The Loss

The Loss
The first day the blood came the girl knew something was wrong, but she didn’t tell anyone. She sat and stared then pulled up her pants and went to work.

The next day there was more blood.

The third day there was less staring.

The fourth day she told the boy.

There is some blood.

Is that normal?

She didn’t answer.

What are you going to do?

Wait.

She waited. There was no pain, but there was a mess. Nothing more than she’d dealt with monthly for years. No one else knew. They hadn’t guessed in the first place. At the end of each day he would ask the same thing.

Are you still bleeding?

Yes.

After a week they went to a doctor.

There is always a chance of some wastage, he said. The girl cried and the boy yelled.

Wastage? You call it wastage?

It hasn’t happened yet. It might not.

The girl said, I want to go.

Come back in three days.

Go to hell.

She stopped crying before they got home. The boy made cups of sweet tea and sat next to her on the couch and they drank but didn’t speak, their hands resting on her tummy even though they knew it was too soon to feel.

At work she broke down and made an excuse to leave. At home she howled alone and delivered a red thing. She called the boy and they went somewhere different.

We can do some tests, they were told. We can find out.

A wand was waved and a machine made noises. The screen, the wand, her tummy; they watched all three. Beep beep beep not thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump and that was the problem. Someone new came in.

Im sorry we dont have good news for you this time.

No.

More was said but only the boy heard. Not all of it.


The girl lay in the white room eight months early, shivering, but not from cold. She had not slept the night before.

I’ll be waiting, the boy said. He only let go when they wheeled her away.

She had to give her name again, then they asked for her procedure and the girl gave the medical name as they made ticks and checks on a chart and talked among themselves, only returning to her when she made a noise.

Dont worry. We’ll look after you.

But what about my baby?

They put the mask on.

Not grief, but hunger when she woke up. The boy bought sandwiches and coffee and watched her.

Are you alright?

She nodded and ate but on the way out threw everything away- paperwork, drugs, results, hope.

The boy saw her crying for three weeks and caught her crying for three more. She gave up trying to explain and he gave up understanding. They went back to life but it was only motions.


In the summer the girl got sick. She fevered and coughed in bed for a week. The boy cared for her but there was not much to do. He filled her prescription and stayed in the spare room.

She was still sick but told him, Im not sick.

I think you are.

Her look was different and then he knew.


This time there was no mess until there was supposed to be. He wiped her brow, rubbed her back and shared her breath.

Soon. It must be soon.

He agreed because he didn’t know.

Its coming. Are you there?

Im right here.

The boy held her hand as she heaved. He didn’t see the slither but he heard the cry.

Oh

Let me see.

They first saw together and everything that happened before was gone.