Short Story Excerpt: The Rolling by Rachael Coughlin 2020
“It’s a big day for you dear! Your first Rolling! You must be so excited!”
The newcomer just nodded in silence.
“You’ll soon see deary!” The round woman left in a flurry of cheer, leaving the newcomer alone and disoriented.
He sat down stiffly on the chair that was unnecessary, for pain and discomfort was nothing he had ever experienced before. He scanned the immense crowd and took note of the various sizes, girths, colors and textures of the people around him. He wondered if they had always looked that way or if conditions beyond his understanding had molded them like putty into a likeness of the experiences they had known. He wondered what he would look like when he attended his next Rolling.
“How you doing champ?” a man bellowed from the seat next to him. The newcomer had been immersed in thought and hadn’t noticed the tall and wrinkled fellow when he sat down. He noticed him now however and stared at the webs of brown skin that lined his neck and face. The old man looked like his skin was bunching up, falling in upon itself. The newcomer wondered if that happened to all people at a certain point.
“Why you look so startled, young man? You look like you seen a ghost!”
At this the old man let out a loud belly laugh that roared through the place. He patted his knees and slapped the shoulder of the newcomer. For a reason unknown to the newcomer, the man was quite pleased with his wit.
“I, uh, I,” he stumbled, “it’s, it’s my first day, my first time at the Rolling. I, uh, I’ve never seen anyone like you. You know, because I’m new.”
“Well, how do you like that?” the old man laughed, “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting a newcomer before! It might be my lucky day! Name’s Gary. How do you do?”
The newcomer felt relief at this welcoming by Gary and stuck out his hand to shake the weathered hand of his new friend.
“Boy, I can barely remember my first time. Seems like so long ago. I thought you had that glow about ya. A first timer always has a little bit of the glow left on ‘em.” Gary looked over the newcomer with curiosity and something like mixed envy and pity before leaning back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing loudly.
“You never did tell me yer name, young fella.”
“Oh, I did pick one. It’s, uh, it’s Frank. One of the instructors said that she knew a guy once that was the most beautiful singer she ever heard. She said his name was Frank and I thought it sounded all right.”
“Ah, you picked a good one kid. Of course, that all gets changed around once you’ve rolled and you have your assignment. You only get to keep that name around here, but it’s a good one kid.”
The pair fell into a silence for a few moments as Gary watched a small girl perch herself on the chair at the end of their row. She wore a light blue dress with matching summer sandals and carried a small doll. She busied herself fixing the doll’s stringy hair and humming a soft tune. Gary sighed again. Turning to Frank he said,
“I still can’t figure out why the little ones have to do this. It’s not right. It’s not fair. Seen too many little ones have to do this.”
Frank couldn’t understand why it wasn’t fair for the little ones because he had no concept of fair as of yet, but he could tell by the way that Gary sighed that he would find out once he began his assignment. He had so many questions. He had so many questions during Instruction too but the instructors always just answered with a gentle, “you’ll see,” or “best not to worry about that yet dear.” There were hundreds of newcomers trained all at once all the time but his small group of newcomers consisted of about twenty. They got to know each other pretty well. He had no concept of the time it took to receive the instruction. It was all he had done since the beginning, so there was no other time to compare it to. And here he was on this day. A day like any other for the workers in the place. Every day a new Rolling, every day new assignments. This would be his first Rolling though, and he couldn’t help but try to ask his new friend Gary for some advice.
“So, does everyone look different when they are done with assignment?” He asked.
“Oh yea. You come back here looking like you did at the end of your last assignment. I had the good fortune of having a long one the last time, so that’s what these here wrinkles are all about, but I’ve looked all sorts of different ways. You newcomers always look pretty shiny and new and you have that glow about you. Male or female is a flip of the coin for the first go round, so looks like you got male for this one. Heck, I kind of remember a little and I think I may have even gone as a female at my first rolling.”
Frank considered this revelation from Gary, but was struck by the thought that maybe Gary had done this more times than he could remember. He asked, “How many Rollings have you gone to Gary?”
