Circle in the Sand (8 page)

Connected in the circle of friendship we repeat the mantra we first said fifteen years
ago.

Hand and hand we take a stand

Here and now we pledge this vow

Ever faithful, ever wise

Choosing friendship over guys

We say it loud

Accept it proud

If one of us should choose to pass

The other two can kick her ass

Just after my youngest, Ben, was born, we decided to have a small party to introduce
him to the world. Small would be relative in this case because Eric’s side of the
family is huge. When our other two children were born, it was a non-stop onslaught
of visits from tios and tias, hermanas and hermanos. The revolving door was too much,
so we thought having everyone over at once would be easier. I doubt the attendant
in the waiting room of the Rady Children’s Hospital ER would agree.

That morning, Ned and Eric’s mother and sister came over to help set up for the party.
James was two and Sophie was five. From the moment Ben was born, she wanted to be
a little mother and take care of him. She kept a close vigil next to his bassinet,
reporting any sounds or movement. “He just spit up,” she said running over to me.
I checked on him, but since he was still asleep, I left him. James had been screaming
to get out of his booster seat to see what everyone was doing. Ned and Eric’s sister,
Andrea, had gone to the store to get ice. Eric was out moving our cars down the street
to make room for everyone. Eric’s mother, Rosa, was preparing carne asada in the kitchen.
But I didn’t want James running around, so I spread some M&Ms in front of him on the
table. I know, chocolate in the morning, but desperate measures. Guests would soon
be arriving, and we weren’t ready.

“He spit up again, Mommy,” Sophie reported running from the living room to the kitchen.
“This one is big.”

“Watch James for me, please, Rosa,” I said as I followed Sophie back to the living
room. She was right, this one was big and his cheek had creamy white liquid all over
it. “Okay, good job, sweetie. Now will you run to the linen closet and get me a new
sheet? You know the ones, right?”

“Duh, Mommy. I can change it too. You clean up, Benny.”

I couldn’t help but smile watching her walk away so confident and determined.

It took less than five minutes to change the sheet and lay Ben back down. Then, I
heard Rosa’s frantic shouts. Later, between sobs, she would tell me about the pot
on the stove that was filled up too high. And how she didn’t see or even hear James
climb out of his booster seat when she raced to get towels to clean up the mess before
the liquid seeped into the crack between the stove and counter.

James had gone into the backyard, excited to see the decorations. Some tiki torches
filled with citronella oil were resting across a brick flower bed. He must have tried
to pick one up to check it out. By the time Rosa ran after him, he was already bawling
and choking. Somehow the oil spilled onto his face and chest.

When I entered the backyard, Rosa was holding James; his face damp and a wet spot
formed a circle on the front of his shirt. My heart clenched and my gut twisted. I
had no idea how bad it was, but I knew his little two-year-old body wasn’t strong
enough to withstand ingesting any kind of chemicals. For a brief moment, fear paralyzed
me, and I tried to will time to go in reverse like Superman flying backward around
the earth. Then I whipped into crisis mode. I called 911 while Rosa stripped off James’s
shirt and wiped him down. The operator told me to get him to the ER right away just
to be safe, so I snatched him from Rosa’s arms, asked her to stay with Sophie and
Ben, and ran out the front door, my heart beating inside my head. I felt so completely
alone and frightened. I needed to find Eric and scanned the street, spotting him next
door talking to our neighbor. When our eyes met, he sensed the panic in me and came
running over. Our beautiful, joyous day with the perfect weather had turned into something
so dark that it would haunt me for the rest of my life.

The three of us hopped in the car—me in the back with James—and Eric drove, racing
as fast as he could without putting our child in even more danger. The most incredible
part of that whole nightmare was the hospital staff who was ready and waiting when
we arrived. They immediately got James to a room and worked on him as if he was a
mini race car. Seeing my child with wires hooked up to him and a tube up his nose
is something I can never erase from my memory and something I pray I’ll never see
again.

