The Rainbow Wall

Trigger Warning: Miscarriage and Infertility

"So, it — it didn't take... again."

The words choked out from his voice, raspy and dry. Sugared emotions rippled out from him in waves down into my lungs like candied ginger. The scent was sweet and spicy. The delight would have been difficult to suppress for those far below the totem pole in my service. 

I could see the blood rushing to his eyes and nose as he gripped his arms together tightly. The fluorescent lights washed out the dark bookcases filled with medical reference titles that reassured patients of my prowess and expertise. Mr. Abrams glanced nervously at the shelves, as if he could divulge some hidden solution I'd missed. Mortal desperation is a recipe I've perfected, and the key ingredient is patience. His was almost ripe for the taking.

I placed the file gingerly on the mahogany desk, allowing the illusion of despair and pity to sculpt my features, reflecting them back at my prey. Mr. Abrams blinked furiously, avoiding to acknowledge me, as if refusing to notice my presence would relinquish him from the truth. With one quick glance, he saw the look on my face and buckled into the chair.

Slow and steady, as if it pained me to speak, I finally replied.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Abrams. I know this isn't easy to hear." My voice was soft and sympathetic as I lowered myself into the chair before him. Beads of sweat formed above his dark arched eyebrows, perpetually frozen with worry.

My fingers laced together like the bars of a cage, patiently waiting for a reply. I let the fish swim around the hook as his mouth would part and close, trying to find the right words. I could see his mind scrounging for solutions and alternatives. We both knew this was the end of the road. What else was there? What was left after 2 miscarriages, 3 failed IUI treatments, and 9 failed IVF treatments?

"What am I going to tell her?"

His words were barely a whisper as he swallowed hard, clearing his throat. So brave to come alone and be the — what do they call it, the 'rock' in a relationship? Well, let's give credit where credit is due. Mr. Abrams was certainly the rock in his family. 

Yet, given enough time, even rocks return to dust.

Isolation and fear are a wonderful pair. They pair just as beautiful as a velvety red with a tart Pecorino. He does such a wonderful job pretending to hold it together for them both, but the reality is far more delightful. I see the arguments flash behind my eyes, as clear as gazing into a looking glass. The self deprecation and pity burning through tear-stained bedsheets. Waiting alone in the driver's seat for hours while their precious Tesla charges, too reluctant to go inside. Sitting in the shower until the water runs cold as ice.

She doesn't know him at all — but I do.

This was the part I relished most — watching them devolve and break off one piece at a time until only desperation remains.

I took a deep breath, slowly pushing the folder to the side. Mr. Abrams doesn't move. He doesn't budge. Arms slumped forward like a prisoner ready for sentencing.

Perfect.

"Mr. Abrams... in my professional opinion, perhaps you both should take a break from treatment. Your wife's body has been through a lot and the mental toll of this entire process is nothing to shy away from."

His eyes snapped quickly to mine. We both knew what I meant by taking a break. I tugged slightly, letting the hook drift closer.

"No! There must be something we haven't done — haven't tried. Something in these books maybe." He gestured wildly to the shelves. "Or something experimental — How much? Name your price."

My face remained stoic, but behind the mask, joy slithered down into my belly. Money is the last line of defense, rich or not. I watched the dominoes topple one after the other until the last one dwindled near my fingertips.

Not entirely ignoring his remarks, I asked, "Are you a religious man Mr. Abrams?" It came out as a question, but I knew the answer.

He blinked back, as if coming out of a trance.

"Wh— what?"

My face remained rigid and unreadable. I looked away for a moment, shuffling the papers in front of me. An absentminded gesture mortals use to ease tension. He shifted in his seat, furrowing his brow in confusion.

My eyes snapped to his as I laid the papers back down on the desk, clicking my tongue like this was a regular day at the office. I let my words soak in a moment longer before leaning forward.

"You asked to name your price. I want to know what that means to you Mr. Abrams. What would you give up? What do you value?" I asked, calm and collected.

His thoughts began to race as his expression soured.

Has he been withholding treatments? Or maybe the treatments he was giving us were faulty on purpose somehow. Perhaps this is a ploy he uses to make a profit off his patients. If he thinks he can get away with blackmail and —

I clicked my tongue again, holding up a finger to interrupt such counterproductive thoughts. Eyes softening at the insult, shaking my head, "Mr. Abrams, I would never stoop to blackmail." My hand moved to rest over my heart as if wounded.

His eyes went wide, sitting up abruptly, grasping the armrests with white knuckles.

An expected reaction. My voice remained calm, changing words to hymnals both familiar and comforting. This is how I brewed poison into honey. Bending my head forward, I met his eyes.

"Fear not. David... you have found favor. Your struggles are seen and heard." I smiled sweetly as the stolen words left my lips. His brow softened as I willed the room to warm, filling it with the scent of chocolate, mint, and damp wood. A simple trigger of a scent memory, dusty but not forgotten. I could see it playing back in his mind.

He remembered that rainy day in April. 10 years old, waiting for his mother to pick him up after work. His grandmother had just unwrapped one of the Andes mints stashed in her purse. A secret treat they shared often. She smiled down at him, breaking it in half and giving him the larger piece. 

