Nine ½ Months by Prestel Bonnie;

Author:Prestel, Bonnie; [Bonnie Prestel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Morgan James Publishing
Published: 2020-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

The winter air hit my cheeks like a cool kiss. I stood outside the courtyard and took in as much air as I could, filling my tight lungs. Their expansion gave me renewed energy to make the eight-block walk to St. Michael’s where Father Charlie was waiting.

Painted bluejays flew as a flock over the steeple of the red church. I paused a moment to catch my breath and watch the birds in flight. The two front birds left the flock and circled back around, almost to say, “Hey, want to fly with us today?”

If only I could magically transform into a blue bird and fly far, far away. Above the chaos and clutter of the city. I yearned to be free from my condition, from the choice I was forced to make. Time was running out. My due date fast approaching. I had to decide.

Could I be a mother or not?

What was best for this little life growing inside me?

I watched the blue birds loop around the church and head west. They stayed together, forever loyal, never leaving the other’s side.

I wished I had a partner, a friend to stay at my side. As they flew from my vision I exhaled my loneliness.

I paused at the top of the stone stairs, enjoying one more minute of sunshine.

Father Charlie must have sensed my presence because one of the carved doors swung open to escort me in. “Are you coming in?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

He was talking about more than just coming inside. I struggled to step by him, moving with the grace of a rhinoceros. I waited as he bolted the door, and then we walked down the long, dark church aisle.

His office was to the right and back of the altar, but you had to step up two red velvet stairs onto the altar. I hesitated as we approached. I felt unworthy to enter this sacred space, reserved for the holy ones: popes, priests, and praying people.

Everything was mysterious up on the top step. I had never been up farther than the first pew. Father Charlie was already across, standing at his secret door, as patient as a saint. “Come, Gracie,” he said.

I tiptoed my way across the red velvet sea and managed to make it to the other side without being struck down by lightning. Do they let unwed mothers on the altar? I wondered.

“You made it,” he said, trying to coax a smile.

I am sure I looked like a cow before the slaughter. But once he opened his private door I found refuge in an overstuffed paisley chair. Father Charlie sat behind an empty mahogany desk. The only items on it were a lamp and a Bible. The lamp provided the only light to the dim room, which was barren except for a small bookcase, a statue of some saint I’d never seen, and a basin with water. High on the wall, light peeked in through a stained-glass window, giving the room an amber glow.

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