Page 55 of They Call Her Dirty Sally

The nurse snapped her mouth closed, seeming to remember the circumstances of this baby’s birth. She became businesslike almost instantly, silent, and curt. It wasn’t acceptable to have a baby out of wedlock, so Sally became more of an outcast than she already was. Now that she was a mother, the only relationship she needed was the one with her child.

“Maybe his father was a big baby, but I can’t ask him because I don’t remember his name,” Sally said in response. Ignoring a problem won’t make it go away. Her best defense in life was to confront them. That approach made most people uncomfortable, but so be it.

Nurse Amy visibly bristled. “Maybe you should make better choices next time.”

“Maybe I should.” Sally lowered her hospital gown without trying to be modest and drew her baby close. “This how you do it?” She meant to sound confrontational but failed miserably when her son latched on. Sally let out a small cry; this nursing thinghurt. “Maybe you should bring me a bottle of sugar water just in case…”

The nurse sighed, her impatience growing. “I’ll mix up some formula in case you decide to go that route.” She left the room without another word, and Sally settled back and attempted to soothe her son, trying to get this feeding thing right.

Everyone is facedwith a moment they think will never happen to them. You’re in line at the bank when a shooter holds up a gun and orders everyone down while demanding money from the drawer. You wake up to the smell of smoke and three kids that need saving, a faulty wire sending life as you knew it up in flames. An old high school boyfriend shows up, and suddenly you’re both neck-deep into a torrid affair despite a happy life simmering on the burner at home.

Or you find yourself the new mother to a stranger’s baby, alone in a hospital with no visitors to speak of. Living through your last moment of normalcy before the world upends itself and sends its victims scattering.

The blast tore through the room just as Sally switched her baby boy to the other side to resume nursing. They say life flashes before your eyes, and it does. Just not in the way you think. The clips aren’t short highlight reels of a life already lived; they’re glimpses of all the things that will never, ever happen. Just beyond the fingertips. Barely out of reach, but suddenly miles and miles away.

The first thing to go was the IV as it was ripped from her arm. Then the hospital bed flew out from under Sally and the baby, followed by the tray of medical instruments on the counter and Sally’s cup of water off the bedside table. Her baby flew away next, but Sally caught him just in time and covered his tiny body with her own. Her arms and legs folded over him like a tent on the hospital room floor.

A bomb.

An explosion.

Call it what you will. All Sally knew was the hospital blew up and took them with it, erasing every good memory and replacing them with terrible, horrible ones.

Screams from outside the door and down the hall.

Agony in all forms, so gut-wrenching it was easy to picture dismembered bodies and shredded internal organs.

The silence that followed. Human brains going into shock.

Sirens. So many sirens.

And blackness.

Blackness that poured out like lava through the hospital to quickly gather up its victims. Sally had no choice but to let the blackness take her.

Sleep.

Blessed sleep from all the cries of anguish.

Sally awoketo a throbbing leg and her baby’s cry. She blinked one eye open and then another, then came face to face with her baby boy lying half underneath her, unhurt but for a large gash on his face. A jagged piece of glass jutted from his chin. She tried to reach up and pull the shard free to quiet his cries. She was his mother, and mothers took care of their children, even if those children were only a few hours old.

Just before she reached the glass, different hands came around his little waist.

Those same handslifted him up.

A drop of her baby’s blood landed on the floor.

Someone carried her baby to the door while Sally whispered, “Stop,” too quietly for anyone to hear.

Her leg still throbbed as they left the room.

The door closed with a thud.

Sally smeared her son’s blood with a fingertip, the only cries in the room now belonging solely to her.

She lowered her heavy head and let the blackness claim her once again.

21

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