Trochilidae

I want to tell you about the time I discovered something growing in my belly. How I was afforded the opportunity to rid myself of this something. My gratitude for modern medicine is daily and unrelenting.

I discovered this life while I was in the gym. A place that marries both vanity and health. In this particular gym there was a persistent smell of chlorine. Yet there was no pool. Everyday masses gathered there. They pounded their feet on treadmills, slammed dumbbells, crunched abs, gulped water. A congregation devoted to the improvement of the human form.

I frequented the gym in the name of vanity but told friends that it was for health. I learned this habit of saying one thing but meaning another from you.

It was after a particularly hard run, standing in front of a mirror, that I discovered my super power. I could smell everything. Even the red haired woman stretching 20 feet away, I could smell her! The ripeness of her oniony body odor, the intimacy of knowing something a stranger had not intended to share.

As you know it is unnatural for a mere human like me to possess such a power. All it took was a calculation of when my last period had been, and an awareness of my sensitivity to smells. A test confirmed my suspicions. Actually, three tests and a verification from a nurse.

The nurse told me that I might begin to feel something called “morning sickness.” But it turns out my sickness did not discriminate. It visited me morning, afternoon, and night. The nurse told me my tender breasts (a symptom I chalked up to an upcoming period) would persist. This kind and wonderful nurse told me despite my protests that no she could not help me decide a course of action. But here, these pamphlets might help.

It took everything within me to not call you in that moment, to soothe me. I didn’t want to burden you. So I became a master actor, those around me unknowing of my ailment. I played the starring role, a girl who becomes pregnant after a misplaced IUD, hiding her secret from friends and family. Exciting and tragic.

I began to touch my stomach often. To try to feel signs of growth within me.

I was just a college student, a freshman to be exact. It was late spring, the trees once again shading their visitors. And your favorite wildflowers dotted the sides of streets. I often thought how insane it was to be surrounded by such beauty but to feel such sadness. Of course you would have told me to find gratitude in the small things. You would have texted me inspirational quotes, offering wisdom over the phone. But I was too ashamed. And so when you would call me I told you that my classes were good. But I did not disclose the fact that often I was not present. You were unknowing of this. I told you that yes I was getting straight As. When really I was failing due to my lack of attendance. I wanted you to be proud of me so I told you these things to protect you from disappointment.

Sometimes I would get consumed by darkness. So, in those moments I tried to think of what you would tell me to do. I started making lists. Usually they were lists consisting of all good things. Crisp blue lakes, the smell of sandalwood, forehead kisses, soft sweaters, the sweetness of peach cobbler. I would repeat these lists until I reached a feeling.

I needed you the most the day I took the pills. Two blue tablets the nurse handed me. The first was the clothes hanger. She told me that almost instantaneously the life within me would be gone. Assured me that the pain would be not more than a period. She told me that in an hour I should take the second pill. This one was responsible for evicting what was now dead.

It is hard for me to remember the pain I felt. More than a period. The blood that came out of me. It’s hard to remember. The lower part of my belly convulsed with cramps. Searing. I wore diapers to keep the blood from soaking through my clothes. A cruel symmetry: I wore the uniform designed for those newly arrived in the world and those preparing to leave it.

I wondered if this is how you felt when you pushed me out. If you started to wonder if existence was worth it if such pain could be real.

My bleeding was extensive, more than even the diapers could handle. I sat on the toilet for hours. My insides ripped apart. So that when I became conscious of myself I was surprised that I still had a lower half. Someone came into the bathroom. Asking if I was okay? Apparently I had been screaming. When I got up, there it was.

A hummingbird floating in the water. Covered in blood, its feathered belly stained a bright red.

The hummingbird’s wings were an iridescent green. Black beak, beady eyes, heart beating fast. The hummingbird attempted to flap its wings. Gaining strength it rose from the water, hovering above the toilet before settling on the seat. Our eyes met. I wonder what it made of me. A girl in a bloodied diaper, standing before a toilet, regarding a bird that was never supposed to be.

And then it flew out the cracked window near the showers. I didn’t even catch its name.

I am the hummingbird, I am you, I am me. I am the wildflowers that dot the sides of streets. I am the trees that shade their visitors. I am the water swirling with blood. I am free. I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I am someone who loves children. I am my dreams of being a mother. A mother like you. I am your daughter. Forgive me.