This story is
told backwards.
From Dusk to Dawn
By Desdmona
"He's coming home today," Matt said in hushed, almost reverent tones. He looked stronger than he sounded. His Henley shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans, hugged his chest. His square jaw-line looked like chiseled stone, but softer. He opened his arms in invitation, and I ran into them.
"I still can't believe it," I whispered, My eyes growing misty. I thought I had exhausted all my tears.
"He's fine, Maggie. Perfect even, all the docs said so."
"Maybe that's why I'm crying. Everything we've been through. Everything he's been through. We're so lucky. Our son is finally coming home."
He squeezed me tighter, and I breathed in Matt's familiar scent. It was as comforting as the smell of chocolate chip cookies or fresh cut flowers. The last three months had been a roller coaster ride – ups and downs at neck-breaking speeds. We were stuck on it, and I thought it would never end. Matt was like a rock: solid and steadfast, bolstering me when I felt like crumbling. We were closer because of it.
I eased from his embrace but held tight to his hand. "Well, how does it look?" I asked.
Matt glanced around the room, ignoring the fact that he'd seen it dozens of times. He pulled me with him to the crib. With his other hand, he punched bumper pads as if he were checking the tires on a new car. He patted the edges of the homemade quilt, tracing along a letter "J" that I'd cross-stitched on the front. He released my hand and wound up the mechanism on the baby-soft mobile.
"It looks ready," he said.
We watched yellow, puffy suns revolve to an achingly familiar tune. Matt grabbed me and swung me close. He guided us in a slow dance, my bare toes sinking into the plush carpet, while the tinkling sound of the mobile filled the room.
The song dwindled down to its end, but we continued to dance. Our beating hearts and rhythmic breathing all the music we needed. Matt's warm body, pressing into mine, fertilized my thoughts. Twinges of long-missed arousal stirred between my legs. The doctor had given his okay for sex weeks ago, and I had obliged Matt, but this was the first time I felt a real awakening.
I whispered in his ear. "Take off your clothes." My voice sounded breathy, like it might evaporate before being heard.
"Oh god, Mag! Are you sure?"
"Yes," I croaked, my throat thick and dry.
A thrumming worked its way through my muscles to my heart as Matt removed his clothes. I'd seen his body a thousand times before, every dip of it recognizable. I knew when I touched his chest, his skin would flinch and the underlying muscle would bunch. When I inched my way to his groin, I'd find velvety flesh, surrounded by downy hair. And when I circled around his navel, his penis would bob up in appreciation. The familiarity of him fueled my excitement.
He helped me with my clothes - slipping my shirt over my head, unzipping my pants, kneeling in front of me, and easing the heavy denim over my hips. My panties followed. He put his warm hands on my belly and traced my Cesarean scar with the pads of his thumbs. And then he wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his face against my skin and hugging me tightly.
"I love you, Maggie."
"I know." It was soul-saving knowledge. "I love you, too."
He didn't say another word. He didn't have to. He let me nudge him to the floor, flat on his back, his penis upright and proud. It was easy and oh, so familiar as I lowered myself on top of him. Together, we guided his cock into my slit. So sleek. So moist. Settling only for impalement. I rode him in slow motion, up and down, mashing against him on the down, squeezing him on the up. He kept his eyes open, smiling, until his orgasm glossed over his features. And then his eyes closed, and his mouth froze – mute in climax. The surge of his semen gilded me like liquid gold – hot, elemental caresses that sent me to spasm. To say, "it felt complete" seemed like such an understatement.
My body shivered against Matt's. He hugged me closer. "Damn, Maggie," he said.
"That felt good, didn't it?"
His smile was back. His voice was mellow, pouring from him like maple syrup. "Maybe a little."
I couldn't imagine ever being so close to another human being, save one.
"Matt? I whispered.
"Hmm?"
"Let's go get our son."
"I was just thinking the same thing," he said.
That night, three-month old Joey McKnight slept in his own house for the first time.
* * *
Matthew Joseph McKnight lay flat on his back, his tiny little arms flaccid at his sides. An IV tube, secured with clear tape and suture thread, extended out from his severed umbilical cord. His right foot, no bigger than the first joint of one of my fingers, was wrapped in beige tape. A red glow illuminated his entire foot, making it transparent. "This was how they measured the oxygen in his blood," the nurse had said. As she spoke, she'd pointed to a machine somewhere on the counter, but I didn't see what she'd referred to. I was too busy looking at my son.
He had three small patches, "electrodes," the nurse had said, stuck to his body. Only centimeters in diameter, they still managed to almost cover his entire chest. These connected to another machine that monitored his heart rate and his breathing. Some how the IV in his belly monitored his blood pressure as it also gave him a steady diet of glucose. A thicker tube came out of his mouth and connected him to a breathing machine. The machine was breathing for him because his own lungs were too immature. One more tube had been inserted in his left nostril. His small face was covered in tape. A stocking cap, like an elf's, covered his head.
I stared at him through the plastic box they called an isolette. According to the doctor, it would be his home for several weeks. I couldn't make out his features, not really. I kind of thought his nose looked like Matt's. But his long, delicate fingers were surely from my side of the family. Piano playing fingers, my mom would say. I stared at every inch that wasn't covered in some sort of wrap or tube, looking for identifiable characteristics. Occasionally, his little body would jerk. All I wanted to do was hold him. But the rules didn't permit it. He was too fragile, too sick, and too little. But soon, they promised.
Even now wasn't soon enough. No one understood how much Matthew meant. No one understood how hard the decision was to have a baby. I'd fought getting pregnant for a long time, afraid we'd lose our freedom. And now...
Matt understood, but he had collapsed from exhaustion. I'd sent him home to get some sleep. I glanced around the room. Thirty more isolettes, just like Matthew's, lined the room. Other moms stared into their own plastic boxes. Maybe someone else did understand. Maybe I wasn't alone. We were like a secret club – mothers with sick babies - membership not recommended.
I wanted to breastfeed, but he was too little. The nurse gave me a breast pump, showed me how to use it, and instructed me to save my breast milk in the freezer. It had to be labeled – name, date and time. They would feed it to Matthew through the tube that was going into his nose. It led to his stomach.
Alarms sounded constantly from one machine or another, from one baby or another. It was like an arcade, only instead of winning stuffed animals, the prize was an infant. I tried not to cry. Crying blurred my vision and all I wanted to do was look at my precious baby. I wanted him to know how much his daddy and I loved him. He was our precious gift. I opened a porthole on the isolette, and reached in with a finger. I leaned in close to the opening and, trying to keep my voice very soft so as not to over-stimulate him (as the nurse had warned), I softly sang:
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are gray.
You'll never know dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
* * *
"Maggie? Maggie-honey, can you hear me?"
I was in a winter wonderland. Everything was white, not dull like old snow, but fresh and clean like crystals. Evergreens, with snow-heavy branches, dotted the landscape. Under the sun's rays, everything sparkled - a wall of twinkling glitter, a fortress of ice, a man made of snow.
"Maggie?"
A voice. It said my name. Why? What did it want? I didn't want to open my eyes. My eyes were heavy, heavy like the snow on the branches of the evergreens. I wanted to sleep in my winter wonderland. Let me sleep! Ouch! My stomach hurt. Why did my stomach hurt?
"Maggie-sunshine. It's Matt."
