Coma, California

By Kyle D. Garrett

Brandon Richter just wants to sleep and forget. Seeking to leave every memory and reminder of his former life behind, Brandon leaves his hometown of Springfield, Missouri for the obscure town of Coma, California, hoping to fade away and be left to himself.

However, as Brandon crosses paths with the residents of Coma- namely a young woman named Becca- he finds in them a remarkable kindness that makes it difficult to remain in isolation. Despite his efforts to project his apathy and keep everyone at bay, their genuine concern for him draws Brandon out, awakening him to something he never dared to feel again: HOPE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483560014

Book preview

Author

1

October 2009

Route 66, California

The highway was long and empty. Even though he’d traveled hundreds of miles it almost felt like he had hardly moved. The wind was a reminder—perhaps the only reminder— that he was even moving at all.

He took a moment in the back of his mind to remember where he was. It only took a second to realize he had already passed the state line from Arizona into California. While the Golden State was his destination to begin with, he still had a good two-hundred miles of driving to do before he reached his final stop. It was at this realization that he also realized he wanted sleep.

He didn’t necessarily need sleep, but he did want it. Probably bad enough to pull over someplace and kick off for a couple of hours…

No. He’d already gotten plenty of sleep the night before. A few miles passed without him noticing-- only one-hundred ninety-four miles to go. If he kept driving for the next two and a half to three hours he’d be there by mid-afternoon.

Besides, nodding off on the side of the road didn’t sound too appealing, or comfortable for that matter. A bed sounded so much nicer. Stopping at a cheap motel just for a nap would be ridiculous and in any case he didn’t want to waste the cash, not even for the cheapest, rattiest, hole-in-the-ground inn he could find. The open road it was then.

Now that sleep was on his mind, it was all he could do to not give in and pull over. There must have been a thousand coffee shops he’d passed that morning and now there wasn’t anything but fields for miles. A cup of coffee might be his salvation.

Screw that. He hated coffee. He hated caffeine. Anything that might keep him awake longer than he wanted to didn’t hold his interest too well. More often than not he had a recurring dream about witnessing a Starbucks explode while everyone ran in to get their morning caffeine fix. He enjoyed the irony of it. It gave him another reason to sleep while the world was trying to stay awake.

This highway is dead, boring even. Nothing to see, no one around. Boring… boredom makes me sleepy… man do I want to sleep…

He sighed in frustration; nine miles passed in oblivion, narrowing the gap but not by much. The next one-hundred eighty-five miles were going to be miserable at this rate—extremely drawn out at any rate.

A sign about a hundred yards ahead read: Food and Lodging: 5 Miles. That meant motels, which meant beds, which meant the possibility of sleep.

He passed the sign. He now had five miles to decide whether or not he would pull over for an hour or two cat nap.

By mile two he had already decided.

Fifteen minutes later he lay in a motel room bed, slowly drifting into ignorant bliss.

He slept a little over an hour then felt an intermittent urge to kick himself once he got back on the road for lost time. On the other hand, he had gotten what he wanted, and cheaper than he had anticipated. He had gotten sleep, and sleep was what he valued most next to breathing. The only reason he valued breathing next to sleep was the fact that he could do both at the same time.

My kind of multitasking.

It was almost noon, and he had woken up hungry. He pulled into a small convenience store just a mile or two down the road from the seedy motel and grabbed a few snacks for the remainder of his trip. In five minutes he was back on the highway.

Boring highway. Boring drive. Another nap sounded nice.

Then again getting to his destination sounded even nicer, which confused him. How could something sound nicer than sleep? The notion was ludicrous.

About forty-five minutes passed before he came to another sign: Los Angeles: 132 Miles.

Of course he wasn’t heading for Los Angeles, he was heading about thirty-five miles east of there. He would have to keep a weather eye out for a sign he didn’t want to miss. He wouldn’t see any signs for this particular town for a while though. He just needed to keep heading west and keep an eye out for the interchanges.

The highway dragged on and on until he began to see patches of civilization here and there which started to accumulate into bigger patches until they became towns and cities.

He had to pass through a town called Riverside, which wasn’t that great to drive through. For one thing the traffic was terrible, and he caught himself right in the middle of late afternoon traffic, making him regret his little cat-nap. And the other thing: There were too many people-- way too many. The thought of being near so many people unnerved him more than being on a long, open, boring highway for hours at a time.