She liked to leave the window open when it rained. The smell of soaked wood and damp grass swept through the billowy rose-colored curtains. "The angels are bowling." She would say as thunder cracked overhead. It was afternoons like this where he first heard the stories of Moses and Egypt. Her cheeks would wrinkle in an upturned grin as he bombarded her with questions about how a man could walk on water and calm a storm. This was the memory, the knife's edge, that always had him question if there was more to life.

That's all it took for him to take the bait. Desperation is an irresistible antagonist. Mortals crave proof, and this scrap had done its job. 

I watched him mull in the sweetness of his memories. I watched the poison of my words turn from fear to eagerness. The hunger grew in the pit of my gullet as a new taste slid across my tongue: Hope, slightly salty. He blinked a few times, returning from his memories.

"H— how? I don't understand. Wh-why me? —" He trailed on with a cacophony of questions.

Predictable.

My teeth scraped silently behind my lips in agitation. How I tired of the same old questions from these ignorant insects. I held my hand up like a father calming his child. His words trailed off and silence eased between us.

"David," I whispered gently. "Why Moses? Why Joseph? Why Mary? Why... Sarah?" I pronounced the last name carefully, and his eyes flickered in response.

"So many questions. I could give you all the answers you desire. It'll comfort you for a moment, but you should know — you won't remember them." I sighed.

He blinked a few times, once again flummoxed by my remarks.

"I won't remember?" He croaked. 

I shook my head gently. "No... Regardless of what decision you make, when you leave this room, you won't remember this conversation."

Before he could ask why, I interjected, "David, miracles are unexplainable for a reason. You can't trace them back because of the greater purpose at work." I breathed, "— and those questions, you'll agree, are far less important than the future of your child."

His eyes flashed up at me, glassy and red with a flicker of possibility. The thought that a future with a child was within reach left him raw and exposed, dashing away his deviating questions. His fingers stretched and clenched as he moved to the edge of his seat, replaying the conversation in his head.

"A future... for us," his voice shaking. He wet his dry lips leaning toward me. "You said something about a decision. What does he want? What do I need to do?" Uncertain of how to phrase it or what to ask of me.

I rose from my chair steadily. He remained still, leaning back slightly with caution.

Wise.

"David, have you heard the story of Abraham and Isaac?" I walked around the desk, running my fingertips over the spines of the leather books, stopping beside him. I could sense him frantically digging through all those precious little story-time memories.

I felt the smile curling up to my lips.

Good. He wants to please.

I continued without waiting for an answer. "I'll ask again. What would you give up David? What would you sacrifice for your child?" I could sense him tensing as I moved. Continuing to sift through those stories until he found the right one.

I could see his cheeks trembling out of the corner of my eye as hot tears streaked down his face. Emotion overwhelmed him, tart and crisp. The kind that made rash decisions in the moment.

He cleared his throat. "Everything." The word rang out between us as the fish swallowed the hook whole. I rounded the chair to kneel down in front of him. A deceptive, humble gesture from a false angel that spurred more tears down his face. I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "And what is everything David? What does that mean?" He looked up at me, eyes glistening, broken and tired.

"Me... I — I would give up me." He spoke with the absolution of the father he desperately wished to become. My skin prickled with anticipation. I nodded slowly, acknowledging his decision as if I hadn't led him to it. "With your spirit, your child will live. You only need to give it willingly. You will not remember what you have lost, only what you will gain." I crooned with reassurance.

His response was immediate, grasping onto my forearms as if I might disappear any moment. "I give it up." he choked out. "Please. Bless us with a child. Help — please." His head fell forward as he wept, desperate for my response. I embraced him, looking upward at watchful eyes, mocking them triumphantly.

I offer blessings. I am gracious and giving. I am that I am.

"Help... I shall."

***

I'd just finished a consultation with a young couple that just got off birth control. Commonplace for overly anxious and worried newlyweds. Mr. and Mrs. Abrams strolled into my office beaming with excitement. She wore a beautiful sundress with streaks of color lined down from the bodice to her knees.

I smiled wide at their arrival, "Has it been 6 months already Mrs. Abrams? How's the morning sickness? Are you handling it well? You are positively glowing!" She reflected a smile back at me twirling her dress.

"Queasy most days, but it's well worth it. We— we just can't thank you enough. Did you get the flowers we sent?"

"Yes, I did, lovely. You didn't need to do that Mrs. Abrams, and thanks isn't necessary. I am truly happy for you both. This triumph is well deserved!" I replied, glancing at Mr. Abrams.

He turned toward me, offering a warm grin. "We just got the photos back from our shoot, and were hoping to add one of them to the rainbow wall in the lobby." 

I smiled with deep satisfaction as he handed me a black framed photo of the two of them. I looked over the posed smiles, the tacky rainbow décor, and David standing behind his wife, holding her bulging belly, hands over her own. While a glow shimmered throughout her body, only my eyes could see the hollow shell that remained of David.

I looked back up, thanking them both for the gift, filled with sheer pleasure. I gestured for them to follow me out into the lobby toward a massive wall that lined the entrance of my practice. It was filled from the floor to ceiling with a collage of smiling faces and bulging bellies.

"Of course." I grinned "I would love nothing more than to add your photo to the wall. In fact, I picked out the perfect spot for you ages ago."