1943. Shanghai. A soldier of the Japanese Army happens by a club one night purely out of boredom. What he expects to find are uncouth drunks. He actually meets a beautiful African-American performer by the name of Beatrice. Throughout the next three...
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sanjuuhachi
thirty-eight
It was utter chaos. You would think that even though there were only seven or so people that it wouldn't be as hectic but she'd thought wrong. She had to pray to God above to keep her tongue as her Aunt and mother both fussed about her hair and was she going to wear the dress without a hat? Taking deep breaths, she lowered her hands down to the slight wave that passed across the skin of her belly. The small flutters and butterflies that had made her feel strange now were full-fledged movements.
Glancing down at her bare stomach, she watched with a gentle smile as a small lump appeared to her side. A soft finger poked back at it and it disappeared. Smiling increasing, she sat at her mother's vanity completely nude. Door shut. Just for a moment, it could be her and her child.
"Are you excited too baby? I'm gonna marry your Papa today. Again." Looking up at herself in the mirror, she let her eyes roam her naked body.
"The first time you weren't in my tummy yet. But this time it's extra special because you're here too." Tears began to well up in her eyes and she let them cascade down her cheeks. It has been strange... this whole pregnancy thing. Her body hadn't known what to think, what to do. And yet... it had. It adapted and grew. Big. Wide. Full. Slow and sure, careful. Perfectly nurturing and caring for the precious life it held inside.
She hadn't actually stopped to think about it much; just let things happen... run their course. The emotions that crashed into her. The never-ending appetite. The tender breasts and legs that would give out. It wasn't easy... but was it worth it? Absolutely. Her momma's guidance grounded her. It gave her strength on the days when all she wanted to do was cry. When all she felt when she looked at herself in the mirror was big, fat and ugly. 'You getting more and more ready now Bea baby.' She hadn't been entirely sure what that meant but feeling her child turn, shift, and press against her stomach for the first time had been nothing short of miraculous.
"Do you remember the first time you kicked me?" There, the shift. Listening. Attentive.
"I was layin' down with your daddy. The mornin' was nice and bright but all we wanted to do was lay around in the dark. So we did. Just as your daddy put his hand around my belly, you kicked." Laughing out loud, she grinned wide.
"He went all still and quiet. I was in such disbelief that I gasped real loud like somebody threw cold water on me. And then you did it again." Stroking the soft skin of her bump, she let the tears well up again.
"He pressed his palm flat against you and hugged me tighter. It wasn't until I had my hand there too that you kicked one last time as if to say you were there and you were glad we were there too." With a small sigh, she lifted a hand to wipe her tears.
