Sophie’s Rose

It’s for the best. Carmel closed her eyes and shook her head, hoping to dislodge the words that echoed in her mind. But they refused to leave. An image of Marcus’ face joined the clamour in her head. She clenched her fists. How could he? It’s for the best? To kill her child, their child? She slammed her fist into the cushion next to her on the couch. The best for who? For her, for the unborn baby, or for Marcus?

Oh god, why? Why was this happening? She stood up and began to pace around the lounge room. And how could Marcus have been so, so cold? They’d only just left the doctor’s surgery, hadn’t even reached the car when he’d delivered that line:

It’s for the best, to terminate, I mean. He’d put his arm around her, his face no longer sad. We can try again. You heard what he said, it might not happen again.

For the first time in her life, Carmel had been speechless. All thoughts and feelings had been sucked out of her. She’d just stared at him, noting the absence of tears in his blue eyes, the resolution in his face. Such a change from the face he’d worn in the doctor’s surgery only minutes before.

At the memory, Carmel felt her body sag and uncoil like a tired old spring. The floor came up to meet her. Hunched over her knees, she covered her eyes with her hands. That moment, those few minutes in the doctor’s office had changed their lives, sent them rocketing off course. Even though they’d been warned of the risks, they were both over forty - she’d not prepared for the bombshell. The prenatal test had been positive. The child she was carrying, her first, had Down Syndrome.

The doctor had spelled out the problems their baby might have, politically correct terms, always with the emphasis on ‘might’. But she’d done the translation. In her mind’s eye, Carmel saw the unco-ordinated child, running flat-footed, its short arms outstretched, inhuman sounds escaping from the mouth under its wide set eyes. What it boiled down to, she knew without a doubt, was that her child would be dependent on them for everything for the rest of their lives.

Tears moistened her eyes. It was all her fault; she’d been the one to insist on starting a family late, to put her career first. A bitter taste trickled into her mouth. Her precious career, her craving to rise to the top, to become the fashion magazine’s publishing manager had blinded her to everything else. A lump swelled in her throat. What had she done?

Carmel sat up, dropping her hands to her lap. What should she do; agree with Marcus and have the abortion, or have the baby and .. and what? Carmel had no answer to this. She felt lost, alone and frightened.

Move, she had to move. Carmel took a deep breath, got up from the floor and headed for the kitchen where she’d dumped her handbag. Marcus had gone back to the office for a meeting he’d said he couldn’t miss. The house felt hollow and empty. She had to get out.

Carmel had no idea where she was going, and she didn’t care. The two and three storey houses with their landscaped gardens some with marbled statues, some with ornamental ponds and cascading fountains mocked her as she strode down their street. Everything perfect, everything in its place; no stains on the brickwork, weeds in the lawns, dents in the roller doors behind which, Carmel knew, lurked Mercedes and BMWs. Not much different to their own home, except for now. Except that now she was carrying a defective baby.

A spasm shot through her shoulders, making them jerk. She slowed down. Like a rabbit caught in a bright spotlight, Carmel suddenly felt exposed. Was someone watching her? Could they see what she carried inside? A quick glance around revealed an empty street. Christ, she didn’t want to bump into anyone she knew. How would she answer that question, handle the concerned looks? Could she lie, say that the results were fine? And then what? Tell them she had a miscarriage? Carmel bit her lip. Right now she needed somewhere where she could be on her own.

At the next intersection, Carmel spotted the familiar Morton bay trees at the entrance to the local park. That’s where she’d be safe. She picked up her pace, eager to find a solitary bench where she could sit and think. School wouldn’t be out for a couple of hours, so she’d be safe for a while.

In the park, a golden retriever lolloped after a tennis ball thrown by its owner, and a couple of mothers trailed after their toddlers. Carmel sighed with relief. Away from the main activity, a single green bench seat under a shady tree promised her the privacy she needed. Now she could think.

Carmel slumped down on the hard slats, dropping her bag onto the leafy ground by her feet. But the serenity of the park wasn’t having the desired effect. Her head throbbed. Voices floated through her mind ‘the doctor’s words, Marcus’ levelled solution. Like audio clips from a film, they played over and over, melding into each other. Carmel felt her shoulders sag; all her energy had evaporated leaving her stranded, beached like a whale.

She tried to relax, focus on a group of trees across the green space, empty her mind. But the children, like magnets, drew her eyes to them. One small blond-headed boy ran in large circles, one hand held high above his head, gripping the end of a piece of string attached to a bright red dragon kite. His shrill cries reached Carmel. ‘Look at me, mummy, I’m flying with dragon, I’m flying with dragon.’ Another little girl, dressed in a fairy costume, collected autumn leaves with her mother. Carmel watched as the two studied each leaf the little girl pounced on.