James was put under to keep him calm and cooperative and to make sure he didn’t vomit
the medicine they gave him. The main thing was getting his lungs clear, and we prayed
before each chest x-ray that came back.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Eric said pulling me into his arms. “He’s a tough kid. He’s got
this.”

I didn’t say anything. The words were stuck so far below the lump in my throat I didn’t
even try. But I was sure Eric knew everything I was thinking.

“It was just one of those things. One of those fucking things that happens.” He was
squeezing me so tightly then I didn’t know if he was trying to convince me or himself.
He took my face in his hands, my tears running over his fingers. “He’s going to be
fine.” His eyes locked on mine. “I can feel it.”

I trusted Eric, but it didn’t lesson the pain of watching my boy fighting for his
life.

The seconds and minutes turned to hours before I knew it. Night was stealing time
and light, and I had a newborn at home. I was torn between being there for James and
tending to our new baby. I had no idea how long it would go on, and I needed to get
some milk pumped out for Ben. Somehow I convinced Eric I was calm enough to drive.
I took the car back to the house, but before I got there, I pulled to the side of
the road in a nearby neighborhood. I stared entranced through the windshield, hoping
this was all a terrible nightmare. Then I screamed in frustration and banged on the
steering wheel. It had nothing to do with fear; this was about anger. I had one job:
protect my children at all costs. And I had failed. They’re my whole world. Possibly
when I’m in my forties and the kids have grown, I’ll complain that I’ve lost my identity,
but for now, I don’t care because yes, my children define me. They make me who I am
and I failed them.

When I finally returned home, I sat down and wrote the first of many lists. I would
never fail my children again. I was determined to be diligent. I sat in the bathroom
and pumped milk for Ben as I cried, tears rolling down my cheeks. Then I cleaned myself
up, put on a brave face and sat to talk with Sophie. She told me not to worry, that
she would take care of Ben. In that brief moment, I smiled. I will always be grateful
to her for that.

I returned to the hospital late that night. James was still unconscious. His most
recent chest x-ray had shown improvement, but the doctors warned us that in cases
such as this, it could take a turn for the worse.

It would be another sixteen hours before we were told that James was going to be okay.
Again the tears came down, but this time I welcomed them. Then I thanked God for giving
me a second chance with my son
.

I lie on my side facing the window, wetness from the pillow pressing against my cheek,
as I try to push that horrible memory away. I stare at the phone in my hand and debate
whether to call or text Eric. Everything is fine. It’s totally fine. Maybe if I say
it a few more times, I can make it true. I feel terrible for not having more faith
in Eric. He’s a wonderful father and a capable man. But he’s also a little insane,
believing we can handle more children.

I can’t take this wallowing any longer, so I throw off the covers and get out of bed.
I slip on an oversized sweatshirt and shorts and make my way to the living room. I
see Sage and Jax through the window, sitting on the patio sofa, sharing a blanket.
Relief hits me when I wander in the kitchen and see that someone has made coffee.
I grab a cup and a banana and head out to join them. On the way out the door, I think
about last night and how for a short while I smiled and had fun with my friends. I
try to hold back the guilt for forgetting about the kids so I can relax.

I perform a deep inhale through my nose, hold it for one second, then exhale before
stepping outside the door. I read somewhere that cleansing breaths help keep stress
at bay. There is little activity on the water, leaving it smooth and clear. It’s so
calm and quiet, I can hear the flapping of a bird’s wings flying overhead.

“Good morning, Princess,” Jax says. She runs a hand across her wild hair. Through
the gap in the back of her shirt, I notice the top of a new tattoo behind her right
shoulder blade, but I don’t ask about it now. I recall the first one she got, a tiny
butterfly on the side of her left ankle. We were seventeen and at the beach when Sage
and I spotted it for the first time and went crazy.

They both scoot over to make room for me. I set down my coffee and join them under
the blanket. The blue sky is peppered with little chubby clouds spaced apart, but
I can see gray in the distance. The air is crisp, but unseasonably warmer than late
January should be here. “How long have you guys been up?” I ask.

