Lenichka Middlebrooks

Lenichka Middlebrooks, 11,21.13

The inevitable day came: my return to campus during the academic week. It was a Tuesday morning, bright, clear, beautiful. The tinge of autumn was floating in the blue sky and tickling the orange-dedazzled trees. The peace outside was a ridiculous contrast to the turmoil burning in my stomach as I awake extra early to shower and style my hair. I searched for warbdrobe options, searched again, and finally ended up with straight black on black on black, classy as my reputation went, with a little edge now that I’m free from hemline critiques. The little black bows down my sheer black nylons peeped out just above the back of my knees where my black suede boots stopped, naked under the sweep of my little black dress hem. If I was going into the fire, I would go well dressed. At least people would have something to talk about, indeed.

But I needn’t have worried. I didn’t see Levi or Tim. Just random staff members and former classmates doing a double take as they hurried by. I smiled as pleasantly as I could. I missed this place, and I wanted to feel that I belonged here again. I wanted a pain gone from my life. I wanted to belong somewhere without any darkness. But the raw bleeding memories were right there, just under the surface of the polished foyer lobby, bouncing from the shining golden chandeliers. I could not be comfortable here, knowing Levi was still here somewhere. It was so cruel. I missed my halcyon days, my days of happiness and innocence. They were never coming back.

Lydia and Josh Middlebrooks met me in the foyer. I still don’t really like her, per say. We dress differently, we think differently, we like different things. And we don’t mesh well. But Lydia is my testament to a second chance. She is my testemant that by long forbearance, a prince is pursuaded and a soft tongue breaketh the bone, to quote Proverbs. She gave me a second chance at building a relationship after hating her so unfoundedly. And her unwavering kindness and compassion had earned by returned loyalty and graditude. Whatever our difference, she was the kind of friend that God would approve of.

To see her holding her baby, when just last year she had been living in our room as a single girl, was incredible. I was overwhelmed by joy for Lydia… and sadness for the son I would never have, my little Levi. I wonder so often, would he have his dad’s enchanting caramel eyes? Or the diamond blue orbs of him mom? Would Chardonnay have soft, dark wisps of hair or freckles on her tiny nose? And would that little baby love me? Unreservedly? And give me hugs and kisses and say “I love you, mom” and build a home with me? I will never know.

I hugged Lydia for a long time, and she didn’t let go either. The distance between us is a simple, normal thing. But I miss her. She gave me the honor of holding Lenichka, and I blinked back tears. How could God be so kind? So wonderful? What a perfect, beautiful little ugly baby. For all babies are ugly to me, and yet so wonderful as well.

I want to be a friend like Lydia. I want to be a mom like her as well. The hardest times to find peace in my soul with the present circumstance is to wish for more, and as I drove back to work at my busy, formal office at Midland Mortgage, I let the tears fall softly and reminded myself of Paul’s letter.

I have learned both to be abased and to abound… in whatsoever state I am to be content.