Every Breath

I get anxious every time she goes to sleep.

Every mother does, and maybe has for millennia. They look so peaceful as they lay there, still smudged with your blood, mucous and placenta behind their ears. I wiped most of it away, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to complete the task. A bit of what’s inside me, marking her. Protecting her, as I have for the last nine months.

Every. Breath.

Barry thinks I’m crazy. I can tell by the way he stole glances as we stood in the doorway, how he picked at the peeling paint on the jamb. He’s waiting for something. Tears, maybe? Mine are shed. A change of mind? Mind’s made up. I’m keeping her.

If she wakes up tomorrow. Like she did today.

In the morning, we hope to hike up to that wide pool at the base of the waterfall in the old park near Madison. What’s the name? Something catchy and obvious. Clifty Falls. That’s it. We’ll stop like we always do and look south at the Ohio River and pretend we can’t see the skeleton of the old factory. Used to be, the smoke from that factory would obscure the view of the hills of Kentucky. Hasn’t been any smoke there in ten years. Fifteen. How old am I now?

Funny. When the world was full time was more important.

Because of her, it’s important again.

We’ll hike down the old stairs, crumbling now since no one looks after them anymore. Hear it before we come around the ridge and see it—the waterfall. I’ll take her down to the crisp, cold pool below it and wash off the rest of the blood and muck.

Barry will admire the beauty but cut his eyes my way every once in a while. Those rich, deep brown eyes that startle me every time I look into them. Cut them my way because he thinks, maybe, I’m a little crazy now.

He senses the change.

I do, too, but I’m not afraid of me. I’m afraid for her.

Once, when the world was still full, I was loved by a woman who carried me for nine months. Gave me her blonde locks and hazel eyes. Carried me for another twelve years as she watched the full world eat itself, aware of the implications but unable to explain them to her daughter. She and I took on that world, fraught with its own dangers. I thought we were invincible. We were. Until we weren’t.

Now, the little locket shaped like a heart is all I have left of that woman. When the world we knew became the world I know, she did her best to protect me. I think of the men she had. Joe, who never used his fists on her. Tony, who thought aliens were responsible. Keith the drunk. We were safer with them, she would say. Maybe we were. A part of me feels guilty that I’ve found Barry. She never found one of those.

People were decent to us at first. Eventually, they figured out no one was watching anymore. That’s when we started traveling. I’d never been out of Indiana before. We went southwest, but it got too hot. Makes me laugh now—too hot is better than too cold, turns out. Headed north and walked all the way to what’s left of Nebraska.

Keith was in Nebraska. He was six feet tall and weighed maybe three hundred pounds; wore an old army jacket he said he got while in the service, but I suspect he picked up at a deserted army surplus store. Most towns had their own local government then, but we never knew if that meant more trouble or less. He loved to drink when he could, which was always and anywhere. Tried to feel me up one night and the woman who loved me beat him to death with his own bottle. The first hit caught him on his temple, then she couldn’t stop hitting him.

Every. Breath.

They turned us out, of course. Could have executed the woman who loved me, I suppose, but they didn’t want to be responsible for me.

“Let’s go home,” she said. It’s the last thing she ever said to me. The rest of our trip back to Indiana, she was more zombie than human. I felt the same way the first time I killed someone. I tried to get her to talk, but she would just smile distractedly and nod.

One night in Illinois—I think it was Illinois; should we call it that anymore?I realized she was wheezing at each stride. We found an old shed in a field and went there to sleep it off. I left before the fever took her completely. Don’t know what she had, just that every breath was likely her last.

Every. Breath.

I can feel the imprint of the heart locket on my palm. I guess I clutched it too tightly as I watched little Sara sleep. Barry’s snoring now. He finally gave up his vigil over me. He’s not mean like Joe, crazy like Tony, or a drunk like Keith. I made sure.

Sometimes protection costs too much.

If she wakes up tomorrow, I’m taking my daughter to Clifty Falls and we’ll wash her up and put her in that pretty dress with the flowers. We’ll hunt through the town and find food for Barry and me. I have all the food Sara needs right now if I stay healthy.

I’m the woman who loves her and I will be here if she wakes up.

I will be here.

Every. Breath.