Gary laughed a little again and smiled wide before answering, “Not quite sure. Lots of ‘em. I guess I haven’t quite learned my lessons yet. Now don’t look at me that way Frank. You don’t know yet. They’ve got lots of good stuff down there Frank. Lots of fun stuff. You’ll see what I mean kid.”
Gary gave Frank a quick wink before he settled back into his chair and chuckled softly. He shook his head back and forth mumbling, “shoot, must not have learned my lessons yet.”
Frank did not understand about the lessons or why his friend would have to do so many Rollings. The Instructors told his group of newcomers that you do as many Rollings as it takes to make you understand. They wouldn’t say what it was that you had to understand, but Frank was struck that it could take much longer than he thought. The seats began to fill up around the two men. Frank watched with fascination as one after another a different looking person sat down to wait for the Rolling to begin. A very thin woman with soft brown hair and tanned skin sat directly in front of Frank. He had the faint feeling that he liked the way this woman looked, though he had no idea why he should. She leaned into her chair and her bronzed shoulders reflected the light from around the place. She wore a long, thin dress with equally thin straps that barely stayed over the perfect, sloping shoulders. Frank inhaled and could smell a sweet fragrance coming from the woman. He breathed deeply and smiled. Something made him want to touch the woman. He lifted his hand to her hair and stroked softly. He had no idea what compelled him to do this.
The woman turned swiftly around and caught his hand in her own. “What are you doing?” she asked with an accusation in her tone.
“I, uh, I don’t know. I just wanted to, uh, to touch you,” mumbled Frank.
“Well don’t touch me. I’m just sitting here minding my business waiting for this show to get on the road. Gotta do it all again. Another assignment. You know, sometimes I wish you didn’t get all of your memory back every time you get back from an assignment! I don’t want to remember it all! And then you grab my hair like one of those crazy assholes that grabbed me and did all of those awful…”
“Hang on there a minute sweetheart,” Gary burst in, “take it easy on the kid will ya? He’s a newcomer. He doesn’t know anything about all of that stuff. Give em a break. He’s sorry. He won’t bother you anymore.”
The woman softened and realized her mistake. She turned more in her chair, extended her hand to shake Frank’s and then Gary’s and laughed, “A newcomer huh? Well, I guess someone’s got it worse than me around here. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Linda.”
Gary groaned at Linda’s remarks to Frank, shifted in his seat and crossed his arms once again.
Frank leaned towards Linda, intoxicated by her smell and asked with an innocence she would pounce on, “What do you mean that I have it worse?”
She was waiting for the question and felt pleased that she had elicited the desired response from the newcomer.
“I mean, my dear boy that you are just getting started and from experience, you’ll be at this game for a while. You don’t remember any of it while you are in the middle of each assignment kiddo. You’re down there doing your thing, worrying about the small crap and arguing with your neighbors. Oh, those are the other people that live near you,” Linda explained. She had noticed his eyebrows rise with question when she mentioned neighbors. “You’re just doing all the little things you have to do to get by or you’re living in luxury and not really happy anyway or you’re living in a little cardboard box because no one really gives a shit down there. It depends. Anyway, you do all those things and you have no idea about what really goes on in this place, but everyone argues about what goes on up here all the goddamn time and then you get back here after an assignment and BAM!” She punched her arms into the air for effect, “you remember all of it! You remember every assignment, every time, every little moment of each one and you’re supposed to piece ’em together somehow, supposed to make sense out of it all somehow. I tell you what kid; it’s a sham if you ask me. And here I am again, waiting for another ride on the mortal express. I wouldn’t trade places with you for anything. You have a long time yet before your Rolling days are up.”
With that Linda sauntered away keenly aware that her behind and its hypnotic swaying motion left Frank transfixed.
“Ah don’t listen to her champ,” Gary chimed in. “She doesn’t know. There’s a lot of crap down there, sure enough, but there’s some real good stuff too. I’ve heard that it takes some folks only a couple of assignments until they understand. It could go that way for you too kid. You never know.”
