Una Rosa Con Cualquier Otro Nombre

Voy a hacer algo differente.  Voy a tratar de escribir algo en Espanol.  Espero que usted entendera!

Hace seis anos hemos vivido en Majorca.  Cada jueves, me encontre con un groupo de personas en un pueblo a 25 minutos de nuestro pueblo, para estudiar la Biblia. La jefe del grupo era una mujer de Texas que esta casado con un hombre de Majorca.  Su nombre es Sandra y su marido Adrian. Ellos tenian dos hijos pero querian otro hijo.  Los medicos les dijeron que Sandra no podia tener mas hijos. Pero....sopresa...Sandra quedo embarazada! Que alegria!  

Durante 6 meses han buscado un nombre para la bebe (una nina) pero ellos no pudieron ponerse de acuerdo en un nombre!  Todas la personas en el grupo tenian sugerencias, pero cada vez Sandra dijo, Dios dara su nombre.  Ella es una mujer de fe!  Estaba segura que Dios le daria un nombre!  

Ya era hora de salir de la isla.  Era la ultima vez que iba a ver el grupo.  Era en mi coche...estaba muy triste por dejar la isla y llore.  Me pregunte sobre el nombre del bebe.  Encontraron un nombre? De repente, una palabra salto en mi mente.  Habia oido esta palabra antes y sabia en este momento que seria el nombre del bebe y sabia que cuando lo oiga, Sandra estaria muy, muy emocionada y que me diria algo sobre este nombre.  Sabia que este nombre fue mandado por Dios!  

Cuando llegue a su casa, le conte todo lo que me habia pasado en el coche.  Le dije que Dios me mostro que estaria muy emocionada cuando escuche el nombre y que este nombre seria el nombre del bebe! Pero antes quiera verificar el significado en el ordinador. Ella era muy, muy impaciente de saber el nombre. Cuando termine de verificar el significado, dije, "Este nombre significa un retorno a la tierra prometida.  El nombre es Aliyah." Sandra empezo a saltar y llorar. Dije "Dime que paso." Ella me dijo la historia, "Ayer por la noche, Adrian (su marido) me hablo sobre su familia en Inglaterra. Estaba hablando sobre los nombres de sus primos."  Me dijo, "Sus nombres son Paul, Dean, Donna, Nigel y Martin.  Quince anos despues, mi tia tuvo un bebe y la llamo Aliyah." Sandra dijo, "Me gusta mucho este nombre.  Porque no me lo has dicho antes?"  

Es una coincidencia o un milagro?  Creo que es un milagro del Dios.  Sandra sabia que Dios le daria un nombre...y....en mi opinion, le dio uno! 

Just Another Day in Jimena (Revised in November 2017) My first ever attempt at writing fiction...I apologize in advance!)

                                                                                                                                                                                                       

The bell in the clock tower struck four.  8:50 a.m.  Another day in Jimena.  A day like any other.  They’d come here 8 months before, hoping to find meaning.  They’d meant to leave, but got stuck in this place of hills and valleys, of whitewashed abodes.

The place they’d rented, just for a week they promised each other, was rustic, not at all what they wanted.  She’d wanted something more modern.  She loved her creature comforts.  He’d wanted a place near the beach to windsurf.  Yet, here they were, eight months in and still waking each morning at 8:50 a.m. to the bell in the clock tower striking 4.  Still in Jimena.

She can’t remember when he started drinking.  Breakfast was a thing of the past.  Wine started the day, beer ended it.  The thin, muscled stomach of which he’d been so proud, now hung over his belt; his shirts no longer buttoned.  She too, had started enjoying her drink.  She found herself waiting anxiously for the bell in the clock tower to ring 7 times.  Almost noon.  Not too early, she’d tell herself as she poured the fermented liquid into a dirty wine glass she’d pluck from the pile of unwashed glasses lining the counter.

When was the last time they’d washed the dishes or taken out the garbage or bothered to remove the empties?  The smell didn’t bother them anymore. Nothing bothered them much anymore.  She looked at him…his empty, rheumy eyes stared back at her…hopeless.  They were hopeless in Jimena.

No more contact with the outside world.  They hadn’t checked their email for months.  They knew people worried about them, but somehow they just didn’t care.  The last time she’d heard from her sister and her son, they’d expressed concern."“Well, let them worry,” she sighed as she poured them both another.

                                                                    *******

Morning in Jimena. The bell in the clock tower struck 4.  They woke up.  He grimaced in her direction.  His teeth were stained blue; hers were, too.

 

A knock at the door.

“The door,” he slurred.

“You get it!  Did you break a leg?”

“MERDE,” he swore, as he dragged himself from the bed.

She heard the lock turn; heard the door open.

“Who is it?"

He didn’t answer.

“WHO IS IT,” she yelled.

