Reward is Life

I only wanted to fall in Love. Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself at the time. Now I know I wanted more. I know I wanted Love, and Life, and romance . . . and a father for Kayley. I should have counted my blessings and took stock in my present associations and moved on. But I didn’t. Instead I went on with the fanciful hopes of finding something better, with a glimpse of life in the romance novels of Danielle Steele and the harlequins of yesteryear- dreaming of finding Love under some rock on the way home from work. So, under the false impression that my life was somehow a fairy tale hoping to unfold in the lite of some fairy godmother that would suddenly appear at midnite of some unknown ball-gown nite, I went on. Waking mechanically at 6 am every morning to shower and dress- waking my beautiful Kayley up from a sound sleep only to leave her in the arms of strangers for 10 hours while I sat constrained behind a desk and a red pen to mark up other people’s fantasies and prospects of life. I let mine write itself- maybe that was the beginning of the problem.

Kayley was three years old when I met him, and I’d been searching for what seemed an eternity for a father to suit all her wants and needs. Kayley was my baby doll- she always will be. Her red curls framed her pale complexion like an original Cabbage Patch Doll with the Xavier Roberts signature and all. At 35 pounds she was just at that weight that mommy could hold her long enough to stand in line at the grocery store until they asked for the cash, then she would awkwardly fall back into the cart and look up with those deep blue eyes, waiting for me to take her into my arms again- only to shove her away into a car seat for the 45 minute drive from town to home. She sat in the back seat of our Toyota, jingling plastic toy rings around her pudgy sausage link fingers and occasionally breaking out with an ooh or ahh when a moo cow passed by the window, or a squall when I didn’t turn around enough to let her know I still cared. When she let out that squall I would have to pull over on a crowded freeway to turn around and make sure she wasn’t really hurt or crying real tears because, after all, I was only 25, she was my first, and I could never stand real tears. Mostly though, she was a faker and just laughed at me as I maneuvered my way around to see her. Times like those, depending on the day, I would just turn back around- annoyed at the fact I’d raised such a spoiled child. Other times I would just lean over and place a thumb over her pink lips and smile at the same prospect. She was mine after all; I could never deny that fact. She wasn’t perfect though, by any means, although I would often argue until I was red in the face that she was. She was my Kayley, so in my eyes, she always could be.

Sometimes I could just look at her and be so angry just because the way her mouth moved reminded me of her estranged father- estranged on his own account, not mine, and forever to stay that way because that was the choice HE had made. He had to deal with the consequences of missing his first, probably not last, daughter’s life, and yet, I do accept the fact that Kayley needed a father, but there was a fine line that was crossed when it came to Jimmy. And wherever he was concerned- it was.

Other times, I was just in awe of her innocence and the simple fact that she’d come from me. She’d been inside ME for 9 1/2 months and I was her sole life source. I was the reason she was here. After 27 hours of pushing and breathing and grasping the hand of nurse I’d met that very nite, Kayley came into this world, and the first person she laid eyes on was me. She depended on me then, and now, I too, became dependent upon her.

There was this one nite, after a late nite trip to the grocery store that I looked back at her; strapped into an old grey car seat smiling to whatever music was playing on the radio. I’d stopped at the intersection of Western and Spencer to check on her, and as I turned around, there was no anger there, really, not resentment of the father that had helped bring her into this world, no hatred of the fact that I was alone in raising her-- only Love. All I could see were her little dimples that dotted her rosy round cheeks like polka dots on a poodle skirt and how those dimples were the very symbol of her innocence, and the only reason I had to live. I know, it sounds intense, the fact that her dimples gave me reason to live, but those dimples were the only thing that separated her from the harsh reality of life- those dimples litened my day every nite when I picked her up from day care and every morning when I had to wake her up before even the sun rose. Those dimples gave me a reason to wake up-- they really did. It was those matching dimples that started it all actually.

I was 25 and a mother of one- single and a hopeless romantic that hadn’t had a date since she began to show at 6 months, and I was terribly afraid that I was ruining her life, along with mine. Somehow, I was going to make it up to her.

I got off work early that Thursday with just those intentions in mind. I walked down Clinton with a goal at heart, and a wad-full of cash to show those snooty sales-clerks at FAO Schwartz that I could buy my kid whatever I wanted from there, whether it was 50% higher there than the local Wal-Mart, I didn’t care. I was going to show them, and I was going to come home with the best gift for my little Kayley. I was determined. I was such a young mother then.