Frank was confused. “What am I supposed to understand Gary? What am I supposed to do?”
“Beats me kid. As you can see, I haven’t figured it out yet either.”
The two sat silent again for some time each lost in his own thoughts while the busy place filled with people and the workers swept in to begin the ceremony.
**
“Rolling will commence shortly. Please take a seat,” A voice boomed from all corners of the place.
“We’ll be getting on shortly I imagine now.” Gary informed Frank. “It was nice to have met you. You do your best. Maybe I’ll see you back around these parts again someday. Then again, kiddo, I hope not!”
Frank smiled weakly at his new friend. He watched as a long table was brought before the massive crowd. Hundreds of workers took their seat behind the table. They carried papers and pencils, clipboards and stamps and each of them also carried two small golden dice.
“You will be summoned to the table in order of experience,” the voice boomed over the crowd. “Group One, please step forward.”
Gary jumped to his feet and tipped the front of his broad brimmed hat to Frank, “That’ll be me kiddo. Good luck to ya.” With that Gary was gone, swept into the crowd of group ones, knowing what was in store for him and waiting for a new assignment.
Frank felt suddenly alone and irritated that he would have to wait such a long time. Both of those feelings were knew to him and he was somewhat in awe of what was taking place within.
***
In progress fiction: The Rebuilders by Rachael Coughlin 2020
They feed us some bull shit about an alien invasion, a decimation of the human species, a mass hideout in underground bunkers and a heroic return to life as we knew it several generations later by the triumphant survivors. They teach it to us in school, the programming reminds us of it and the old folks casually wind it into their “of days gone by” speeches. It’s what we are told to believe, it’s what most do choose to believe and it is the history that was written so humanity could move on with a story that covered up the shitty truth. But I don’t buy it for a second. I may nod my head and bat my eyes and smile with just enough of a rosy blush in my cheeks so that no one knows that I don’t buy it, but don’t let me fool you. I don’t know the truth, but I know what isn’t the truth. That bull shit story isn’t the truth. Somehow invasion and decimation is nicer than the truth and so that’s what stuck. You want my honest opinion? I think the whole crappy race of humans killed each other off. Some kind of elimination of the weakest, continuation of the superior nonsense that finally took. I can’t say for sure. There are some books. Some books survived the invasion or killing off or whatever the hell happened. The books tell about all the messed up things that humans did to each other from the beginning. Rebuilder M78 started bringing them to our sessions. He could have been sent out for doing so, but he knew he could trust me. He knew that under my coy smile and sensual gaze there was someone like him waiting to get out. He saw through my bullshit act. And I love him for it.
L-O-V-E. The word can get someone like me in a lot of trouble. I guess, to be honest, it already has. M78 and I have wound ourselves a nice little web of trouble. I don’t mind though. It’s time to call things what they are. They say I am a Rebuilder. They say I am “The Hope of Humanity.” I know what I am. It’s in all the old books; the bootleg books that 78 brings to me. We read them together. Lucky for us, they let us learn to read. Probably just so we could read all the posters reminding us how we are the hope and all, but anyway, we can read and from this, we figured out what our titles truly are. We may be the ones rebuilding the population one baby at a time. We may be the ones rebuilding the numbers of the human race, but there is only one name for who we truly are. We are the slaves. We are the slaves that make the babies that get groomed by this wicked new world.
“Rebuilder F81, report to Counseling,” The loud speaker boomed through the silent hallway. The announcements bounced off the narrow walls, flooding under the doorways so as not to go unheeded.
F81 jumped from her bunk, shuffled her feet into the grey slippers resting on the floor and sauntered down the hallway to the Counseling office. She leaned against the door as she entered, twirling her auburn hair around her finger and smiling sideways at the counselor before taking a seat in the plush, grey chair in front of the desk. Her smile rested on her lips and she stared with an unblinking gaze at the strong woman before her. The counselor leaned forward, passed a pencil from one hand to the next and intermittently paused to rub the pencil between her palms before clearing her throat to begin.
“F81, you know why you’ve been called in I presume?”