After getting out of the horrendous gridiron of Riverside traffic (and the travesty that was the 91 freeway), hopping on the 71 highway, almost missing the 57 north interchange, he drove five miles before nearly missing the barely visible sign: Coma: 10 Miles.

He gunned the engine and got there in fifteen minutes. The sign welcomed him like the gates of Paradise:

Welcome to Coma: California’s Best Kept Secret!

Coma, California-- It already sounded like home.

2

Brandon Richter examined his surroundings in agitated confusion—this small town didn’t look like a small town. As a matter of fact it looked a lot like almost any other town. It wasn’t quite what he was expecting, but at the same time it wasn’t all that important what the town looked like as opposed to how comfortable Brandon would be there. It wasn’t like the small town he expected it to be, true, but it wasn’t a city with a lot of noise and other annoying factors that made cities all the less appealing to him—he was sure it would be perfect.

Following the map he’d printed up wasn’t as easy as Brandon had hoped as he weaved through the streets trying to find his destination. His initial instinct to not trust the website he used to print it was slowly proving itself to be an accurate assessment at the moment. His tiredness combined with his eagerness to get to his new home was brewing frustration, not to mention it was already dark and all the more difficult to read street signs.

Why did I have to stop to take a nap?!

Having gotten the chance to sleep was probably only a fleeting pleasure at least, seeing that he was paying for it in the worst way. It was approaching 7:30 in the evening and he had to get to his destination quick; otherwise he would be up the creel in a way he didn’t want to think about, let alone deal with.

Brandon turned yet another unfamiliar corner with a street sign he recognized only from the directions in his hand. The streets were relatively empty and the closer he got to his intended destination it became increasingly quiet and empty, giving him more and more hope that this was indeed the right town to be living in. In all honesty, given the circumstances that required Brandon to move anywhere, let alone clear across the country, the choice to make this town his home was more or less made on a whim. He knew that if circumstances dictated that he had to leave the place he once called home, he might as well get as far away as possible. Everything had fallen apart over there, and a fresh start in a new place was just what the doctor ordered, the doctor being himself and the prescription being a nice quiet town where if one wasn’t working or eating then one could sleep in peace without a worry or care in the world.

A town called Coma couldn’t have been more ideal.

One more turn and Brandon finally caught sight of his target— a small apartment complex toward the inland area of town which, he was happy to discover, was exactly what he had seen in the virtual tour he had looked at online. It looked quiet, peaceful, and cozy, three traits Brandon prized in almost anything. The beautiful part was that he was able to apply and qualify for the apartment online, and all he had to do was pay a moving service to move his stuff, and get there by a certain day and time. He had planned it well enough to where he would arrive on that very day and more or less at a specific time; he was later than he had promised, his urge to doze costing him an hour, in addition to the traffic that he hit while he was passing through Riverside. He hoped that they hadn’t given up on him and he could simply just go to his new home and crash.

Brandon pulled into the complex and over to the main office. He quickly got out and ran in, looking for someone who might be able to give him his key so he could settle in. He looked to his left and noticed a middle-aged woman with blonde hair and wearing a grey pantsuit.

Hi, he said, somewhat breathlessly.

Hello, she said, can I help you?

Yea, just arrived from out of state-- I’m renting a one bedroom apartment,

Oh! You must be Brandon Richter from Missouri! Please, come and have a seat—I have a few things I need you to sign for me.

Brandon groaned on the inside. He knew that this was unavoidable but at the same time something he would have liked to avoid, at least for the night. The most prevalent thought on his mind was, of course, climbing into his bed and just crashing hard-- anything else took a backseat to that desire. If it wasn’t something urgent or life altering, then surely it could be put off until tomorrow. In this woman’s mind, apparently a John Hancock on a couple of documents was urgent enough.

Okay, here are the leasing papers that I need you to look over and sign for me, the woman said. It goes over the basic stipulations and requirements for you to keep a residence here, as well as your general renter’s agreement we spoke about over the phone.

Yadda, yadda, yadda—seriously lady, just give me a pen.

Brandon Richter glanced over the documents fleetingly, barely paying attention to what he was reading. He wasn’t planning on keeping pets, having guests, or violating noise ordinances seeing as his main objective was to live in virtual solitude where he wouldn’t bother a soul, and hopefully not a soul would bother him. He read over the leasing agreement slowly enough to make it seem like he cared what it said before he placed his signature in the designated areas.

