. The woman was kind and invited us back again as she led us out.

The walk home will be a moment I’ll never forget as my Ann said “You know it’s Oregon law for her to pass her to me at the hospital.”

Smiling, I replied with “you know of adoption laws?” “Let’s name him Bosco!”