Right As Rain | ✓

12| Crying: A Dissertation

"Mabel baby, please stop crying," I begged, my hand wrapped around a small finger. "I'm doing the best I can," I say, a tear dripping down my face. The small baby in my arms looks up at me, a small smile of her own on her once fussy face. "Thank you baby girl," I say, planting a kiss on her tiny forehead.

I walk across the small expanse of my room we had no choice but to share, and set her down in her crib and then walked back to my bed. It was currently 3:00 in the morning and Mable's crying had officially woken me up.

I feel around for the laptop I had placed on my bed before dinner and open up the word document that was last saved. I stared at the page that had nothing but the title.

The psychology of a trapped animal: A Thesis

I groaned, the assignment was due next Monday and it was currently Thursday, I had sat down on this bed for almost a week trying to find the courage to write something down. I curse myself, it was all my fault I was in this mess. I had decided on the third month of my pregnancy, while still small and able to move around freely, that I would continue with my plan to go to university. When the baby came, I had realized that, not only was I too tired to attend day classes regularly, I also could not afford it, and there was no way in hell that I was going to call my mom after leaving the way I did.

The fear I have to face her is irrational, I know that, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that one out as well. Besides, she was there for the birth, held my hand with each contraction and quickly changed the topic when the nurse asked about the father of my baby. Although I would be the first to admit that the pain of such contractions made the shame and embarrassment from the situation at hand feel less important.

I don't think I had looked at her until Mable was born, I need the confirmation from my mother. I needed her to check her baby first, be proud of me. Because I certainly was not proud of myself.

The decision to move had come the third week of being pregnant, as soon a Keaton up and left. I hadn't even had the time to tell him he was going to be a Father, I didn't get to see his face light up, or fall. I didn't call to tell him that I was pregnant either, I knew he would come back. There was not a chance he would have abandoned his child, he had told me long before I was in my current predicament. I just didn't want to live my life feeling like I was a last-minute decision, or that my child was a last-minute decision.

I look down at my computer, now able to see the keys without placing the whole device on my belly, and curse myself out for deciding to go back to school.

Halfway through writing I look back up at the clock, 7:00 in the morning. I must have dozed off. I rise out of the bed, making a feigned effort to make my bed I throw the grey duvet properly over and tuck it in enough that I looked presentable if any company came.

The next step was to check Mable. The crib, a simple grey and plastic designed to look like wood, framed the mattress. My sweet baby is still peacefully asleep, her tiny fist placed by her head as if caught in an Egyptian dance. I smile down at her, thankful that I had gotten her.

Moments like these rarely occurred, and even if they did it was purely used to do homework. Today, I used it to shower, the door wide open in case Mable started to cry.

In the shower, I held in a sob of my own. My current predicament being: I missed my mother but was too proud to call her, either that or I was just tired, I could never tell these moments apart anymore.

The water wasn't hot anymore so I decided to come out. I rummaged through the small closet I had in my room and choose a pair of sweats and a sports bra, I had learned that it was easier to keep myself ready for when Mable was hungry. Before leaving I once again check on Mable, her soft breath reminding me that she was still in fact alive. My irrational fear seemed to stretch beyond my fear of calling my Mother.

A knock came at the door in the middle of Judge Judy, thankful for the interruption I made my way to the door. I have to fight myself to abandon the fantasy of Keaton being the one at the door. He never was and it was starting to hurt more and more each time I realized.

"Sorry to bother you," he says, his face twisted in an apologetic expression. "I ran out of sugar and was wondering if you had any I could borrow."

I run through all the possibilities and problems that could arise from the scene that opened in front of me, there was a possibility that he was a criminal who would take all my stop and hold me at gunpoint once he came inside, and there was another possibility that he was going to harass me as soon as I opened the door wider. I closed the door and locked it on his face.

I move into the kitchen and measure out three cups of sugar into a mason jar and then walk back to my door. When I open it he's standing at the door beside mine, keys already in the lock. "Hey," I whisper-shout, it was too early in the morning for me to start yelling. "That should be enough, three measuring cups worth." I had yet to see in my life, a recipe that calls for more than 2 -1/2 cups. The third was simply so he couldn't come back asking for more.

"Thank you," he says, taking the jar from my hand. "My name's Ryan." He says, extending the free hand in my direction.

"Tris," I answer, deciding to shorten my name just in case he was indeed a stalker criminal and decided to look me up online. I extend my own hand and shake his. He wouldn't be able to find anything on me anyways, my mother was adamant about social media when I was a teen and the only thing I had was Snapchat, even then, it was rarely used.

Edit Summary

May 19, 2020 - Fixed a few things that bothered me aesthetic wise, no major edits took place.

June 8, 2020 - Added the banners made for me by Belle