After signing all the documents Brandon looked up to hand the pen back to the woman, and was slightly alarmed to see that she was smiling at him. He didn’t remember saying or doing anything that would merit a smile, so he gave her a weak one in return.

She handed him the key to his apartment. Let me be the first to welcome you to Coma.

Yeah, he muttered. Thanks.

Brandon took the key, still feeling a little unsettled by the woman’s smile as well as her welcome. He wasn’t curious enough to mull it over, and while he knew that it was probably more or less her attempt at friendly customer service, he didn’t understand why someone would be that friendly to a complete stranger. After taking the key, he grabbed an aerial map of the complex and ventured off to find the building that he’d soon be calling home.

It took a few minutes to find the building that housed his one bedroom apartment, after which Brandon realized that his car was parked too far for convenience sake. He also realized that at this point he really didn’t care enough to go back to it and move it closer to his building.

Climbing the flight of stairs that lead to his second story residence, Brandon eagerly unlocked the door and let himself in. He groped along the wall on one side of the door to find a light switch, keeping the front door open so that he had at least a little bit of light. He finally found the switch, flipped it and was horrified.

What the…what is going on here?!

The living room was in disarray, the majority of the furniture he’d had hauled over by the moving service he hired dumped right in the middle of it. His bed lay on the floor along with his nightstand, dresser, and a small dining room table grouped together in the last place he expected it, especially considering that he specifically asked and paid for the movers to place the furniture in the areas that they belonged in. Brandon hadn’t expected them to arrange it perfectly, but at the very least put them in the place that made the most sense.

He moved to the kitchen to find the two boxes he packed with hand-me-down kitchen supplies that he snagged before the move. Nobody was going to miss them since they were never used, and he didn’t feel like wasting the money on buying newer supplies that were likely too expensive. Brandon wasn’t planning on unpacking tonight, but he also hadn’t planned on moving furniture into the rooms that he paid the movers to move; he had half a mind to call them up right then and there and give them a piece of his mind, but he knew that he was too tired to care.

Then again he was also too tired to move furniture.

The bed was the one piece of furniture that he really cared about, and since it was the only piece he was going to use immediately, he decided to move it to the bedroom and at the very least make it suitable to sleep in for one night. Brandon hauled the box springs and set the head rest against one of the walls, making it protrude into the middle of the room. Once the mattress was in place on top of the box springs, he quickly unpacked the bedspread from one of the boxes the movers had lazily dropped on the floor of the apartment. Brandon hastily made the bed and once he was satisfied, he ultimately decided not to even shed his clothes, save for his shoes and socks; he was ready to hit the sack before he felt his stomach growling.

Crap, Brandon thought. In his haste to get into town and get settled by a certain time he had totally forgotten to grab dinner, and now that he had begun to wind down he had finally become aware of his need for food. He didn’t want to acknowledge it but Brandon knew that it was unlikely he would be able to sleep on an empty stomach—if it interfered with sleeping, Brandon knew that he wanted to deal with it sooner than later. Later not being an option he had to figure out fast what he was going to do seeing that he had nothing in the refrigerator that came in his apartment.

Brandon mulled it over and was frustrated since he didn’t really know where anything was in this town and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to drive around and get acquainted with it right then and there. It was about 8:30pm and not that late, but it was dark and Brandon was tired, and sleep remained the dominant thought on his mind. Continuing to fret over his predicament he vaguely remembered seeing some kind of establishment on the way to his apartment-- in fact it was within walking distance; some small restaurant or café as he recalled. Brandon was pretty sure if he left right then he would remember well enough to make a straight shot from his apartment to the place and be back in plenty of time. Grabbing his key, Brandon was out the door in just a few seconds, eager to get there and satisfy the only need that might possibly be held in higher importance than sleep.

Brandon marched quickly through the small complex and out the front parking lot where he parked his car. He promptly cursed himself for not bringing his car keys with him since he probably could have parked it on the way back from his food run. He dismissed it fast and returned to the objective at hand, which was to get a bite to eat as fast as humanly possible, try not to scarf it down too fast, and then settle into a warm, comfortable bed, sleeping as long as possible until he needed to be awake again for whatever reason. He was soon on a public walkway that resembled an old-town boardwalk, heading back from where he had come earlier, which he presumed was west. Brandon kept an eye out for even a little sign of what he’d seen earlier, hoping it wasn’t just some figment of his imagination. After about five minutes of walking, Brandon rounded a corner and found what he was looking for.