I walked from Clinton to 8th to Foster and somehow, back to Clinton again. For two hours my path didn’t stray, and the circles I was treading, becoming monotonous, were only signs that I was hopeless and had all the wrong intentions for proving my Love to Kayley.

Frustrated by my utter ignorance of the outlay of New York City uncontrollable tears started to run down my face. I wiped them away as quickly, but the wind was starting to pick up and my manila folders were blowing more and more. In an attempt to save them, I nearly stumbled into a store window. I just stood there, frozen. Entranced by what was housed inside I allowed the manila folders to escape my grasp into the now drizzling air.

My stare was directed toward a portrait of a little girl. She was a curly little blonde with a lively charisma hidden behind her green eyes. But what caught my eye most were the matching dimples nestled softly on her chubby little cheeks. The storm that enveloped me was climaxing as the thoughts in my head ran time trials about if my Love were good enough for her, if my intentions were fraudulent and if I deserved such a little girl. What am I doing, I thought, why am I out here in the pouring rain trying to prove myself to a three year old who doesn’t know the difference between Cream of Wheat and Oatmeal? She knows I Love her . . . this gift I’m out here to buy her won’t prove it any more or less . . . will it?

“Heya Miss- ken I elp ya with sumthin thar?” A deep husky voice warmed the drizzling air behind me- whispering into my ear with a sultry city accent I was unsure of- ready to take me over. I started to turn around- to see the man behind the voice- a face behind the warmth, but he stopped me. A mammoth hand lay on my shoulder to keep me facing the portrait of the little blonde girl. I flinched under his power, and after he realized the strength of his touch, he soon lightened it, and let his fingers dangle over my shoulder blade. He seemed to soothe me in that one touch, and I didn’t have the single most urge to turn around and give the hand a face. I stayed where he directed me and listened intently, shaking slightly because of the cold and the situation-waiting for an explanation.

“Miss. . . .?” His voice was a bit more confident now, though not in me, wondering of my predicament I'm sure. I hung my head down and looked at the ground, and then, slowly he turned me around to face him- grasping both my shoulders in his hands and taking my entire body in his power. The rain had stopped, but the storm was still in the air. The sun, barely hidden behind gray clouds gave lite to a rainbow attempting to makes its colours viewable through broken tree limbs, skyscrapers that towered high above those, and billboards that dotted the horizon.

“Sumthin wrong miss?” I shuddered. “Miss, you were lookin’ at this thar photo thar right? Fer quite some time. That’s my little girl,” his eyes britened at the prospect, “She’s in my heart miss . . . always in my heart,” the husky voice trailed off as I looked into his deep brown eyes, seeing the hurt for something, the loss of something- they were empty somehow, but still . . . hopeful. His dark brown hair fell over his eyebrows freely, with no constraints; over those darkly sad eyes that seemed to hide something deep within them- they always say a person’s eyes are a cavern to their soul.

His forefingers lifted my chin to allow the sunlite to touch upon my face through the darkened clouds and deep cityscape. He smiled, grinning ear to ear- that hope, that sparkle in his eyes seemed to make way through the hollowness.

“You’ve touched me y’know. No one looks at my lit’l girl anymore, aft’ seein’ her on evry milk carton and paper fer the past three years now. She’d be seven now- today acshully.” A tear left his eyelid and I lifted my finger up to catch it- he grasped my hand in mid air and looked sternly into my eyes.

“No! Let it fall.” His voice was firm now, but still gentle as he let my hand fall to his lips and he kissed it and then let it fall to its place at my side. “You don’t need to make anythin up to her ya know? She Loves you ya know? Just the way ya are,” his voice once again trailed off into the city sounds that surrounded us, cabs rushing by to get their next fare and city busses at the corner . . . bums collecting their chump change from the tourists. I closed my eyes as the never-ending storm continued- the storm of the city, the storm that began again- the thunder rolled above me while the rain splashed my ankles, the storm of my life- of my never ending search for a daddy and a good life for my little girl.

Soon the warmth of the hidden sun came over my cheek and I ventured to open my eyes again to the world I had escaped from so easily by simply closing them, and he was gone. In front of me was a portrait of the blonde little girl that shared those matching dimples- Allyson McGuire Missing 10.9.95 Reward is . . . Life. He had given me life- just as Kayley had- and now, I knew how to give it back to her. Now that I think about it- I always did.