Everything and More

By Thomas McClure

She looks up at you with a strained face, your strong brave wife, and you can only imagine the pain she’s going through. Creating life takes a toll, you both knew it, but she was the one to take that toll. Your strong brave beautiful wife, with her burning sunset hair as flustered as her cheeks. She breathes heavily, eyes in shock and frantic to escape. She looks to you and asks;

“What shall we name them?”

You don’t know what to say, she lies uncomfortably, waiting for an answer. How could she be thinking of something as petty as a name at a time like this? Escape, you realise. She needs a distraction from the pain, like when you stub your toe or rub salt in a wound, though you know this is a far greater pain.

“Shouldn’t we find out if it’s a boy or a girl?” you ask.

“I couldn’t care less, and I know you don’t mind. Something gender-neutral I guess.”

She’s nearly breaking your hand in hers, the doctor tells her to push.

“Give me a name, any name!” she yells.

“Sam!”

“Sam? Everyone knows a Sam, there’s too many a Sam out there.”

“Well you come up with one then!” you say, not thinking.

“I’m doing a fair bit at the moment love!” she retorts, not in a friendly way.

“Blake” you stutter.

“Um, uh” she groaned, “Alright, I guess, what’s the significance?”

What was she on about? “Significance? I just said a random name.” you tell her.

“Oh well then that won’t do,” she said, breathing heavily now, “come on, think of a story, something about our past, find me a name that means something. Tell me a story, take me away from here.”

She lies her head back and closes her eyes as she prepares for another push, you’re strong brave wife. You open your mouth and start blurt out the history you both share. The memories come flooding back to you as you speak.

The announcement was nine months ago, you’re mind had been entirely on providing for your coming family since then. What was before that? Well, her, of course; you’re wife, you’re everything. Though she wasn’t always of course. A year before that was the wedding. It was small, close friends and family, you both had anxiety so it was for the best, and it was the greatest night of your life. You remember the dancing, the singing, and the slow starts and all the little awkward moments that made it real. The vows and the declaration.

Before that was the civil partnership, it was for a few years, something official for practical reasons while you saved up for the happy day. Money was hard to come by, several shifts each to fill up their time, but the few moments between where they had each other kept them going, she always kept you going. Before that was the debt that dug you both in so deep, your fault. You’re ambitions spoke too loud, you didn’t work the way everyone else did, instead forcing yourself into finishing your creative projects, but you never did of course, and the struggle was all in your head. Though she stuck with you through it, she supported you and encouraged you, but she also told you when you had to get your life in order, and she pushed you to do the work that would pay.

She was right, your ambitions were put on hold, until you could afford them. You’re still waiting for that day, it will probably come soon, at least you hope so, you could never stand passing through your life, not leaving anything to flourish, rejecting a legacy. You had to have something that would outlive you, be better than you, but that day was put on hold.

Before that, the settling down period. Normalising your relationship, getting used to routines, establishing the same old same old. You thought it would be dull, become a normal couple with normal habits and normal days with normal nights; you thought living a normal life would do you a disservice. You were wrong. The talking, the working together, the hanging out, the moving in together, the banter, the fights, the make ups, the make outs, the talkative walks, they were all great. You could go for months without thinking about your projects, the work you hoped you would one day be known for, because being with the one you loved was all you needed. This was the only connection you needed.

Though this was in peacetime.

After you had met her again, properly meeting one-on-one rather than with groups of people around or in passing, and you both hung out, aiming to mend the bridge, and that was how you entered peacetime; that was how you started up this new relationship and settled down. Before that was the long years where you didn’t really see each other. In your late teens where you would occasionally talk online about how you were doing but you’d never really see each other in person. You’d see her in groups, hear about her through mutual friends, get invited to the same parties but at best have a little banter, it wasn’t much of a friendship anymore.

Those times were tough. You two had met in high school, your last year, but after that there wasn’t anything to force you and her to meet, and you had make mistakes, as you often did back then. She didn’t really want to see you, and she was already overloaded with work while you had decided to stay at home and focus on your projects, so you two had just drifted apart. You missed her, she was your best friend, she was everything to you and more, and then she was gone. But it was good for you, looking back now, you had make mistakes and if everything was swept under the rug and your friendship went on then you would have never learned. Those times were rough, but good for you; you worked on your toxic traits, re-evaluated your priorities, furthered your education a little, and most importantly you worked on your projects.