The sign was lit, and Brandon remembered that’s what had caught his attention in the first place. It looked more like a mom-and-pop kind of place as opposed to a chain restaurant; it was small, and probably couldn’t hold more than sixty-five people at a time. The illuminated sign above the double door entrance read: Townes’ Café.

Brandon looked for a sign of life inside, hoping he hadn’t come this far to find out it was closed and he was out of luck. It looked quiet inside, but another illuminated sign on the window showed that the place was open. Brandon walked to the door and pulled it open, relieved to find that the sign wasn’t just left illuminated and the place was, in fact, open. Walking in, Brandon was met with an eerie quiet; no one was around and Brandon might have felt an inclination to leave if he hadn’t heard noise and voices from the kitchen. The place was simple and quaint—an aisle led from the door to the register, and on either side wood paneled banquettes with red upholstered booths facing away from the aisle lined with several tables and a number of chairs. Small table and chair setups were arranged in the areas between the banquettes and a few more booths which were all next to the windows on either side of the café. Brandon slowly made his way down the aisle toward the register, still a little wary of whether or not he should have walked into the restaurant to begin with, since it looked like they were either closed or getting ready to close. When Brandon got to the register, he noticed a desk bell sitting on the counter. He looked around for anyone before he tapped it once, making it chime loudly. He waited for a moment or two before deciding to actually call to anyone who might be there:

Hello?

Be with you in just a minute, came a female voice from the kitchen. Brandon waited at the register for the disembodied voice to come out and take his order, quickly becoming impatient—his bed was calling and he wasn’t anywhere near it to collapse blissfully into unconsciousness. He remembered again that hunger had to be satisfied first in order for that to happen, and he relaxed a little bit. He was tempted to call out again when the female voice came out of the kitchen.

The voice had a face, and it was a very pretty face, so pretty in fact that Brandon felt his heart actually skip slightly. Her hair was a dark shade of blonde, much like his own, descending in natural waves down to her shoulders. Her irises were set in a bed of rich hazel that, when reflecting the light, almost became amber. She wore very little makeup save for her lips that were stained a light red, parted to reveal a beaming smile. Brandon cleared his throat and tried to relax a little bit but found himself unable to take his eyes off of the very beautiful girl who had come out of the kitchen to help him. Brandon felt his nerves begin to go rigid as she came closer. Pretty as this girl was he hoped that she wasn’t the chatty type for the sooner he could get out of there, the better.

Evening hun, what can I get for you? she asked.

Hun? Brandon thought. Please don’t call me hun.

Um…I, uh… was all Brandon managed to utter. I…um…

The girl smiled even wider. You okay sweetie?

Sweetie? What’s with the pet names?!

Brandon fought to keep his focus, and realized that he hadn’t even given the menu a cursory look. He figured he’d ask a simple enough question to make this easier on himself.

Um…what’s good here? he asked.

Still smiling, she replied: Everything’s good here sweetie,

Oh for the love of… Uh… okay, Brandon said. What would you recommend then? I’ve never been here before.

The girl nodded. I might’ve guessed that—you new to town?

Oh great, she is the chatty type. Yeah, Brandon replied.

Well, let me be the first to welcome you to Coma, she said.

Someone already beat you there, Brandon thought, but just said: Thanks.

Well, for a first timer, she continued, I’d probably recommend the grilled turkey sandwich—it’s more or less the favorite around here-- goes great with a cup of our chicken noodle soup.

Simple enough, and his appetite wasn’t that hard to please. Sounds good—I’ll have that to go please.

Okey dokey, the girl said, punching the numbers into the register. That’ll be $11.50.

Brandon reached into his wallet and pulled out twelve dollars. When he looked up he was amazed that this girl was still smiling when he handed her the money. She handed him his change and his receipt and said: Should be up in a few minutes sweetie-- I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.

