Over a year ago, I lost my loving fiancée, Easton. I had been clean since we had gotten together. I’d left my teenage ways behind not only for him, but for our baby, Elijah, who resembles his father so much. Tears start to well in my eyes every time I look into his little, immature face. His big brown eyes shine like crystals, just as Easton’s did.

“Start looking again” or “a baby deserves to have a father in his life” is always what everyone tried to guilt me with. But what they don’t understand is it’s not easy letting go of the only person you’ve ever really loved. I’m not ready to let go of the affection Easton had always shown to me. I feel empty. I feel lonely.

Since the feeling’s never subsided naturally, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I was hesitant to make this move, but it’s the only way to fill the void I’ve been left with.

“Bobby?”

“Hey, Laura! Haven’t heard from you in a while! How ya been?”

“Oh, hangin in there. Remember when we were gettin together every weekend? You’d give me all those discounts and stuff?”

“Yeah, but I’m runnin kinda low on products. What do ya need?”

“Big H, Bobby.”

“What?! Even years ago, when I knew the relentless, babyless Laura, you stayed away from that s***. But, as your friend, I’ll go ahead and let you try it. First ounce, free.”

“Thank you. I’ll be over in ten. Later.” Then I hung up. Welcome back old life.

I packed Elijah in his car seat and was on my way. Tears streamed down my face as I looked in my rearview mirror at him. He’s so innocent. He hasn’t been corrupted by today’s society yet. I looked away and turned up the radio as loud as my ears could stand. The song The Motto by Drake was on. I knew every word and I belted it out; grateful Elijah won’t remember it later.

As I turned into Bobby’s driveway, my stomach started to flip. I just wanted to back out and pretend I had never came, but it was too late. Bobby was at my window waiting to greet me. So, I did what any longing best friend would do and got out to give him a hug. I unbuckled Elijah out of his car seat and followed Bobby inside.

I felt bad for bringing my baby into a house full of smoke, dust, and the vast odor of Marijuana. But, I decided to sit Elijah in the back room after he’d eaten his lunch. He played with his toys while Bobby and I were in the living room, recalling all of our old memories. We talked about the time we were in the car accident coming home from a Bon Jovi concert that was held in Chicago. We laughed about the time we were with our other friend, Danielle and we convinced her that jumping off the bridge into the shallow water wouldn’t hurt. Although the bridge was rather low, we still made a trip to the emergency room that night for her dislocated shoulder, broken arm, and hairline-fractured spine. In fact, I don’t think we have a single memory of us when we weren’t under the influence of alcohol or some kind of drug.

In the middle of us catching up, Elijah started to cry. I went to the back of the house and opened the door to the room he was in. As I walked in, I saw Elijah lying on the ground. I assumed he had fallen off the bed. When I rushed over I rubbed his tiny, fragile head and noticed a bump. He was in my arms as I grabbed his bag and started out the door, storming back into the living room. I started to leave the house when Bobby grabbed my arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Elijah hit his head. I think I better take him to the hospital.”

“Laura, you know how we do it. If you want your stuff, you do it here. You don’t take my products anywhere with ya.”
I looked down at my now hushed baby, and back to Bobby. It was one of the few opportunities for me to feel okay again. I hung my head as I sat Elijah in the Papasan chair with his baby bag. Bobby tossed me the band and leaded me to the kitchen, as if I didn’t know where it was.

He motioned for me to sit in the only chair and left for about five minutes to later return with a needle. Bobby sat it on a paper towel and tied the band to my upper arm right before handing me the syringe. I took a deep breath, found my vain, and pushed the drugs through. It felt almost heavy as it was entering my blood stream. The room instantly started spinning and my eyelids got heavy. And for the first time in over a year, I felt nothing at all.

I thanked Bobby, packed Elijah in his car seat and stumbled on my way. Before I was even out of his drive way, my eyelids grew even heavier and there was a strange pounding in my ears. It sounded as if it was the beat of a drum. My arms were almost too weak to hold onto the steering wheel and it took all of my power to press on the gas pedal. I decided not to take Elijah to the hospital; babies bump their heads all the time, so I convinced myself it was nothing to be too concerned about.

The drive home became more difficult. I felt drowsy, my stomach was upset and it was as if everything around me was in slow motion.

“Only a couple more miles…” I murmured to myself. Just as that thought occurred, so did the honking and I slowly turned my head to the left of me. I saw the victims for a second; then all I could see was red.