A woman’s voice. “It’s your neighbours, Louise and Brent. We haven’t seen you for so long!  We decided to visit.

”

Her husband entered the bedroom followed by the two.  They both had one hand behind their backs. Their eyes opened wide with disbelief as they took in the rows of empty bottles, the unwashed sheets, the dirty clothes piled high on the floor.

She threw back the stained blanket and tried to stand up. Staggering, she fell back.  She managed with great difficulty the second time.

“Why are you here,” she asked belligerently.

As if of one mind, the two took their hands from behind their backs.  Grinning from ear to ear, they held them out.  Two bottles of wine.

They poured the alcohol into four filthy glasses.  Her husband made the toast.  “Here’s to another day in Jimena.”  

                                                                     ********

It had been five months since the visit.  The lives became more hopeless with each bottle consumed.  Loneliness was an anchor that paralyzed them.

In one of their more lucid moments, they talked about it.  It was time for a change, they decided.  Time to leave Jimena.  Time to start hoping again.  Their rent was paid until the end of the month, but they didn’t want to wait.  A forgotten emotion....anticipation?

Bags packed, they piled into the car.  He started driving down through the narrow village streets passing people they hadn’t seen in months, waving happily at each one as they passed by. They could almost taste the hope, it was that palpable.  They looked at each other and smiled, excited for the future. They heard the bell in the clock tower strike 6.  It was almost eleven a.m.  They had lots of time to make their flight.

The countryside embraced them.  They used to love this road; it had always filled them with peace.  The rolling hills, the gentle curves, the cows and horses grazing in the fields.  They could feel the stress of the past year rolling away as they got closer to the highway that lead to Malaga and the airplane.

The roundabout leading to the highway was just ahead.  Their future was just ahead. 

                                                                     ********

The car that hit them hadn’t been there half a second before.  They were dazed, but not hurt from the impact.  Before they knew it, a police car had arrived.

“Your driver’s license, please.”

He reached into his wallet and with trembling hands, pulled it out and handed it to the officer.

“This has expired.  I smell alcohol.  Have you been drinking, sir?”

“We had quite a bit of wine last night, but nothing today.”

“Please get out of the car and blow very hard into this, sir,” he said, brandishing a breathalyzer.

He did as told.

“Sir, I’m afraid we’ll have to impound your car.  Your blood alcohol is much higher than the accepted limit.  If you’ll just step this way.”  The officer opened the back door of the police car for them.  They removed their luggage from their trunk and placed it in the trunk of the police car.  They climbed into the back seat.

They used to love this road…it had always made them feel peaceful, but now it just felt like hope dashed…hope no more.

The officer dropped them back at their apartment in Jimena.  Hungry, they opened the refrigerator.  All there was inside was a single bottle of wine; a single bottle of wine.

 

The bell in the clock tower struck 8.

MAGNIFICENT - A GIFT

"All right.  Roll from the bed onto the table."
"Do what?  Onto where?"
"Come on.  You can do it!"
"I can't feel anything at all from my chest down to my feet and you're telling me to move?"
I lift my head and glance down at the body to which I seem to have no connection.  The epidural has severed it into two halves - mind and a big hunk of meat, formerly known as legs and torso.  I touch the disembodied appendages. They even feel like meat - cold, flaccid.  The lack of summer sun and thirty pounds of extra weight add an air of raw chicken flesh to the goosebumps that cover them. Why is it so cold in the operating room?
"Sorry, there's no way I can move from here.  You're going to have to help me."
Two strong nurses make short work of the transfer, straining only slightly under the bulky load. Starched linens snap as they cover my prone body with a tent-like structure, thankfully cutting off our view of it.  The harsh artificial lighting causes me to squint as I glance up at my husband.  A hospital mask hides the lower half of his face which is still, I'm sure, registering fear.  He hates hospitals and when the doctor informed him in no uncertain terms that he WOULD go into the operating room with me, he had paled considerably.  I reach for his hand to comfort him and smile brightly.  I'm not at all afraid.  Everything will be fine. Yes, it's a shame that natural childbirth hadn't worked out for us, but women have cesarean sections all the time and rarely die.  
The sound of scuffling feet behind us herald the entrance of the doctor and his assistants.  They make their way to my lower half and are hidden behind the 'tent'. We hear the movement of a cart and then, "All right.  Let's get this baby born. Thirty-two hours is a long time to wait.  I'm going to make the incision now. You may feel some pressure, but it won't hurt."
"If I feel a thing, it will amaze me, Dr. Patrick."
I look at my husband and our eyes meet.  We are going to see our son, finally! Elation and fear. Are we ready for this?  Even after all of the books and manuals on childbirth and babies, we feel so unprepared.  Ready or not, it's about to happen!  I feel some pressure and then see my husband's eyes widen as a single drop of blood flies through the air and splashes onto his cheek.  He doesn't like blood, either.  I squeeze his hand. His eyes close tightly as he successfully fights the urge to pass out.
The operating table vibrates wildly under me while the linen tent above me undulates rapidly.
"What's going on down there?  Are you trying to kill me?"
The doctor laughs.  "We're just about to deliver your baby.  
A long pause.
"Here he is!"
I wait for the cry, but the room is silent.  Oh, my God, is he alive?  Why isn't he crying?
A nurse runs out of the room carrying a bundle.  Oh, Lord.  Please let him be all right.  I can't speak. Can't ask what is happening; too afraid to hear something dreadful.  Tortuous, long minutes pass. We are both frozen in fear.  Please God, please.  My heart hurts - it's pounding so fast.  Please, please, please.  A CRY! The most wonderful sound ever.  My baby cried!  I cry!
The nurse comes back into the room and places the tightly-wrapped bundle beside me on the operating table. Our son's eyes meet mine.  Such wonder.  A miracle.  A gift from God.  He looks just as we had imagined he would.  Brown eyes, big, crooked nose, little red curls dot his head.  He is MAGNIFICENT.

