𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐢. ✭ 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒

MARCH, 1979; CHANCE

"There they are." A nurse cooed as she passed by. "That's your new baby brother and sister." My nose was pressed up against the glass as I looked in on the nursery.

Andy and Alex, the magical pair, the wonder twins. They looked so raw in their hospital bassinets. Their skin was red and their faces were wrinkled from the concept they had never been introduced to before. Light.

I named them. I did. I helped pick from a baby book Mama was given in the hospital. At that point in time I think that was the only baby book she had ever picked up despite having me first.

André and Alexandria. Their names were chosen with specific reason behind them. They were pleasant names. Not too overused like Michael and Jennifer. Not too out of this world like Golden Shadow and Moony.

Alexandria: Origin, Greek. Means helper and defender of mankind. She was to be a girl who would be fiercely protective. When I looked into her tiny little face I saw her defending her family until the end. What came with that is that she would of course be a tremendous meddler.

André: His name is a form of the name Andrew. It means man or warrior. He would be just like his sister. The both of them would be a tremendous duo of fighters. He would be the softer twin. He was born second. He would have heart, compassion, and an adorable charm. I could see it in his eyes.

Grandma had driven us all the way up to Hawkin's a week before Mama's due date. She stayed at Daddy's while I spent the night at Jerry's house, sleeping in the twin's unused nursery.

The time Mama and I spent during that week felt magical. She was so much fun to be around when she was sober. She didn't laze around and sleep all the time. She wasn't lethargic, no. Instead, we were together at every waking moment.

We took long walks out in nature, exploring the woods. It was so she could soak up the earth's beauty. So that the soil we stepped on would keep her new children safe.

We bathed in the moonlight, on the roof of her house. Even with Mama's big old belly she was able to maneuver her way out the window to lay on the roofing tiles. This was so that the stars and the moon would bless her babies, watch them, and whisper words of guidance when they were in times of need.

We floated on our backs at Lovers Lake. The stretch marks on Mama's stomach wove across her skin into intricate patterns. They displayed growth, process, and fertility. Floating was necessary so that the waters of Hawkin's would never be angered with the little ones. The lake would never rip them below the surface but instead allow them to float across the shimmering waters.

Besides that we ate out to eat every night, whatever I wanted. We watched Oprah Winfrey and played board games for hours. She held me close in the nursery and read me old baby books she used to read to me as a toddler. She braided my hair and baked chocolate chip cookies for me.

She was Mama.

I was baby.

That is, until the real babies came. Then it was over. It was all over. I wasn't the baby. I was the oldest. I was responsible. I was the protected, not them.

Mama would slowly lose her patience with me for the duration of my stay. When I would rock one of the babies she'd snatch the little one from out of my arms, yelling that I wasn't doing it right. I cried for an hour after that.