Story: An Old Friend by Danielle Nation Winds of a peculiar nature whisper through the rigid branches of pines and oaks surrounding the farm this strange morning. The rooster stuck in his routine does not sing his proud morning song. Ma is exhausted, sweat beaded at her brow. Sparrows, blue jays, robins, cardinals, and a single, brightly colored pair of love birds crowd the window sill, silent and watchful. Sets of small eyes peer into the room through cracks in the wall near the door. Pa leans over the blood-stained mattress, his heart too frightened to beat. The midwife gently wipes away the afterbirth with a warm rag and shakes her head in sympathy. With the umbilical cord cut, the motionless babe is passed to Ma. Ma burrows her face into the loose fabric, breathing in the scent of her silent infant, wet hot tears rolling down her swollen face. A cool draft moves through the small room causing the temperature to drop. Pa’s face falls at the sight of his son. He quickly retreats into the shadows of the room, steeling himself away, attempting to keep the shock to his system to a minimum. The midwife, at a loss for words, sits at the end of the bed, praying. But, it is the wind who answers. “Wake up, little one,” the shifting breeze murmurs. The bed sheets ripple in response, and goosebumps prickle the flesh. The little hairs on the back of Ma’s neck stand straight up, causing her to pull the bundle closer to her chest, as if to protect him from the unusual chill in the air. And, the wind sings once again, “Wake up, wake up,” words only meant for one. Small ears are listening. The birds at the window begin to flap their wings in a frenzy. “Wake up, wake up, wake uuuuup,” it draws out, as it curls around his little frame, twirling little sunburst locks. A small heartbeat begins to quicken. Tree branches begin to moan, rattle, and shake. “Waaaake uuuup!” Lungs expanding, a first breath. “Let the world know you’re here, little one. Wake up, wake up, wake up!” A whimper escapes the baby’s lips. Mice scrape, scratch, and squeak, scurrying through the walls. From the rooster’s beak, a new melody, as if to shout “He is here, he is here!” “James?!” Ma exclaims. And, a bright smile illuminates the shadows. R Page 45
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