devot.ee — Early Adopters
Ngima’s ex-boyfriend was late for their unborn child’s funeral. He came in running, just as the coffin was being placed in the pit.
“Hey, sorry,” he panted out, catching his breath. “The band had this gig we’d booked a month before … I thought I’d be here in time but they wanted an encore and the manager …,” he cleared his throat.
“You know how these things go.”
“We need a name.”
“What?”
“For the headstone. The funeral home needs a name to put on the headstone.”
Kane straightened his glasses and began scratching his chin. “You hadn’t … ahem, you hadn’t thought a name for him?”
“No.”
“But..” She knew what he wanted to say. But you always plan ahead, every last detail. But you always have everything under control.
“Just shut up, and think of a name.”
“Okay. Jeez!”
He put his hands in his pockets and brought out a piece of paper from his left one.
“Oh! I had this, um, this poem,” he said, raising both his eyebrows and seeming a bit sheepish, “Maybe this will help?”
“A poem,” she said and pursed her lips. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s one by Rilke … uhh, never mind.” He put it back in his pocket after a look at her face.
This was very typical of him, of course. It was what had drawn her to him, back in college. He would find meaning in everything. Joy, sorrow, catharsis, everything had to mean something. It was awfully infuriating.
“So, to reconfirm, you don’t want a Bhutanese name, right?”
“Of course not.” She glared at him.
“Well, just asking.” he shrugged, “I barely know you anymore, so couldn’t hurt to ask.” Was there a hint of Implication behind those words? She couldn’t tell.
A Bhutanese name would be easier, she reflected. There were only like what, two dozen common ones or something. But the thought of constricting her child to this lineage, to her mother, she shuddered at the thought.
Of course, none of that would matter, since her son was dead.
Did it matter? The name, at all? The weight of it suddenly hit her. Before this, she had no time to think. This week after her miscarriage, she had been busy. She had informed her work, cleaned out her inboxes. Then came planning the funeral, and sending a letter to her mother. Then came calling Kane. Now that it was all done, she finally had to confront the Big thing. Not only did her son not have a name, he did not have a life.
“How about Byron, or Miles, or …” he was rattling off.
Her son was dead. Or rather, had never been born. Had never had the chance to be. She had it all planned out. He would get what she never did, a clean slate. Unlike her mother, she would not have the kid take AP classes or force feed the history of the Lhotsampa. It’s why she had chased away Kane, even. He would be too much of an influence on the child, would indoctrinate it into his bohemian ways without meaning to. And now, dead. That wasn’t the right word. Pre-terminated, maybe.
“Or we could do Ray, or even Orson…”
She was stumped now. She had shuffled her life for this kid, had prepared herself to be this, this exact kind of parent. Now her future was a void. And the worst thing is she did not understand why.
“Okay. This one is a little unconventional, but Fabian is the best I got.” He finally looked at her.
She was crouched on the ground, palms over her eyes, rocking back and forth.
“Hey, are you..”
“Okay? No, I’m not okay you asshole!” She stood up and stepped near him, glaring into his face. “My son died. Do you understand? My son died!”
“Hey, calm down, alright. He was my son too!” His voice started getting louder. “I’m hurting too.”
“Don’t you … don’t you dare”, she was starting to get red by the second, “He was my son, okay! You weren’t even in the picture.”
“Oh, yeah? And whose fault is that?”
“Yours.”
“Ahh, right. Of course. You weren’t the one who chased me away, even when I wanted to stay.”
“You wanted it dead, right? Well you got your wish!”
“That’s … that’s fucking wrong, and you know it Nee. Who is not spooked hearing of a pregnancy? I told you we’d face it together, and you, you pushed me away.”
He was sweating by now, his eyes wide.
“If you hadn’t sent me away, if you had gone to your mother’s after the thirtieth week at least, maybe, maybe this wouldn’t…” he stopped midway. “Maybe if you stopped thinking of yourself as this lonely island of, like, fucking stone. God!”
He lowered his head, and a single teardrop fell, staining the grass beneath.
Ngima could not breathe. She wanted to shout, I didn’t cause it. I could hate myself if I did, but I don’t get even that pleasure.
“One morning I woke up, and, and it had happened.” She squeaked out.
Kane did not look at her.
She walked towards the funeral director’s office. There she scribbled a name and exited the place.
Later that evening, she clicked on an ad for an app that popped up in her Instagram newsfeed. ‘Your personal, caring deity’ it read. She fished out her Oculus from the cabinet where unused things went.
She put on the headset and was plunged into darkness. After a while, a faint humming began.
The humming steadily increased. It was coming from everywhere. It was coming from near the center of her body. It was coursing through her veins, like a vibrating, mobile heartbeat.
Slowly, the darkness folded into itself. It was still black, but denser. These folds continued until the darkness coalesced into a figure. It was impossibly large, stretching out into infinity as she turned her head.
H E L L O
The sound came from everywhere.
HELLO. NGIMA.
Every word the figure emanated made her want to stand up straighter.
“I ..”
SHHH.
I KNOW.
In that moment, Ngima Dekar found tears coursing down from her eyes.
The figure leaned forward, if it could be called that.
ARE YOU WILLING TO SEE THE TRUTH NOW?
This is a part of a larger ongoing story. Feel free to suggest in which direction it should go.
Part 2 is here.