“I’ve been up since about six thirty,” Sage says. She has no make-up on, and is more
beautiful than she was last night if that’s even possible.

“Caught her working in the kitchen when I got up,” Jax says. Then she eyes the banana
and says, “And what do you plan to do with that?”

We all giggle, remembering the times in Jax’s room when we passed around the long
yellow fruit curiously examining its size and shape, making jokes, and simulating
too many embarrassing situations.

“I just lost my appetite,” I say.

They both give me tight smiles and Jax says, “How are you feeling about things this
morning? You call home yet?”

“No,” I say proudly. After a moment of staring at an old sail boat floating by, I
add, “But I wanted to.” And just like that my mood slips. “I’m sorry I almost ruined
last night with my pouting. I’m so weak.” I reach for my coffee and drink it hoping
it will give me the strength I need.

“Shut up,” Jax says. “You’re not weak. You’re a mom who cares about her kids more
than anything and wants to keep them safe.”

“Yeah, but my level of complete psychosis is exponentially higher than other mothers’.”
I smile a bit at my attempt to sound as if I hadn’t dropped out of college.

“I think it’s understandable,” Sage says. “Remember how I lost it when my mom was
sick? I know it’s not the same thing, but when you hear the word cancer. it sounds
like a death sentence.”

Sage had been a wreck back in college when her mother was first diagnosed. But once
Barbara had a hysterectomy, the doctors were sure she’d be in the clear. “Yes, but
when your mom was better, you went back to your same normal self.”

“I wouldn’t use the word
normal
,” Jax says.

Sage nudges Jax with her shoulder, who naturally nudges her back harder and right
into me, almost spilling my coffee. “Hey,” I say.

“Just because I’m career-minded and a focused person doesn’t mean my mother’s illness
didn’t have long-term effects on me,” Sage says. She pulls the blanket up higher and
tucks it under her chin. “You guys don’t even know how much.”

This last statement is not typical Sage, who was usually calm and quiet. We had to
drag every little thing out of her, and she would never drop a hint this way. So since
she obviously wants to talk about it, I say, “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

She is quiet and keeps her gaze toward the water. She’s deciding what to say, how
much to say. I know that much hasn’t changed. “It’s nothing…it’s just…sometimes I
worry.”

“About getting it?” Jax asks.

“The genetic predisposition for Ovarian Cancer is low, but it’s there. And my aunt
had it too.” Sage’s voice is dry, clinical.

“But you can take precautions, right,” I say trying to sound hopeful.

“Of course, but it’s not only my health I’m worried about at this point. I’m not getting
any younger.”

I understand exactly what she’s talking about and my mind goes back to yesterday when
Sage and Jax came to the house. That look of desperation, her arms around Ben, her
eyes rimmed with tears. “Oh, Sage, honey. You’re worried about having a baby.”

As if completely in sync, Jax and I turn our bodies to face Sage. Jax wipes at the
corner of her eye with her sleeve.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a long-term relationship,” Sage says. “I’m not even
dating anyone now. I need to think of this logically.”

“Having babies is not about logic,” Jax says.

I was thinking the same thing, but wonder why Jax said it first. A group of pigeons
collect on the grass near a tree and peck around on the ground. Jax turns, grabs a
scrap of English muffin from her plate on the coffee table and throws little pieces
their way.

Sage gets up from the sofa sending most of the birds in flight. “Hey, I don’t want
to bring this weekend down. I was only trying to say that I need to think about the
future in a different way now. We better get moving if we’re going to have time to
shop before this barbeque.”

Jax gets up too. “Change is inevitable for all of us, but I’m gonna fight that bitch
all the way,” she says sending us all into laughter.

As I get up and follow them to the door, I add my own pearls of wisdom inspired by
one of our favorite eighties movies. “Why do we have to change? Why can we just accept
ourselves the way we are like they did at the end of
The Breakfast Club
?”