I hear wailing sounds coming from the closet. The crying of a newborn.
I slowly walk down the hallway and turn the handle, letting in only a crack of light.
And I see my mother.
Except, she looks much younger. The wrinkles around her eyes are not as pronounced, and she is a bit leaner.
Then she turns to look at me.
And she is pregnant.
“Well, Elijah, you did always want to see your birth…” she whispers.
As the words float toward me, the scene changes. The bed in the hospital. The doctor and the nurses. My father is back. My sister is alive. This is wonderful.
After I watch my birth, my father calls out, “I think he looks like a Joshua.”
My mother responds, “We’re naming him Elijah, you already promised me that. Doesn’t Elijah sound nice?”
My dad’s face goes red. “Damnit, woman, listen to me!”
“No! You promised me this, his name is Elijah!”
The doctors pull back and leave the room, avoiding confrontation.
“I’m not dealing with this! Come, Jasmine, let’s leave and get his name declared.”