“Haven’t the foggiest Counselor A90. Haven’t the foggiest. Please, do tell,” F81 retorted. She reclined back in the chair pleased with her subtle defiance. Happy to play this little game. A90 rested back as well now and smoothed the sides of her graying bunned hair. She was happy to play along as well, so long as there came an end to the charade.
“I think it comes as no surprise F81, that your progress is under evaluation. You have not produced a viable pregnancy in more than six months despite your strong previous record. You and you’re current partner were selected very carefully and by all medical accounts you should be producing. The aim of this meeting is to clarify that procedure is being followed. Have you followed procedure during each of your sessions F81?”
“To the letter ma’am. To the letter. The sessions have been very agreeable to both M78 and I. We are both at a loss for what is missing. I’m sure we will produce soon.”
“You will have two more months to produce. During that time we will up your sessions during your fertile range. There will be 14 sessions. If there is no pregnancy at the end of the two months my dear, we will have no other choice but to change your partner. Now, please do make sure you are following procedure. You may leave a sample before you leave. Thank you. That will be all.”
***
Poetry: Crumpled Paper Towel by Rachael Coughlin 2021
Crumpled Paper Towel
I wasn’t prepared for the tears on my face –
And had no tissues with me.
It was the rough
paper towels
From my classroom dispenser
That dried my cheeks and scratched my eyes.
Joyfully, I wiped tears with sandpaper
As needed –
While I watched a pop star
in a fluffy red dress,
with a gold dove on her chest, sing the nation’s song.
As a new leader was sworn in; a woman
With brown skin, of note because
History changed twice in one day
Because SHE stood proud in her own SKIN
As the glass rained down around her.
When a strong poet laureate graced us,
Enchanted us, engaged us with her prose;
A speech she wrote
with youthful hands
and an old soul.
Such a day as this- I am grateful, tearful, joyful, proud –
As evidenced by the crumpled paper towel in my hands,
Worked into a rag
That caught my unprepared emotion.
***
Poetry: Birth by Rachael Coughlin 2018
Stitched tight
Where you staged your first fight
Outed by a delicate blade
Cut deep, pulled from beneath
Your wail tore right through me.
My maiden form – a worry no more
You were pulled from above by a woman in gloves
And what first sight as you warmed to the world
Could your angel eyes conceive?
Dancing swirls-
Fluorescent- bulbed shadows
Blurry eyed, yet so alive
Plungers scraped delicate tissue-
Fragile route from mouth to stomach-
First lesson in the human condition-
First moment of soul tied to flesh-
A tiny scar below the waist
Reminds of the salty taste
Of ready sacrifice
***
Poetry: The Known Undone by Rachael Coughlin 2018
At first breath, a piercing shriek
a plunge of air in virgin lungs
my half-cocked smile of disbelief
a shift, a change, the known undone.
The new world settled at your feet
as angels pinched your cherub cheeks
to wake you – implore your heart to beat
for all that you will ever seek.
And when you howled against the dawn
a yell from somewhere deep
instinct with its arrow drawn –
I nursed you back to sleep.
Upon my chest new warmth spread
in and out, like not before
softness of your gentle breath –
I do not know me anymore.
***
Poetry: Away From Somewhere by Rachael Coughlin 2020
You left somewhere quickly, with her
I could see your mother arms tired, but not failing
Without a jacket you plunged
Into the winter air,
Running away from somewhere
The air was smoke around your nose and mouth
You held her tight and close
She with unsocked toes and bare arms
She in princess pajamas and no coat
You, in shorts and no sleeves too
You with worried feet
Shifting her weight from one hip to the other
Leaning into the morning
Looking over your shoulder
You ran with her from somewhere
The red light paused me
Long enough to see you
But I didn’t know how to see you
From inside the warm car
My eyes rested with you
My heart beat faster for you
My mind worked on a plan to save you
Green light
Cars behind me pushed mine forward and
I left you there in the cold
Alone in a crowd, you and her
Frozen in motion
Running away from somewhere.