Brandon nodded and gave her a weak half-smile of acknowledgment. He thought about sitting down in one of the banquettes but changed his mind seeing as he didn’t want to get too comfortable. The very definition of comfortable was about three-hundred yards away in his brand new, but messy, apartment building, where his makeshift bed setup was waiting for him to just flop onto it. He wanted to eat, yes, but even his hunger seemed dwarfed by comparison.

Brandon began to pace, although he didn’t seem to really notice. The minutes ticked by slower and slower, or at least that’s what it felt like to him. How long does it take to make a freaking sandwich and some soup? He thought. His stomach started to growl and for a brief moment he forgot about wanting to sleep and was again fixated on food. He thought about ringing the bell to get the girl’s attention again but before he could she came out with a paper bag in hand, containing what he assumed was his meal for the evening.

Here you go sweetie, she said, making Brandon flinch inside from hearing her say sweetie again. Hope you enjoy and we see you here again.

Yeah, Brandon said. Thanks.

Brandon took the bag and turned to head out, but that unnervingly kind voice attached to the pretty face stopped him in his tracks.

Hey stranger-- I didn’t get your name.

Brandon turned slowly. He wasn’t all that sure he wanted to give this girl his name. On the one hand, it probably wouldn’t hurt all that much to share that much information, but on the other Brandon wasn’t at all interested in becoming personal with anyone, even a girl who had given him good customer service. He made sure not to dawdle on it too long before coming to the conclusion it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Oh, he said finally, Brandon.

Nice to meet you Brandon, she said, that smile still plastered on her face, I’m Becca.

Nice to meet you too, Brandon replied, not really meaning it.

Have a good night, she said, I’ll see you around.

Don’t get your hopes up. Yeah, sure he said.

Brandon grabbed his dinner and hurriedly exited the café, picking up his pace walking back to the apartment. The walk was shorter on the way back than it was trying to find the café, but for Brandon he couldn’t get back fast enough. His mind flashed back to elementary school when kids would tease about having cooties or some kind of imaginary childhood disease, and Brandon felt like he needed to scrub himself clean after that encounter, afraid he may have very well caught something. First it was the lady at the apartment office, which Brandon just simply shrugged off as an air of professional courtesy, but this chick at the café was a whole different thing altogether; what was with the pet names? And why did she smile so much? Was she on medication or something? Brandon couldn’t quite piece it together but he had his mind made up that something was wrong with this girl, because nobody was that nice. He felt chills but then realized it was actually his skin crawling.

Brandon finally got back to his apartment after what seemed like an eternity. He looked at the bag of food in his hand and basically determined that no matter what he wasn’t going to set foot in that café again, especially if the chances of seeing that Becky girl (or whatever her name was) were even remotely high. He went into the kitchen and emptied the bag, pulling out the container of soup and his sandwich neatly wrapped in thin wax paper. The smell of the food alone made Brandon’s stomach roar, making him quickly unpack both the soup and sandwich. Intending on scarfing it down fast, Brandon chomped a large bite of the sandwich and immediately took pause—it was one of the best hot sandwiches he had ever tasted. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he groaned-- the fact that he picked this café in particular making him want to kick himself. Looking at the soup container, he knew that if it was anywhere near as good as the sandwich then he was in serious trouble. As soon as Brandon opened the lid, the aroma quickly hit him and it was over; soon the soup and the sandwich were gone. Thoroughly satisfied, Brandon’s heart both leapt and sank, knowing that his promise to himself of avoiding that place had become a hollow one. He tried to tell himself that there was probably a place that was even better than that one, but something told him it wasn’t likely.

Oh well, there’s always sleep, he thought.

Brandon didn’t even bother to clean up the mess left from his dinner. Turning off the lights in the kitchen, he headed to the bedroom and fell hard, once again, on his bed. He kicked off his shoes, emptied his pockets, and slid under the covers still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing all day. The little afternoon nap he’d taken hadn’t lessened his desire to sleep, but rather had proven a teaser of things to come. The moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived, and without further ado, the curtain was finally drawn, and unconsciousness slowly ebbed away any remnant of thought and worry as Brandon’s eyes closed. He was where no one could find him, and anything that might have attached itself to him had now fallen away into a sea of forgetfulness.

For the next fourteen hours, nothing and no one mattered, even less than they would awake.

