I thought of you today, Michelle, in the middle of it all. I remember we were shepherded out of that club that night after you threw up on the floor. We protested all the way. At least, you and the others did. I was embarrassed, even then.
You were crying again, and Bobby was trying to soothe you, and get you out the door and into your coat. It was an ugly cry too, you were red and snotty and wailing. I put the hood up on my jacket and shrugged it around my ears. I worked in town, imagine if a customer saw me. Amelle was cursing at the bouncers in French and English, waving her fist aggressively. She let them push her out the door though, sso they didn’t react.
Outside, the cold air sobered me up instantly. The people in the queue to get in were staring, any distraction from boredom, I guess, but I hated them for it. I pleaded with Bobby.
“Let’s go home now.”
She pulled you to her and made you look her in the eye. You looked crazed, head darting this way and that.
“Whadya say, Chelle? Time to go home, have a cuppa?”
You pulled out of Bobby’s grip, outraged.
“No! I want to party!”
“Chelle,” I begged, “I’m beat, let’s just go, eh?”
I could feel the eyes of the queue on me and, God forgive me, I was embarrassed.
“I have a right!” you said stridently. It was half-scream, half-sob. I took you by the arm, thinking I could reason with you. I didn’t know then there’s no reasoning with grief.
“I have a right,” you screamed. “I buried my baby today!”
I’m sorry I left you there. I understand now.
Sam Brown Author 