MAGNIFICENT - A GIFT

The sterility of artificial lighting and the silver sheen of highly-glossed medical instruments...we're in the operating room at St. Joseph's Hospital.
"All right.  Roll from the bed onto the table."
"Do what?  Onto where?"
"Come on.  You can do it!"
"I can't feel anything at all from my chest down to my feet and you're telling me to move?"
I lift my head and glance down at the body to which I seem to have no connection.  The epidural has severed it into two halves - mind and a big hunk of meat, formerly known as legs and torso.  I touch the disembodied appendages. They even feel like meat - cold, flaccid.  The lack of summer sun and thirty pounds of extra weight add an air of raw chicken flesh to the goosebumps that cover them. Why is it so cold in the operating room?
"Sorry, there's no way I can move from here.  You're going to have to help me."
Two strong nurses make short work of the transfer, straining only slightly under the bulky load. Starched linens snap as they cover my prone body with a tent-like structure, thankfully cutting off our view of it.  The glare of the harsh lighting causes me to squint as I glance up at my husband.  A hospital mask hides the lower half of his face which is still, I'm sure, registering fear.  He hates hospitals and when the doctor informed him in no uncertain terms that he WOULD go into the operating room with me, he had paled considerably.  I reach for his hand to comfort him and smile brightly.  I'm not at all afraid.  Everything will be fine. Yes, it's a shame that natural childbirth hadn't worked out for us, but women have cesarean sections all the time and rarely die.  
The sound of scuffling feet behind us herald the entrance of the doctor and his assistants.  They make their way to my lower half and are hidden behind the 'tent'. We hear the movement of a cart and then, "All right.  Let's get this baby born. Thirty-two hours is a long time to wait.  I'm going to make the incision now. You may feel some pressure, but it won't hurt."
"If I feel a thing, it will amaze me, Dr. Patrick."
I look at my husband and our eyes meet.  We are going to see our son, finally! Over the months, we'd speculated about his appearance. J.P. has black hair and dark brown eyes and I, as you know, have blond hair and green eyes.  Large noses can be found on both sides of the family. We laughed as we envisioned our future child's 'looks'.  "His eyes will be brown, because brown is dominant over green, his hair will probably be red, and he'll have a big nose for sure." 
Elation and fear. Are we ready for this?  Even after all of the books and manuals on childbirth and babies, we feel so unprepared.  Ready or not, it's about to happen!  I feel some pressure and then see my husband's eyes widen as a single drop of blood flies through the air and splashes onto his cheek.  He doesn't like blood, either.  I squeeze his hand. His eyes close tightly as he successfully fights the urge to pass out.
The operating table vibrates wildly under me while the linen tent above me undulates rapidly.
"What's going on down there?  Are you trying to kill me?"
The doctor laughs.  "We're just about to deliver your baby.  
A long pause.
"Here he is!"
I wait for the cry, but the room is silent.  Oh, my God, is he alive?  Why isn't he crying?
A nurse runs out of the room carrying a bundle.  Oh, Lord.  Please let him be all right.  I can't speak. Can't ask what is happening; too afraid to hear something dreadful.  Tortuous, long minutes pass. We are both frozen in fear.  Please God, please.  My heart hurts - it's pounding so fast.  Please, please, please.  A CRY! The most wonderful sound ever.  My baby cried!  I cry!
The nurse comes back into the room and places the tightly-wrapped bundle beside me on the operating table. Our son's eyes meet mine.  Such wonder.  A miracle.  A gift from God.  He looks just as we had imagined he would.  Brown eyes, big, crooked nose, little red curls dot his head.  He is MAGNIFICENT.