But none of that is usually waiting for us, the children conceived of carelessness and slipups. Maybe a bassinet has been placed at the foot of a lonely bed, at best. A tensely divided one, at worst. Two people found out somebody else was coming and decided to take up because somebody older told them it was the right thing to do. Or maybe they had already taken up. To the woman, an “accident” suddenly became a brilliant idea; his waning interest could possibly be ignited with the new responsibility of the something she will make, for him and by him, created in his own image. Wonder how it happens in true love …

The universe should rule that we can go back when we know we’re not wanted. Or needed. Eliminate this disappointing journey of travel so long and hard to get into this world, just to realize no one cares you have arrived. When no one wants you, no announcements are sent, no celebrations planned, no preparations or adjustments made. It’s a coming greeted as a nuisance, like a wisdom tooth reemerged. Like that relative who talks too much and always stops by unannounced in the middle of somebody’s favorite TV show. Like that child some startled mother put on a bus to nowhere before she disappeared to prospect for a life, and it just happened to arrive at the doorstep of distant relatives. A thorn in everyone’s side, a sty in everyone’s eye, a paper cut bleeding on overdue bills, a helpless victim of those who relish every opportunity to point out the burden of its presence, he is constantly chastised in hurtful conversation overheard from his mismatched chair at the dining table or his sleeping pallet on the floor:

“The child just showed up?”

“Just showed up honey.”

“With nothing?”

“Can’t count the lunch box empty ’cept for some potato chip crumbs, dried-out bread, and sucked-clean chicken bones.”

“No clothes, no nothing?”

“Two bags, no money, and no note.”

“Out of nowhere?”

“You heard what I said.”

“And nobody bothered to tell you the child was coming?”

“Ain’t nobody told me nothing. Still ain’t! This child been here for two weeks and that phone still ain’t rung.”

“Honey, shut yo’ mouth …”

“Chile …”

“You gone let him stay?”

“I ain’t got no choice now. It’s here. What can I do?”

“You can always put him back on the bus.”

“Yeah, but to where?”

“Don’t know. Gotta be somewhere …”

“No. I already checked. Ain’t nowhere. The mama’s gone … nowhere to be found. Nobody know the daddy name.” “Who is this child?”

“I barely know. That’s the killin’ part.”

“Well, he got Uncle Simon’s eyes, Aunt Linda’s nose …”

“Oh yeah, he’s definitely one of us. I know we related. But these girls done had so many of these babies it’s hard to keep up …”

“What’s his name?”