POEM
Miracle of Reconciliation
Oliver, Natalia, and the Beautiful Journey of Parenthood
Oliver sat in his sea salt recliner,
looking out the large bay window
at her empty parking spot.
He didn’t think Natalia would leave,
not like this — not without a goodbye.
Their last quarrel was her pinning down
his position on a baby, adoption, and abortion.
Oliver had it in him to accept heaven’s plans,
but a baby wasn’t the first thing
he’d place on his list of life events.
Natalia packed what she had in bags,
slammed them into the trunk,
and hit the open road.
Things hadn’t been good,
but they were getting better.
At least, that’s what Natalia told him.
A note on the nightstand read that:
he wouldn’t understand,
but that someday he’d forgive her.
The answers meant nothing,
but the questions meant
more than a feeling.
Cassadee Pope’s new album
played through the stereo
by the fireplace and large TV.
The lyrics made more sense
than Natalia’s leaving did.
Oliver shifted his gaze
to the black-and-white pictures
on Night Rendezvous walls from times
of them huddled together with their lips
stretched over their pearly teeth
and the missing pieces
of summer’s end fell through the warm
embrace of an autumn sunset.
He turned his head
and moved his eyes around
the backyard, which blended
into an evergreen wood line.
The sun sank below the horizon.
He swirled the rum over rocks
in his frosty glass.
He drank with one hand,
and drummed his fingers along
the chair’s edge with the other.
The skeletal maple trees shed
their leaves and swathes
of gold and red leaves
spread across browning
evenly cut grass.
He smoked a cancer stick.
His tears splashed
into his drink over
Natalia’s departure
at a pity party
that the brokenhearted
had organized in
a sordid dive bar.
He went between the warmth
of Natalia’s touch,
and the intensity of failure,
rewiring blueprints before
the calls reached out to friends,
revealing that they became anything
but pals for the weekend.
Five years ago,
Natalia’s robe hit the floor,
and she asked him to opine
on her pale curves and freckles.
Oliver went on a year without her.
His therapist turned him right
instead of following others to the left.
He put the bottle in the trash and hadn’t
had a drink in eight months.
He planned to keep drinking
in the rearview mirror.
Oliver tried calling Natalia here
and there, but no one answered.
He didn’t want to leave a message
and say something he might regret.
Oliver shot upright in a cold sweat.
His reality soaked his sheets.
Oliver threw the covers off his body,
took a quick shower, threw on a T-shirt,
and jeans.
He moved gel around his hair
and locked the front door behind him.
Oliver slid into his car.
He turned on the headlights,
turned up the stereo,
playing country,
and drove the short distance
to a Target, which marked the spot
of what he missed.
Natalia was pregnant.
Oliver pushed a shopping
cart through the store.
Oliver bought what he
thought he’d needed
and some of what he
thought the baby would want.
Oliver paid and shut the bags in the trunk.
He drove home to see Natalia’s car
in the driveway.
He swallowed hard as he rolled to a stop.
Oliver looked into the window,
and Natalia moved around
the living room with the child.
Oliver moved his sleeve across his damp eyes.
He exited the car and moved
up the steps to the front door.
Oliver twisted the knob and entered the home.
A cherry candle spread throughout the house.
“You’re home,” Natalia said, holding their baby. Natalia wrapped her long, dark hair around her neck. “I tried to tell you.”
“I should have listened,” Oliver said.
“Mom was in poor health, and I wanted her to see her granddaughter before she died.”
“Why not call me?”
“Because you needed to figure things out in therapy.”
“Wait,” Oliver narrowed one eye, “how’d you know about therapy?”
“Dr. Jean said you made honest progress.”
Oliver palmed his face. “Dr. Jean was your college roommate.”
“So, it’s a little unethical of her to tell me,” but I asked.
“How’d you know I’d go to counseling?”
Natalia winked. “Because I know you.”
“Would you like to hold our daughter?” Natalia said.
Oliver extended his arms for the trade-off. “She’s beautiful,” Oliver said. “Just beautiful.”
“I named her Dianne.”
“After my mother?”
Natalia nodded as she brushed away tears. “Her middle name is Erin, after my dad.”
Oliver noticed her ring finger. “What’s with the ring?”
Natalia lifted her hand. “Oh, guys kept hitting on me, so Mom gave me a ring and I tell people I’m taken.”
“You are taken.”
“I know,” Natalia said. “I just wanted you to know that.”
Oliver reached to move strands of her long, dark hair behind her ear.
“I know it now,” Oliver said; tears threatened to spill, so he blinked, making them fall faster to baptize his forgiveness in her eyes.
Natalia pressed her lips to his, and they both sighed in relief at their growth with the miracle brown-eyed girl, Dianne.
(© 2024 AC)
(Amazon Kindle, Spillwords, The Writers Club)
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