***
Poetry: Listen Child by Rachael Coughlin 2016
Sometimes bad things happen and no one really knows why.
Sometimes bad things happen that really make us cry.
Sometimes bad things happen on the other side of the Earth.
Sometimes bad things happen to make us realize what we’re worth.
BUT-
Sometimes good things happen and no one really knows why.
Sometimes good things happen that really make us cry.
Sometimes good things happen on the other side of the Earth.
Sometimes good things happen to make us realize what we’re worth.
***
Editorial: No Holocaust by Rachael Coughlin 2020
Well, the Holocaust comparisons have come rolling out. Several to be sure. Americans among us are actually likening our experiences with stay at home orders to the government imposed genocide of groups of people. I feel at this point, arguing with someone that believes this to be true is futile as they now feel so martyred in their convictions, they can’t come up for air to see how flawed and insulting their reasoning is. But, for those of you that know me well, sometimes when I have something to say, perhaps even for my own self indulgence as a way to wade through issues and process the news, I don’t have a problem saying what I feel needs to be said. I welcome conversation. I’m old enough now to know that arguing points back and forth usually does little to advance anyone’s mindset. That in mind, my thoughts are here. A diary of sorts to help myself navigate the sometimes overwhelming feelings many of us are going through on a daily basis right now.
I’m reading statements where people believe that following Covid-19 orders blindly is similar to what victims of the holocaust went through. I couldn’t disagree more with the comparison or be more discouraged that anyone would believe this. And while those supporting these claims believe they are doing so because they care about people losing their jobs or the crashing economy or because human welfare is on the line, I respectfully call bullshit. We as a nation have sat idly by as families are torn apart, discriminated against and made to feel inferior because of class or race. We as a nation continuously praise veterans, yet look down our nose at them once they return home and struggle with mental illness, joblessness and homelessness. We as a nation covet material possessions and capitalistic values above all else while at the same time declaring ourselves a Christian country. We as a nation value “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” even when some people will never own a pair of boots. We are hectic routine followers, show offs and overly prideful. We care about each other as well, to be sure, but the hypocrisy runs deep with us. As a tangent, the cry for federal rule instead of local control is in stark contrast to the usual battle cry of too much federal control and the desire for state rights and community ordinances. The political ping pong match is enough to make one’s head spin and none of us really know what side we are on anymore. It all depends on who is sitting in power I suppose. As usual. That’s standard human history stuff too.
But back to the Holocaust and the comparison that has me thinking so much this morning: the victims of the Holocaust endured a systematic, several year decimation. They were not unaware of what was happening to them and to proclaim that they were sitting ducks, blindly following orders is severely undervaluing the integrity of the humans that went through this time of history. Yes, stay at home orders for the groups identified by the Nazis were in effect. People were moved against their will by heavily armed police force. People were forced onto transit. People were forced. With heavy weaponry and live threats against themselves and their family members. The terror was real and the people knew they were in danger. They knew because the government pushed out propaganda against Jewish people, Gypsie populations, homosexuals, the mentally and physically disabled and enemies of the state. These groups of people did not go blindly into the night. They ran. They hid. They tried to get away. They made split second decisions about survival when it came to getting on a train or leaving their house. They made a decision to survive minute by minute while officers held guns to their or their children’s heads. They did not listen and obey for no cause. They succumbed to a hatred that I hope the world never knows again.
Their plight is not ours to compare to now. Not going to the beach is not the same. Not going to work is not the same. We are not being willfully repressed by scientists and pandemic experts. We are being saved. At great cost to some among us, I agree. Many among us will struggle financially for the foreseeable future. That is where I hope we become a better nation. Where we stop looking down our nose at someone that is struggling. Where we give what we can and take only what we need. Our governors are not Nazis, and they don’t want you dead. They want you alive and without a very terrible virus that we are yet to know the long term effects of. You don’t get to plead second holocaust and be taken seriously with that right now.
