Neon Black

1: Do you see me?

Were my hands ever this small? Was I ever held like this? Curled up tight against the chest of someone who loves me, of someone who'd just met me and promised to always be there, to always protect me.

"He's beautiful." I say.

"You're an aunty now." My sister replies, hair sticking to her forehead. An exhausted smile on her flushed face.

"Aunty Ever." I whisper to myself.

But I realise it isn't just me hearing that, it is also him. This little boy with his tiny hand curled around my finger. This little boy that I love.

As I lean forward to kiss his head he screws up his face, squeezes my finger and lets out a wail.

"Oh my god. What did I - "

"Ev he's fine."

I can't stand it, hearing him cry.

"What do I ... ?"

"It's okay. Give him to me."

I pass him back to Chelle, his hand still clinging to my finger.

"Oh my little boy." She says, "I'm here now."

"He won't let go." I say, as his screaming gets louder.

"Come on baby. I've got you. Come. On."

With a strained twisting motion Chelle manages to pry his hand off. The second he's free he stops and goes quiet. Starring at me.

"That was weird." I say, "Is he looking at me?"

My sister laughs, "No sweets. He can't even see beyond his nose right now." And she goes back to cooing at him.

But I'm not so easily convinced. I know I haven't been around babies much but I swear he's looking right at me, like he knows me, or knows something about me. And the way his screaming sounded, how it felt. I can still hear it now, on the edge of my thoughts like something just out of hearing.

"Visiting hours're almost over girls." Says a smiling but tired nurse on her rounds. I smile back at her and nod my head. Turning to Chelle, I rub my hand across the baby's blanket.

"I better head out." I sigh.

"Oh I can't believe how late it is. You should have just come tomorrow."

"It's okay. I wanted to see him. But, yeah, I should go."

I reach down and grab my bag then sling it over my shoulder.

"Say goodbye to aunty Ever, Genesis." She says. I laugh and roll my eyes.

"Oh my god, that name Chelle. Are you sure it isn't too late to change it?" I tease.

"Hey! I think it's perfect. A special name for a special boy"

"Ever. Genesis ... and Chelle. Who's the odd one out now." I say, wiggling my eyebrows about. But I see the look on her face change. I see her eyes shift as if looking far away, back into memory. And I feel bad, about the name, like I should say something kind to break her out of it, to make her smile. But I take too long.

"Chelle, I - "

And tears start to form in her eyes. A look of pain passes over her face before she wipes the tears away.

"Ever, it's fine." She says, letting out a laugh. "These damn hormones!"

I smile in agreement, but we both know that isn't true. We both know that no matter how beautiful Genesis is and how happy life has become, at these special times there's always sadness. It's impossible to avoid thinking about who isn't here.

"Okay. I'm off." I say, leaning in to kiss them both goodbye.

As I turn and start to walk out I see the mothers in the other beds, surrounded by flowers and gifts, a few partners and family members still with them. And I can't help but feel bad for Chelle, the few friends she has left in her life, and just me.

I pause at the door. Hesitant and unsure. I turn back and say,

"She'd love him, you know. And if she was here, she'd be happy."

Chelle just smiles and says, "Love you Ev. Be safe," then lies back and closes her eyes, gently patting and rocking Genesis.

As I walk through the ward I realise how late it is. Lights are off in most of the rooms, a few tired nurses chatting together, some on their way out, others probably just starting for the night.

My shoes squeak as they grip to the pristine floor. Everything I see is made white and pure in these incandescent lights. The sharp smell of cleaning products and faint beeping of monitors fade away as I leave the ward and press down at the elevator. As I wait I notice how empty the hospital is. And though I know I shouldn't, and because I can't help myself, I imagine that maybe I'm the only person in the world. This emptiness all consuming and complete. Not about to be broken by someone walking around the corner. Not a momentary coincidence - but a permanent state. Would I like it, if life was this way? And who would I be? Would I be scared and lonely, or brave and free? Or maybe I'd be exactly the same. Still me. In the empty silence, always me.

The elevator dings and I anticipate nurses and doctors and patients and people all about to rush out to prove me wrong, to show me everything is fine, to show me I'm wrong. But when the doors open there's no one. Until, I see her. In the mirror. The me that isn't me. The me that everyone else sees but I barely recognise anymore. She smiles, an awkward smile that says, hello. I shake my head and walk inside, turning back to press Ground. The doors slide shut and I see her again, starring back at me. All black hair and dark eyes, never giving anything away. But now her face is broken, the mirrored doors dividing her in two. I shiver and shut my eyes, trying to force the image from my mind. Trying to think of anything else. But still she drifts there, in the darkness of my mind. A twirling, shifting reflection accompanied by the whirring of the elevator and the echo of a memory of a screaming newborn baby.