Two lives

Across the table, he sat with the most curious eyes ever. He kept looking at me. The innocent stare oblivious of what I was about to tell him was pricking me inside. Love and responsibility are two very different things.. Oh no.. that’s not how I want to start the conversation.

Eagerness showed and I gave in. I had to tell him. He was a part of it. Part of that starry night and all that was beautiful until I realized the repercussions later. Life teaches you so many lessons and how. Well, it was too late for me to undo what was done. As much as this was mine it was his too. Then why did I fear telling him? Did I sense a lack of maturity or plain disowning of what had happened?

I slid my hand from across my hair to my stomach and crossed my fingers. Eyes shut, deep breath and I told him. Told him flat and clear. I expected a reaction and who doesn’t? But I got none. All I got was a line “You may do what you want to do with it. I’m not going to be a part of this anymore”

Well, little did he realize that he already was a part of me. In such a way that every second it was growing and I could not let it go. But what could have I done? I was 17, a minor. I was at such crossroads in my life that one wrong decision would be a disaster for me. I could very well comprehend the gravity of the situation but there was hardly I could anything about it. My innocence was gone and in more ways than one I was responsible for it. It’s a different feeling when you don’t just think about yourself. There is a life dependent on you. On your very breath.

I clearly remember the walk down the stairs of the place where I gave her to them. She was beautiful. She was so tiny and so little. But according to my parents, so was I. I had to make them a promise that I would not try to see her again. Nor contact the parents who adopted her, who were to give her a good life. And I was asked to live one too. That night I kept thinking about her. Imprinting her face in my memory. She had my nose and those little dark eyes. I remember holding her for only a brief moment. The rest of that time I was blank. And now it was all coming back.

Today, 10 years later when I’m sitting across the table with my husband, I see her. The nose. It’s impossible that I would not recognize her. She stood tall in front of her parents and from the reaction I could infer that she was wanting to ask for something. Something that she feared she would not get. She slid her hands across her hair and crossed her fingers. And she spoke. The rest I do not remember. But I realized one thing, as much as she lives in me, I live in her too.