The sound of glass shattering and people screaming was unusually ignored. My first thought wasn’t if Elijah was okay, or if the two innocent people in the light-blue Station Wagon were okay, or if I was even okay. The first thing to cross my mind was fear; the fear I would get caught with heroin in my system. But pain started to overwhelm me only seconds after that. I could taste the blood running into my mouth. I could feel the sting of the shards of glass that had pierced my face, arms, and sides. I could see the two dead victims who were both lying through their windshield. It appeared they were father and daughter. The man, probably mid-forties, had teeth laying in front of his face and his ear looked as if it was connected only by a thin piece of skin at the bottom. His fingers were rotated sideways and his once white shirt had been colored red from the blood that had flowed from his face, mouth, and neck. The daughter looked about sixteen, maybe seventeen. Her long blonde hair was flung over most of her face, but her wounds were still visible. Her arms were stretched above her head and her legs were twisted as a pretzel would be. Their bodies had turned into grotesque shells of their old selves, bloody and atrocious. But on the inside their souls were smiling, where they belonged with their creator, living the rest of their lives out in peace and utter harmony.

The thought had finally crossed: Elijah wasn’t crying. I got turned around enough to only catch a glimpse of him before the pain overcame me and I had to face forward again. But what I saw was something I hoped I never had to see. It was something that will remain in my mind forever. That picture lives underneath my eyelids.

Seeing a long, sharp, triangular piece of glass pressed through my baby’s temple was, and still is, heartbreaking. His head was dangling and his eyes were closed. The fresh blood filled every crease and crevice of his little body. Beads of red dripped from him so calmly in his stillness. I wanted to hear him holler for me to come comfort him. I wanted the high-pitched, ear-splitting scream that would normally irritate me, but it wasn’t there. He wouldn’t do it! He couldn’t do it; I knew that.
***
A scrap of metal was lying on the dashboard in front of me. In an instant, I grabbed it, gouging it into my wrist; breaking through all the layers of skin, into my vain. Slowly, I drug it across, watching the warm bright liquid ooze out. Some tear droplets occasionally fell, making the pain even sharper than before.
My head instantly felt light, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up to the sound of rushed and panicked EMT’s that had stretched me out on a gurney. I could barely move my eyes down enough to see my wrist had layers of bandages covering it. My head was throbbing like the pounding of a drum. I different beat than the one from my high though. This beat is heavier and faster. And my face - my face felt as if I had thousands of little needles continuously pressing through each pore.
I felt the shift when the ambulance took off. That seemed to strike my memory back because it wasn’t about my pain anymore and it wasn’t about my consequences either. All I could think about was my baby. My baby’s gone. Elijah, the sweet, blameless being whose life ended before he even had a chance to start it. I couldn’t stop apologizing, although I knew he wasn’t there to hear me. He would never know how sorry I am because I’ll never see him again. Heaven? Will I see him in Heaven someday? I really don’t think so. I know, everyone knows, Elijah and I will be going to different places in the afterlife.

“Why?! Why didn’t you let me die?! I would have been free! I would have been free and you just took that away,” I shouted at the EMT, without thinking. I couldn’t help myself; no one could help me, “but maybe I don’t deserve freedom,” I breathed, barely audible, “maybe I deserve to suffer. I do.”

“Ma’am, I need you to settle down. Ma’am! Ma’am, settle down!” It was obvious I had made the EMT nervous. He had no other words to say besides that. I was crying uncontrollably and gasping for air. I was surprised he even understood me, or maybe he didn’t; I’m unsure about that. I just looked like some nutty, drug-tolerant, 20-year-old baby killer to him. But I don’t just look like that, I am that. And because I am that, I am writing this from my cold, hard cell. Four white, brick walls with one gray floor, and one gray ceiling. It gets lonely here; I live in solitude. No one hears my emotions, so I put them on paper. The only things I have in here is an old, used notebook and my worn down pencil. I lie on my dust collected bed and I cry. I cry every day and it’s not because I am living a life of nothing but silence, or because all of the dust and dirt taking up residence in every crevice of this small box bothers my asthma, or even because the food here is so green and so slimy that I’d rather starve, but I cry because I’ve ruined the only right thing I’ve ever done. The only thing I’ve ever done that I haven’t regretted is having Elijah, and I ruined it the day I put myself over him. I don’t know how long it’s been since I have been here, and I don’t know how long I have left, but I do know that my sentence is far from what I deserve.