Ok, I’m starting to learn when I’ve stood on my soap box for too long. Take it or leave it. Take me or leave me for that matter, but stay strong of heart and mind and please be careful out there. And my sincerest admiration and respect to the millions of people that lost their lives during the Holocaust and the families that came after them that truly know their history.
***
Prose: Happy New Year by Rachael Coughlin 2021
Through all of this, the lesson has consistently shown itself to be human connection. For every horrible moment of 2020, in contrast, we witnessed heroes wearing the clothes and lives of ordinary people, showing up and showing humanity. In 2020, we overcame so much when we truly saw each other. We know that our healthcare workers acted akin to superheroes and they are back at it again now. Men, women and children of every demographic, race, nationality, have stood up and shown up for what they believe in. Families have supported one another. College students went shopping for the elderly. Celebrities created videos highlighting good news. Kids raised money for those less fortunate than themselves. In every corner of this country, good people did good deeds. The work isn’t done and we are still up against it as 2021 rolls in, but haven’t we shown what we are made of? Is that not a gift?
Humanity wants to win, and maybe it just will, if we let it. Persist in the good friends. I’m rooting for us. Happy New Year!
***
Comedy Writing: Wearing a Mask While Teaching: The Absolute Worst and Totally the Best List: by Rachael Coughlin 2021
The Absolute Worst:
- Sneezing in the mask: Spray everywhere, but contained at the same time. All over your face. Do you take the mask off and wipe yourself down? Do you ingest the little bits of mucus as you play it off like no big deal?
- Coffee breath: That second cup of coffee right before class sounded like a great idea. Now you’re trapped with your own coffee breath for hours and you only have yourself to blame.
- Maskne: You thought puberty and the acne that came along with it was a thing of the past. Introducing “Maskne”! After several hours trapped inside that moist, heat conducting mask, your cheeks and chin will be ripe for a pimple patch.
- Gasping for air: You just gave the same set of directions for the twelfth time. No big deal. You are used to that. But add the mask and suddenly you’re gasping for air as you explain yet again how to open Google Classroom.
- Getting thirsty: Oh, you’ve worked up quite a thirst now with all of that direction giving, coffee breath and hot air, haven’t you? Do you pull the mask up or down? To the side? Just make sure to move half way under your desk to avoid close contact with a student. Slip the mask up, down or around and inhale some water at lightning speed before pulling it back over your nose and mouth.
Totally the Best:
- Say whatever you want. Mouthing obscenities. Inaudibly of course. The students, parents, administrators have no idea what awfully delightful awful things you are mouthing under that mask.
- RBF is no BFD anymore. “You’ll seem more approachable if you smile a little more.” Ha! Not anymore suckers! No more mandatory smiling!
- Chewing gum. See coffee breath from above. Also, most schools like teachers to model “the rules” and frown upon us chewing gum. What happens behind the mask, stays behind the mask though.
- Saving money on make-up. Only half the face needs attention. At least $30 a year saved on lipstick.
- Super hero vibes! Everyone says it. You already know it’s true. Teachers are everyday superheroes to their students. The mask just adds to the lore.
***
Comedy Writing: This Could Have Been An Email by Rachael Coughlin 2021
Welcome to the meeting –
We get the standard greeting-
Our principal has called us for a very special reason –
Obviously there must have been some rebellious acts of treason –
In the staff lounge we all sit –
Shoulder to shoulder, we barely fit –
Drinking coffee that has turned stale-
I bet this could have been an email –
Some pleasantries to start things up –
How’s your day, how’s it going, need to “empty your cup”? –
Here’s the agenda and here’s the plan –
We need to get on the same page, says the man –
We’re not sure in what way we made the fail –
But now we’re all thinking – this could have been an email –
Costs are rising up, copy paper costs a lot –
Now it becomes so clear, useful this meeting will be not –
Your copy privileges will now be limited –
Hundreds of copies will be prohibited –
Paper doesn’t grow on trees –
Oh, wait it does, but not without large fees –
Is there anything else this hour meeting could entail? –
Nope, not really – this could have been an email –
Now do you understand the budgetary restraints? –
Our eyes are glazed over, we hold in our complaints –
If we dare speak out the truth, this meeting will go even longer –
And let’s just face it, none of us are getting any younger –
But, as the clock ticks forward we endure and prevail –
And we all know, this should have been an email.