A tear teetered at the corner of one eye. Her sunglasses, where were they? She rummaged in her handbag and with relief, found the glasses and slipped them on. But the dark glasses were useless against the intense sadness that welled up from somewhere deep inside. Again, Carmel dived into her bag, hunting for a tissue as the tears began to gush. God, she couldn’t escape, she just couldn’t escape.

Carmel sobbed as she’d never sobbed before. Bent forward with her elbows on her knees, hands covering her mouth, she tried to stifle the sound, keep some sort of control. But the tears had no dam wall to impede their flow. They gushed in rivulets down her burning cheeks for what seemed like an eternity. At last, there were just no more tears left, the proof of their existence lying in a pile of soggy tissues in Carmel’s lap. She scooped them up, shoving them into the bottom of her bag.

Her chest heavy and sore, Carmel took some deep gulping breaths, trying to steady herself. She looked around the park. Had anyone seen her? The little boy with the dragon kite had gone and she couldn’t see the fairy girl under any of the trees. Off to her right, Carmel spotted some newcomers. A young girl and a man kicked a soccer ball between them. She stared at the girl. Something about her seemed not quite right. What was it? Carmel kept watching as the two kicked the ball back and forth. The girl had a stocky frame - Carmel couldn’t tell how old she was. And her arms flailed as she ran, making her movements jerky. They were coming closer, their voices getting clearer.

‘That’s it,’ the man was saying, ‘run for it, think about where you’re going to kick it.’

Maybe he was her coach. Carmel noticed that he sent the ball away from the girl, so that she had to intercept it, kick it on different angles. Gee, she wasn’t bad either. But what was it about her? Carmel leaned further forward and peered at the girl.

‘Woo! Missed it!’

‘Ooooh!’ the girl cried in frustration as the ball whizzed past her and headed for where Carmel sat.

Carmel straightened up, pushing her sunglasses into place and looking away as the girl ran towards her. She’ll get her ball and go again - just stay calm. Carmel licked her lips.

‘Hi!’

Surprised, Carmel looked round to see the girl walking toward her, ball in hand, a big smile on her face. That face. Carmel gasped and reeled back. This couldn’t be happening, not to her, not now. But it was. In front of her stood her unborn baby projected forward in time by about twelve years.

The girl faltered, her smile fading.

‘I’m sorry.’ Carmel shifted in her seat, struggling for the right words. Had she understood? ‘I, I just ..’ she reached for her bag, clutching it to her chest, ‘just didn’t hear you coming.’

‘That’s all right.’ The girl’s smile returned and she moved to the bench and sat down next to Carmel. ‘I’m Sophie. That’s my dad there.’ She nodded towards the man who was coming towards them. Carmel couldn’t help but notice the lisp in the girl’s speech. ‘He’s my coach. I’m gonna play soccer for school.’

School? She went to school? Carmel blinked. It had to be a special school, one for kids who were retarded. The words ‘intellectual disability’ popped into her head, but she pushed them away. Why dress it up? Why cover up what was staring her in the face?

Come on, champ, no time for rest.

Sophie looked over at her dad who had reached them. She stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to Carmel. ‘He’s mean, makes me work hard. No school today, but he won’t let me slack.’

She didn’t sound retarded. Maybe she’d been one of the lucky ones. Carmel released the grip on her bag, letting it rest on her lap. Her eyes moved away from the girl’s face. In the top buttonhole of Sophie’s sports shirt nestled a crimson red rose. Its petals were so perfect, so beautifully formed.

‘Hi, I’m David.’

Carmel flinched, tearing her eyes away from the girl. ‘Oh, hi.’

David stopped in front of them, the smile on his face matching his daughter’s. He had the body of an athlete, muscles well defined and leaner than anything Carmel had seen. The kind of people she mixed with professed to be sporty, but in reality, only picked up a tennis racquet or a golf club once a week. But what stood out more for Carmel was the obvious affection he had for his daughter, his daughter who had Down Syndrome.

‘Which school does Sophie go to?’ Carmel recognised the voice as hers. What was she doing?

It was Sophie who answered, not David. Surprised, Carmel shifted her gaze back to the girl. Sophie tossed the ball into the air, reached up for it, but missed the easy catch. Clamp-like, she squashed the ball between her body and legs as it tried to bounce out of her lap. David kept silent. Carmel couldn’t look at him. If only she could crawl under the bench and disappear. A burning sensation crept into her face.

‘I’m first year.’ The smile hadn’t left Sophie’s face. ‘My math teacher, he’s a crabby old goose.’

The corners of Carmel’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a laugh burbling up from her chest. She admired people who spoke their minds. When she thought about it, Sophie’s speech wasn’t too bad, either, despite the lisp. In fact apart from her wide set and slanting eyes, Sophie didn’t seem to have too many of the typical Down Syndrome problems.

