Korinthia Eloise Ainslee - Capitol [Done]

Four white walls, sterile, pristine, enclosing a space that while bright and airy gave the claustrophobic impression it might cave in on the clusters of women who huddled about in the green plastic chairs available. No one made eye contact, no one entertained the normal sort of small talk that eases tension between strangers tossed together in the limbo of a waiting room. It was a stifled and humiliating hush that echoed in everyone’s ears, while minds whirled with a cacophony of desperation and anxiety so loud it threatened to crash like a tidal wave and drag them all under…deep beneath the surface of whatever life they were treading water to maintain…far beyond rescue or redemption.

“Anne Smith,” the receptionist called out the next name from her sign in list with a jaded voice. It was obviously a fake name, but then, what woman who found herself washed up in a government funded pregnancy clinic would care to give out a real one? Certainly not the young woman who rose with nervous hesitancy to answer. She stood out like a sore thumb amidst the refuse of society, these broken, working women who sat in a repetition of ritual attendance. This girl was young, but not nearly so young as many who passed through the clinic doors looking for help, some escape from the seemingly hopeless predicament that further imprisoned them. ‘Anne Smith’ was not the same.

Her sleekly groomed hair held the remnants of styled beauty, golden highlights tastefully woven between strands of natural caramel and chestnut. The face framed beneath was heart-shaped, delicate and accented with the skillful touch of a makeup brush. Just enough, not like many of the others who sat watching her, their eyes set in bruised pits of blue and purple paint, lashes like barbed wire strands of heavily applied mascara. A few even sported bizarre feathers or fur, grafted into their own features to lend a desperately desired hint of the exotic…whatever kept the Johns coming back for more. The muted contrast of honey skin, healthy in its glow, a trace of rosy blush, the softness of cocoa brown eyes that bore only an intimate kiss of shadow… the very minimalistic style she had likely taken to blend in, only made the girl stand out with painful clarity.

She had class, where these women had hunger, and their ravenous eyes followed each uncertain step that drew her closer to the front desk, with its world-weary gatekeeper. The low-heeled gray velvet pumps clicked precisely, counting out each step in the crisp tone of high-quality leather against cheap linoleum. A swish of pampered legs in silk stockings, and the flutter of a dress chosen for its modest simplicity, but made of choice fabric that would swallow a week of street corner business to pay for. She was the ivory-throated lily to their crimson-dyed carnations. Money, opportunity, status…it bled from every pore in her body.

And yet…the loosely belted dress flattened against her belly, and the first signs of its swollen curvature sent each voyeur back into her seat with a smug look. Serves her right…

“I’m so, so sorry Mama…I should have told you…I should have come to you and Daddy. I was just—“ The words stuck in my mouth, burning along the back of my throat like the first taste of liquor I snuck from the brandy snifter when I was ten. “I was ashamed.” The confession bubbled its way up from my chest, carried on a flood of tears and the realization of just how low my life had fallen.

I was Korinthia Eloise Ainslee. I loved cream teas, dresses with lace, earrings that glittered like captured stars. I was the golden child with all of the comforts in life that my parents’ money could provide. I had no concerns to cloud my days, no great heartaches to heave sighs about. I was laughter and flirtation and irrepressible good spirits; I was idle afternoons spent with any and every pastime our house staff could conjure for me. I had my Daddy wrapped around my little finger, and my mother’s proud smiles followed everything I did. Life is so easy when your star is on the rise.

“Baby, it’s ok…I promise, I’m going to make this ok for you.” Mama’s hands were stroking my cheeks like she did when I was little, and just like those days; I knew she was going to make all of my troubles disappear.

I woke to white walls again; their blank canvas painted with accusing eyes, glaring down at me…those eyes knew everything I had just done. My hands creep down to cover my belly, instinctually reaching for the roundness that housed my baby. I felt my fingers skid across nothing but the smooth concavity that was alien and foreign…and wrong. I was empty, split open and robbed, and like a grave that has given up its treasures, I’m barren and rotting from the inside out. Filled with nothing but dying breath.

My mouth opens wide, searching for air that should rightfully fill my lungs, but all that emptiness where a baby should have been is sucking the life from me.

I scream.

My cries bounce back from those perfect, snow-white walls. A mocking din of shame and loss sent to echo in my ears and remind me, never let me forget. The crimson tide took my baby, twisting in my stomach like a fist to tear it loose, washing it away from my grasp on a wave of blood…so much blood that had stained the sheets, my hands, running over the doctor’s wrists as he tried to set it free. How would I ever be clean again?

Mama’s face hovers close, anxious, promising me again and again that she will make it all go away…make everything go away. Even my baby. I try to tell her that I’ve changed my mind, that I want them to put my baby back inside my stomach where it belongs, but then I’m floating on a haze of shock and morphling. Lost to the world.

My life changed so much and not at all. I rattled around our huge home like a single marble in a jar. I floated like a drowned corpse on the waves of a sea, tossed without ability to stop or steer my course. There were parties, dresses, staff devoted to my happiness. I smiled, but it felt stretched and vacant, no energy inside to fill out the expression. I was drifting through my life with no purpose and my eyes half shut, I let the world pass me by while I dreamed…nightmares, day dreams that shouldn’t grace the light of day. Shame that I tried to stuff away from any discovery. I tried, I really did, to be the golden girl again, but that skin fit too loose. I couldn’t stomach my life anymore, this purposeless, useless person I’d contented myself with.

In the light of one piercing morning, when the sweat of my shadows still lay damply on my skin, I realized if I was to be anything more than this husk of a girl, I needed to live for more than myself. I needed a reason to get out of bed, brush my hair, wear clothes from my closet rather than the floor, and practice a smile that didn’t scream my guilt to the world. I knew what I wanted…to stand beside the next girl who lay on that metallic altar and groped blindly at an empty belly.

At least she would have one voice to say, “No, it won’t be ok…but somehow you’ll get through it.”