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Jonathan Jr. Is born on March 31st, and Martha celebrates her twenty-fourth birthday in the hospital, her baby in her arms.
Her dad got them a Polaroid camera, and Jonathan takes so many photos -
*Click*
A weary woman, sweating and breathless, waiting to see her child.
*Click*
A mother and a child, asleep.
*Click*
A mother and a father and a child, smiling.
Johnathan takes forty-five Polaroid photos, and twelve regular ones, in the next two months.
It's June 4th, and her baby isn't breathing.
("It happens sometimes," the hospital will say. "We don't know why").
They bury him by his grandfather's side.
I can hold the coffin in one arm , she thinks, and it doesn't seem real. He's just sleeping.
She can't let him stay there, all alone.
Her baby is cold.
(She covers him in his baby blanket. She kisses her angel on his forehead one last time, and lets him go, ever so slowly, hoping he'll find some peace).
It's fall when she misses her first period, unnoticed.
It's December when she counts back the days, and realizes she missed three.
It's January, a new beginning, when the red stains her hopes again
She's glad she didn't tell Johnathan about her suspicions.
(She still marks this date on the calendar.)
It's April 1st, and Martha Kent is twenty-five.
(They went to their baby's grave yesterday. She read him a book suitable for his age. He would have been one, now–)
She hangs the photo from last year on the wall, by their wedding picture. And they take another one, just the two of them.
(A mother and a father, without a child).
They go to Johnny's grave again on his death day.
It's sad.
She stays in bed for the rest of the week.
(She's a practical woman, but there's nothing practical about loss).
She tells Johnathan about the child they lost.
She cries.
The next time, she tells him about her suspicions in time. She thinks -
She's tired, and grumpy, and scared - and they just finished harvesting the corn-
But two months missing can be their chance.
right?
That time he's with her when the inevitable loss comes.
The Doctor in Kansas City takes a lot of money. But that's okay. It will be worth it. It will be worth it all if-
If-
He looks up at them from behind his desk, superciliously.
"She needs to get some rest," he tells Johnathan. "And less stress. Get her some vitamins, maybe a vacation, and come back in six months''.
He talks to Johnathan, as if she isn't there.
("I don't like him," Johnathan says, after.
"We aren't coming back," she agrees.)
She's a practical woman.
They pick the last apples when she feels a kick.
And freezes.
Because no. She can't do this again.
(But she is a practical woman, so she tells John. She isn't the only one here).
Her baby doesn't cry. That's all she can hear. The silence that screams like a bansee. The void where a baby should be.
And she knows what that means.
(She's a practical woman, but her face still turns wet in the silence).
No one talks to her. The doctors are talking, and there's noise and people rushing in and out and-
(Silence).
No one talks with her.
Martha Kent turns twenty-eight years old, and there are four little frames on her wall:
A baby and a mother.
A willow tree.
The sunset, frames a woman's body like fire.
A small footprint on paper.
They are there , she thinks. They were here, and they were loved, and they are missed.
And sometimes, when she finds herself stuck by this wall, John would take a photo of her as a reminder:
( We still make memories ).