Since a child you had always wanted to create something bigger than yourself; like Vincent Van Gogh with his paintings, like George Orwell and his writings, like David Bowie and his music. You wanted something that would outlast you, become greater than yourself, you wanted to be the creator of something that could change the world. You had high hopes, great aspirations, and you ambitiously flung yourself into every creative concept that came into your head; writing, drawing, singing, painting, dancing, protesting, and so much more. Thinking back you realise you never finished a single one of those projects, before you could bring your work to life you had moved on to the next endeavour. One day, you know, one day you’ll make it.

She squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the moment. She looks up at you, your strong beautiful wife, and she says “Got a name yet?”

“Not yet” you say apologetically.

“Alright then, Notyet certainly is an interesting name” she says, she tries to laugh at her own joke but instead starts gasping. You hear the doctor describing how it’s coming out but you’re not listening to him. You smile to your wife, you kiss her hand and tell her how much you love her. She smiles back, her face is still strained but she tells you how she’s so happy to have you. You don’t know what she means, but that’s just your own self-conscious thoughts, you push them aside. You tell her she’s going to be a great mother, she laughs a little and says you’d be an okay parent, and she tells you that she’ll change her mind more favourably if he gives the child a proper name, the first word it will hear, because they can’t name them “Nobody”.

Nobody. That word sticks in your head, you’re not fully back in the moment, and your mind is still racing through your shared history. Nobody. You used that word, you thought about it back then, but what for? This was one of those feelings that you absolutely had to find an answer to, otherwise it would make you feel uncomfortable for the rest of the day. You thought back to when you were trying to be somebody, you just wanted to be known back then, you weren’t afraid of being unknown, until you met someone who you thought was. Nobody.

You realise how mean you were to him, not in person of course but in your head. You had started to dabble in politics, it was scary at first but you thought you’d give it a go, see what it was like, and see if you could make a name for yourself that way. You had to do research for it first, so you decided to interview the local Provost, which was an okay political position in your young mind. His name was Morgan Morganson, an odd name for a very not odd man. He was at least middle aged, nice, but a bit doddery. You greeted each other and promptly began the interview where you asked him about his life. He kept digressing to talking about how young people were destroying the world, but to be fair those digressions were far more interesting than his life story. Nobody. He had spent his whole life in this career path, he only ever focused on becoming a prominent known figure in the region. He worked hard and finally, at this late stage in his life, he had become Provost, a position that your average Joe would know nothing about. Every day of his life was dedicated to this role and he wasn’t even that well known. He never started a family, he had no friends, he never did anything creative, he never changed the world or even his local community, and yet he had achieved his ambitions. He had done what he wanted to do but nothing would come from it. He was a Nobody, at least in your eyes then.

You were terrified of this outcome. You realised where you were in your life, recently turned twenty, with few friends, no partners, little money, no published work, and no legacy. You were at a point in your life where you obsessed over your ambition but only that. Ambition can’t be everything, you needed more. If you worked towards your ambition you may have what you wanted, but not what you needed; no family, no friends, no one to love, and with a warped sense of success. You needed someone to tell you how to put your life in order, a meaningful connection. You didn’t want to be like Morganson, but looking back now you understood how easy it was to become like that. You were nearly him, in a way, and even now that scares you. He was a nice man, but he wasn’t a fulfilled man, he had told you how lost he often felt now that he had everything he ever wanted. You saw him as a Nobody, and so did he. You both wanted to be someone and you both wanted a legacy, but in becoming someone he had lost his chance. You hadn’t.

The doctor handed you the baby. You brought the child, your strong beautiful daughter, to the woman you love, your strong beautiful wife. She smiles and turns to you, waiting.

You look into your daughter’s enchanting brown eyes. Your daughter; something greater than yourself; your legacy’; everything and more.

“Morgan”

The End

By Thomas McClure

Word Count: 1,947