***
Prose: When I’m Sixty-Four (Not the Beatles Song) by Rachael Coughlin 2018
We were the best parents before we had kids. We knew just what we’d do, what we would tell you, how we would discipline you if you threw a fit in a restaurant, just how we’d gently coax you into becoming well behaved model children that other parents would marvel and envy about. We envisioned our parenting awesomeness and how we’d skillfully place one hand on our hip, level a knowing look at you and you would giggle and retreat from whatever nonsense you had gotten yourself into before going back to being the most amazing children that ever lived. Before you joined us in our parenting journey, your father and I would sip our evening cocktails while preparing a meal together. Background music and conversation wafted with the smells of that evening’s culinary creation and we would talk about how great we would be as parents. How hard could it be? Give the kids rules, we thought. Tell them no. Teach them right from wrong. We totally could do this thing.
And then, after we decided how great we would be, it turned out it wasn’t really all that easy to make a baby in the first place, even if you were totally sure that you would be the best parent ever and even if you really, really wanted to have a baby. We knew what to do and we did it often. We wrote notes on the calendar and checked my temperature and tried to figure out the mysterious rhythm of my fertile days. It was scientific. It was a bit weird at times. It was also heartbreaking after six months of none of it working out just like we planned. That was our first lesson in: “you know nothing and you can’t plan this shit out.”
After the first of you finally figured out how to grab hold and stay on board, the pregnancy progressed as expected with bouts of nausea, a severe case of cankles, a strong desire for salt and lemonade and a strong aversion to physical touch. I was huge. Both times actually. Both of you made me huge and round and puffy and giant. And doughy and marshmallow like. I did not have cute pregnancies. It was more like I was minding my own business and then all of a sudden another me came along and ate former me and everything else that wasn’t stapled down.
And, apparently I hadn’t learned my lesson about trying to plan shit out because I imagined my birth plan and the way I would heroically push you into this world with solid legs hiked high up to my ears and your dad’s hand squeezed tightly in my own, while beads of sweat pooled on my strained brow. I imagined me, red faced and spent, digging deep, breathing through the pain, giving one last push and hurling you forth from my loins as nature god-damned intended. That is not how it went. The first of you, dragged my tired ass through a thirty six hour birthing experience that began with drugs and ended with a surgeon pulling you out of an incision in my abdomen. We worked on it, but together we just couldn’t do it the old fashioned way and then we got cute, matching infections and you had to be sliced out. Almost two years later, when the second of you wanted to leave the womb, your dad and I checked into the hospital and a couple hours later you were sliced out too. Both times I smelled my flesh burning and both times I had an irrational fear of falling off the table while I couldn’t use my legs.
The next five years are a blur.
But here we are. Five years later and you guys are not the fitful, screaming, poop hurling babies you once were. You are young people in this big world full of ideas and questions and stories and questions. So many questions. And now, firm in our “we don’t know shit” parenting style, your dad and I are about as proud as we can be. We are not the best parents that we thought we would be. You aren’t the best kids either if we are being honest, but you are our kids and we love the ever living guts out of you. I mean, we loved you before we ever saw you or met you and I am still at a loss for how it is possible to love someone so much that you’ve yet to meet, but that’s what you guys did to us. And maybe you notice it, or maybe you don’t, but your dad and I do that thing that parents do where one sees you doing something and then signals to the other to look and see what you are doing in that moment because whatever it is, it is so damn cute, or sweet, or awful that the one parent can’t let the other one not witness it too. Your dad and I often catch each other’s eye from across the room and smile at one another. You guys do that. You bring a joy to the everyday scuffle that is our home and lives.
