November exhaled. “My mom says I don’t get that for the next eighteen years!”
“Your mom is very wise.” The doctor scribbled notes on Sunshine’s chart, which was already thick from all her hospital data.
“How is Sunshine doing?” November asked.
“Physically, I’m very pleased. She’s gained seven ounces since last week and her heartbeat and respiration are right on track. Her stitches from where we removed the feeding tube have healed nicely. Her muscle tone is still a little weak, however, and her sucking reflex is not what I’d like it to be, but we’re taking one day at a time, and today looks good. I’ll see the both of you next Wednesday.”
As soon as November and her mother placed the baby back in the car seat, which had been a gift from Jericho, Sunshine took a deep breath, burped, and promptly fell fast asleep.
The phone rang, breaking the silence. November snatched it up on the first ring. She didn’t want to wake the sleeping baby. It was Dana.
“How’s it going, little mama?” Dana asked.
“Better every day. The doctors took the feeding tube out last week, and she’s doing pretty good at learning how to suck from a bottle.”
“Babies have to learn that?”
“Sunshine does. She has a special little bottle that helps her—like training wheels on a bike, only this is a specially designed bottle. And she only needs the oxygen at night, just as a precaution.”
“And you do it all yourself? The medicine, learning how to work a feeding tube and a breathing machine?”
“I guess it’s just like a new job. You learn the equipment and do the best you can.”
“What’s the hardest part?” Dana asked.
“Not sleeping. You know how I love cuddling in my bed with six pillows and staying there for twelve hours. Well, I used to.” November laughed. “But she needs to be fed every hour and a half, and when she’s not asleep, she cries. She doesn’t just cry—she screams.”
“Really? Is she in pain or something?”
“No. The doctor told me it was just irritability and she’d grow out of it. But she cries and cries and cries. Sometimes I want to scream!”
“I don’t blame you! When you feed her, does that help?”
“Yeah, for a minute. Then she sleeps for maybe half an hour. But she wakes up and starts crying again. Sometimes she cries for a solid hour. You should have seen her at the doctor yesterday. It was embarrassing! I rock her and walk with her and even sing to her. Nothing helps. Eventually she gets tired and falls asleep, but by then she’s hungry and the whole cycle starts again.” November rubbed her eyes and stretched. “I’m so tired.”
“That’s really rough, girl. Do you feel like a mom?” Dana asked curiously.
“I haven’t really thought about it. I just kinda do what she needs—I even know what she’s gonna need ahead of time. I guess that’s what a mom does. What’s going on at school?”
“Not much. Hathaway forgot she was human and assigned us a forty-page research paper.”
“I’ll never catch up!” November groaned. She hadn’t been back to school since Sunshine had been born. Since the baby had such serious complications, she’d had no choice but to stay home and care for her. She worried that she might lose her entire senior year. Graduation looked unlikely. She shook the thought away. “So tell me more about school. I can’t believe I miss it!” she told Dana.
“Well, Eric Bell—you know, the kid in the wheelchair? He’s trying out for the school play. He thinks he should have the lead in Macbeth, in spite of his disability.”
“Good for him. I hope he gets the part. What about Arielle? Wasn’t she the superstar of the drama club last year? The part of Lady Macbeth, the killer queen, really fits her!” November laughed.
“I don’t know if she’s trying out or not. But our Miss Arielle has had big troubles lately. Brandon Merriweather broke up with her. She got kicked off the cheerleading squad for not showing up to practice. And she just plain got dissed in the main hall before class. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.”
“What happened?” November asked as she got up, walked over to her mother’s bedroom door, and peeked at the sleeping baby, who was surrounded by a circle of sofa pillows on her mother’s bed.
“Girl, it was too funny! It was first thing in the morning. You know how crowded the main hall is before the bell rings.”
“Yeah,” November said, remembering with a pang the noisy confusion. “So what did she do?”
“Well, she had gone to the bathroom when she first got to school, and I guess she left out of there too quickly.” Dana started to laugh.
“What?” November couldn’t imagine.
“From what I could figure out, she must have been in a hurry. She rushed out of the bathroom in her cute little outfit, and dragging behind her, tucked in the waistband of her new leather jeans, was a long, slightly soiled length of toilet paper! It looked like a long, white tail.”
“Girl, shut up!” November couldn’t help but giggle.
“She was flouncing around like she always does, flirting with everybody else’s boyfriend, making sure everybody saw her new jeans, when people started to laugh. It got louder and louder, with everybody in the whole main hall, mostly seniors, cracking up and pointing. She couldn’t figure out what was going on.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m straight up! Finally somebody told her to turn around, and she saw the toilet paper. She screamed and ran back into the bathroom. People were laughing so hard they were rollin’ on the floor.”
“That’s really cold.” November was still chuckling.
“I think if it had been anybody else, a friend or somebody would have taken her aside and told her quietly.”
“I guess what goes around comes around,” said November.
“When she got to physics class the next day, somebody had placed an unopened four-pack of toilet paper on her desk.”
“Oh, no! What did she do?”
“She tried to act like it didn’t bother her. She just put it under her seat and pretended it wasn’t there. But kids still giggled behind her back. The teacher asked what was so funny—you know how teachers get that clueless look. But nobody would tell.”
“That’s the best story I’ve heard in a long time,” November said, still laughing. Then she heard the doorbell ring. “Hey, I gotta go. Somebody’s at my door. Will you call me back tonight?”