‘Ok, Soph, enough.’ David slapped his daughter on the shoulder. ‘Rest time is over.’

Sophie dragged herself to her feet. ‘Slave driver.’

David turned his palms upward, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion at Carmel. ‘You give your kids everything, and this is what you get.’

‘Dad!’

Sophie threw a fist at him, hitting his upper arm. In an expert move, David grabbed her wrist, holding it away from him. Sophie dropped the ball to have a go at him with the other hand. Carmel watched as the two tussled, Sophie giggling and getting nowhere as her father held both wrists, David asking, Give up yet? Give up yet? It was obviously a game the two played often. Carmel felt a warmth coming over her, and realised she was smiling.

‘She’s going to be a champion soccer player one day.’ David had his daughter wrapped in his arms now, her face coloured with the effort of the mock fight. But she’s going to have to put in the hard work. He released Sophie and picked up the soccer ball. ‘Come on then, Soph.’

Sophie smiled at Carmel. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, and paused. Then she pulled the tiny rose out of her buttonhole. ‘For you,’ she said, holding it out. Mum grows them. I always wear one, for good luck.

With a trembling hand, Carmel took the rose. Oh, thank you. For a moment their fingers touched. Sophie’s hands were small, her fingers short. The rose’s strong fragrance hung between them.

‘Bye’ Sophie said, and she was gone, jogging after her father.

Carmel stood on the footpath, staring at the single storey white building before her. No sign announced what went on there; she was grateful for that. Then she felt it, a strange fluttering sensation, like tiny bubbles gurgling up from the bottom of a pond. She placed a hand on her belly which hadn’t yet started to extend. Her hand, it was trembling. Carmel averted her eyes from her belly.

She hadn’t wanted Marcus to come, couldn’t deal with his plastic sympathy. Marcus, so focused on trying again for a perfect baby, had no idea what she was going through now. And damn him, she wasn’t about to let him know. Just as she wasn’t going to let any counsellor stranger know her inner thoughts. The obstetrician had strongly recommended seeing a professional, but she’d refused.

Her feet dragged along the red brick path to the wooden door. For a few seconds, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Come on, Carms, don’t fall apart. Opening her eyes, she reached for the brass door knob.

Inside, the waiting area was light and airy. A receptionist greeted her with a warm smile. Carmel found herself whispering her name when asked, and retreating quickly to one of the indicated chairs, her head down. A pile of magazines on the low table next to her seat offered perfect cover and she grabbed one, flicking it open to any page and burying her head in it. Damn, she’d thought she’d be the only one waiting for this procedure. With a quick glance, she noted the two sets of couples huddled in seats around the room. Couples, not just women on their own, like her.

A shrill ringing sound from her handbag made her start. Christ, she’d forgotten to switch her phone off. It’d be Marcus, checking on her. Carmel lunged for her bag, fished out the offending instrument and jabbed the off button.

As she bent to replace the phone, Carmel noticed the small red circle on her lap. It was a rose petal. She picked it up. It had to be from the rose that Sophie had given her, the one she’d thrown in the bin when she’d come home from the park. Carmel lifted it to her nose and sniffed. It still had a faint scent. An image of Sophie floated into her mind, that warm smile, that confident look.

She cradled the petal in her hands, feeling its softness, its fragility. This single petal had escaped the fate of the rest of the flower. And after a week of hiding in her handbag, it had surfaced right now, at the moment when she was about to shed her own petals. God, what were the odds of finding it now?

In her mind’s eye, Carmel saw the scene with Sophie and her father, laughing and fooling around. The petal still in her hand, she picked up her bag and with a purposeful stride, retraced her steps to the door.

(Copyright Janet Shaw 2007)

This story won first prize in the Fellowship of Australian Writers (Vic) 2006 National Literary Award, under the category of the ‘Jennifer Burbidge Short Story Award’.

Author’s Notes About the Story:

The theme of this category was disability. When I first looked at it, what struck me was the focus on the negative side of disability. They wanted stories about how disability affected the lives of not only the person with the disability, but also the family. I didn’t want to write about disability as a terrible thing, as something that is suffered.

So I thought about how I could portray disability in a positive light. But knowing the way some people view disability, I needed to show the negative side as well, the stereotypes and misconceptions. I also wanted my story to be different somehow, and that’s how I came up with the idea of a middle class woman carrying a Down Syndrome baby and struggling with her own values and attitudes.

Someone asked me how I came up with Sophie as one of the main characters. It wasn’t hard; I’ve seen some really impressive acting on TV shows by people with Down Syndrome. They made such an impact on me that I haven’t forgotten them.