The other night, after dinner was over and maybe you had been excused or maybe it was one of those nights when you leaned back slowly and slipped off your chair and out of eyesight and kind of just lurked off to your bedroom, your dad and I sat talking. I was across the table from him. It was hot, like really hot and I had my hair pulled up in an attempt at the messy bun thing, but probably more like a hot mess bun and probably already in my pajamas: the usual combination of your dad’s old boxer shorts and a tank top with a stretched out sports bra underneath. The point is, I wasn’t dressing to impress at the moment. We started on one of those odd married couple conversations that start somewhere else and end with a discussion about what the other one will do if the one dies suddenly or tragically. Really morbid shit that pops up once in a while. I was telling your dad that if anything ever happened to me, I’d want him to be happy and if that meant finding someone else to be married to, I would want that for him. He paused, then and he looked up at me. And he said maybe the best thing anyone has ever said to me in my life. He said, “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d get married again. I mean, I don’t think it could be any better than this.” And he was totally serious. He wasn’t even making one of our weird, couple that’s been married for a long time kind of snarky jokes or anything. He was dead serious. Fucking swoon right!? My face lit up I’m sure. I couldn’t even help the cheesy smile that gave away my joy immediately. Sitting there in five year old pajamas, with sweaty armpits and hair falling all over the place, I felt like the bell of the freaking ball. Here’s this man, that I love, that has seen me at my worst, that has watched his children be cut out of me, that has cried with me over money and mortgage payments and diaper rash and emergency room visits. That checked my stitches in the shower for me when my postpartum belly was too floppy for me to see beyond, that held my hair when I puked, that cradled me in his arms even when I had just hours before called him names and flung hurtful insults at him. And he, who I had also seen at his worst, when I stood by him when he quit smoking and entered a brief period of insanity, when he had curled on the floor in the fetal position with agony over passing kidney stones, when he had left the house through the backdoor after a fight and who I had held in his lowest moments of uncertainty as well; he believed it couldn’t get any better than what we have. Despite all of those things, those bad days and moments, the trying times and poor decisions, he wants exactly what we have and nothing else. And so do I. We are lucky in love, but I want you to know, we also work hard on it. We know the “we” that started the “us” that is our family is really, really important.
You will be my age when I’m sixty four. You will be walking around who knows where, doing who knows what, living in your mid thirty year old skin, old enough to have seen slices of history, felt love and heartbreak, seen the good and bad of this world, yet young enough to still have no idea, no clue to what the future holds. Young enough to still be living each day, doing your best, earning the money you can to support your life and maybe the life of a family. I hope you’ll have the love I have. I hope whomever your partner is when you are the age I am now, that they love, honor and respect you as your dad and I love, honor and respect each other. I hope we gift you that legacy. When I’m sixty-four, you will be the age I am right now. I hope for you travel and experience and long nights walking drunk down cobblestone alleys with your best friends, relishing the opportunity to live. I wish for you mistakes and failure and hardship, so when you get what you want, you know you’ve earned it and you know how to appreciate it. I wish for you work that makes you happy and brings you peace and purpose; more than something that just keeps your hands busy. I wish for you a world to live in that is tolerant and caring, but I know that that is a tall order. I wish for you.
And when I’m sixty four, I will still wish for you. If I’ve done my job right at all, you won’t need me anymore. You won’t need me to fill your cup with water, or to help you brush your teeth. You won’t need me to sing you a song before bed or wipe your ass. You won’t need me to cut your quesadilla into eighteen pieces or play Lego ninjas with you. You won’t need me to drive you here, there and everywhere, or settle your brotherly feuds. You may have your own people that need you to do all of those things. And I hope for you to live in those moments and know that you won’t always be needed either. And that maybe being needed is less a drudgery of parenthood and more a blessing that lasts for only a small window of time. I’ll try to remind me and your dad about that too because I think I may blink and be sixty four. I think I’ll be there before I know it and my babies that turned to crawling up the wall toddlers, who turned into inquisitive children who will turn into independent teenagers, will turn into good men that won’t need their mom and dad so much. But I hope that even if you don’t need us, you’ll want to be around us and you’ll know that so much of what your dad and I are proud of in this life, our greatest accomplishment is the two of you.
Rachael Coughlin 