“Sure. I got rehearsal for the debate team anyway, and me and Kofi are on the committee to plan the Christmas Dance. But I’ll catch you later.”
November thought longingly of all the school activities she was missing, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She hung up and went to answer the door, then grinned when she saw who it was. Jericho stood there, stomping his feet on the porch, and Olivia, wearing a puffy down jacket, stood behind him. She carried a plastic bag from Target.
“You tryin’ to freeze somebody out here?” Jericho joked as he walked in the door. “It feels like winter already.” He was carrying a small foil-covered bowl and a leather case.
“Hi, November,” Olivia said quietly as she walked in with him. She took off her coat and laid it carefully on a chair. “How’s Miss Sunshine? She could warm up any day.”
“She’s growing, and eating, but still crying a lot. More than normal, I think.”
“That’s what babies do, right?”
“Not like this. But guess what?” November said as she took their coats.
“What?”
“Yesterday she smiled at me for the first time!” November almost danced as she told her. Olivia hugged her.
“That’s a good sign,” Jericho said. “Real good.”
“How’s football?” November asked Jericho.
“We won the last two games! And I heard a couple of college scouts have been taking a look at me.”
“That’s great. No more pink games?”
Jericho laughed. “No. The company replaced th
ose funky uniforms, so none of our games have been quite so colorful.”
“You didn’t tell November that a recruiter from Juilliard has also talked to you,” Olivia reminded Jericho, her voice full of pride.
“Yeah, well. I guess I got lotsa options!” He grinned and pretended to swagger around the room. “And he hasn’t even heard me play yet! Mr. T put in a good word for me, so I guess I better get it together before the audition next month.”
“That’s great news, Jericho,” November told him enthusiastically. “What about the band, Olivia? How’s that going?”
“It’s not as much fun marching when it gets cold, but the season is almost over.” She looked at Jericho shyly and added, “But after the games sometimes me and Jericho go get pizza. That’s pretty cool.” She looked pleased and embarrassed all at the same time.
Then she switched gears and asked about the baby again. “Is she awake? I brought her another outfit.” She handed November the Target bag.
“Girl, that child has more clothes than I do, thanks to you. You don’t know how much it meant when you brought all those baby gifts that you collected from the kids at school.”
“No sweat,” Olivia said, brushing off the compliment. “So where’s my girl?”
“She should be up soon.”
“Hey, Geneva sent you some of her homemade chili. It’s delicious,” Jericho told her as he placed the bowl on the kitchen table. “Why do women think they have to send food all the time?”
“She probably figured if she didn’t give it away you’d eat it all!” November joked. The three of them laughed.
“Probably so.” Jericho sat on the sofa, exhaling deeply as he sank down. Olivia went and sat next to him—not touching, but close. She looked ridiculously happy.
“That’s some nice music you’ve got playing,” Olivia said as she relaxed into the sofa cushions. “I like the blues.” She closed her eyes.
November nodded. “I used to think it was dumb, old-timey music. Maybe you gotta deal with some stuff before you can really feel the blues.” She looked at Olivia, and the two girls exchanged knowing glances.
“Mellow,” Jericho said as the harmonies surrounded them.
“I see you brought your trumpet,” November observed, pointing to the leather case Jericho had in his hand.
He rubbed his hand across the dull sheen of the leather. “I polished it up last night. The case and the horn,” he added.
“I’m glad you got it out again,” Olivia told him.
“Yeah, I been hiding from the music for way too long.” Jericho slowly pulled the gleaming instrument out of its case. “Do you think it would bother the baby if I play?” he asked November.
“I think she likes music,” November replied. “I bought her a couple of those classical CDs and she seems to quiet down when they’re on. Music is one of the few things that stops her crying.”
Just then the baby whimpered. November jumped up and ran to the next room, picking up her daughter carefully. After changing her diaper and wrapping her in a soft yellow blanket, November came back into the living room, the tiny infant’s head barely peeking out of the blanket.
“Hey, Miss Sunshine,” Olivia said softly. “You look pretty in yellow.”
“Looks like she’s grown since we saw her last,” said Jericho.
“She’s a full five pounds, one ounce now,” November stated proudly.
“What’s the latest from the doctors?” Olivia asked.
“We won’t really know if she’ll have any problems for a while, at least. Her hearing and eyesight seem to be fine, so there’s at least that to be thankful for. Her doctor told me that if she doesn’t roll over, or try to sit up, or try to grab for things in the next few months, then she’ll be a little concerned. But right now we have hope.”
November warmed a tiny bottle of milk and fed Sunshine while the three friends sat in the living room, listening to the soft blues music. The baby gave a soft burp and smiled at November as she rocked her. No one said much. The baby did not cry.
Jericho got up off the sofa, looked at November to see if she minded, and turned off the radio. He put his trumpet to his lips, then brought it down. “This song is for Sunshine,” he told them.
He picked up his horn, inserted the mute, and, ever so smoothly, began to play. Bright sweet notes flowed from the instrument, clear and pure. He played his own kind of blues—a soulful version of a song they’d all learned in grade school, “You Are My Sunshine.”
November hummed along as she rocked her baby girl, her baby girl with the shaky future.
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are gray.
You’ll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
Sharon M. Draper, November Blues
(Series: # )
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