3

October 11th, 1996

Springfield, Missouri

The screams could be heard down the hall of the maternity wing of the hospital—a woman two weeks past her due date had already been in labor for almost twelve hours. The first wave of contractions had hit with a brutal intensity that almost made her collapse on the spot. She had practically been waiting on pins and needles for the past two weeks when her projected time to have the baby came and went, propelling her from anxious anticipation to a nervous wreck within a very short time. What might have been a frightening and unexpected occurrence was a welcome relief when her water broke around 10:00 AM that day, and she was rushed to the hospital.

The delivery process wasn’t the most weighty thing on her mind, especially since she had done this before—twice. Her eight year old son and twelve year old daughter were in the waiting area, eagerly wanting to know if their mom was okay, and their mother obviously not being able to drive, a friendly neighbor offered to drive them to the hospital and now sat with the two concerned youngsters who were already on edge. No, what weighed on her mind the most was whether or not the newest addition to her family would be all right.

Helen Richter felt another wave of pain hit her abdomen with another contraction. The contractions were getting closer and closer together now, and she prayed that the baby would just come already. The nurses and physicians gathered around her were constantly reminding her to breathe and push and she wondered which she would grow more tired of first, the reminders or the all encompassing agony that she was in. She knew she needed to push—she knew she needed to keep breathing. After all she was a veteran; what she didn’t know was why this particular delivery seemed to culminate in the worst pain she’d had to endure, more pain that both her first son and daughter combined.

Or at least that’s what it felt like to her.

Amidst the pain and constant flow of activity around her, Helen managed to also notice the wide double doors leading into the room they were in opening and her obstetrician running in. In the middle of her first labor pains she had barely registered that she was screaming at the orderlies that she wanted her doctor immediately and no one else. When notified that he was finishing up another delivery, Helen began to scream and curse profanities that she was sure she’d never heard let alone spoken before. Upon realizing this she knew she was going to have many apologies to hand out and some explanations for her kids.

Finally the good doctor’s voice rang out in the delivery room, helping her relax just a little. Helen? How are you doing?

It was an absurd question to say the least, it being painfully obvious she was not doing well. But, knowing this was probably a question he asked more out of habit, in addition to professional courtesy, Helen let it slide.

I’m doing, she replied breathlessly. I’d like to be doing better, to be honest.

The good doctor was wearing a surgical mask, but she could see the faint hint of a smile through it. I totally understand and we’re going to help you get there; but first I need you to give me a couple more good pushes, you ready?

Helen grimaced, closing her eyes—she gave a reluctant nod.

Okay, the doctor replied, 1…2…3…PUSH!

Helen gave the push to end all pushes, and she felt like she could have passed out right there—her vision became a little blurred around the edges and she literally could see stars. The sound of her doctor’s voice became suddenly distant and foggy, and she could barely hear or see anything. She couldn’t quite tell but she thought she could hear panic in her doctor’s voice.

…hear me? Helen?! Stay with me— you’re almost there!

Helen Richter summoned all the strength she had left and forced herself out of the fog she had drifted into, guided by the sound of her doctor’s voice. Her breath picked back up, and her thudding heart screamed for relief along with the rest of her body. Giving it all she had, she gave the doctor a look that would have broken the heart of anyone who met eyes with her.

As if reading her mind, he said: I know you’re tired Helen, but we only need just one more good push and you’re there. This is the homestretch-- you can do it.

Helen took a few good breaths, gathering what courage she still had. Nodding, she said: Okay, let’s do this.

The doctor gave her a nod of encouragement, before once again counting to three. On the final figure, he gave her the command: Push!

Adrenaline kicked in for what seemed like the hundredth time, and Helen gave everything she had and more. Her eyes closed; she could only imagine what kind of look she had on her face let alone how she looked overall. She felt what seemed like buckets of sweat seeping from her pores, soaking her face and her hair, making her strawberry blonde color look like a dark red. After what felt like an eternity, her own screams and strains became masked by a sound that she was so familiar with, but one that would never grow old.

The sound of a newborn crying.

Even though this was the time where she knew she could relax, the rigidness still remained as Helen waited for first sight of the precious cargo she had just delivered into the world. Anxiously she waited until she saw, rising over the sheet that covered her legs, the doctor holding in his arms her brand new baby boy.

Congratulations Helen, the doctor said, the surgical mask still not able to hide his smile. You’ve just given birth to a handsome and healthy little boy.

The doctor drew near to the now exhausted, third-time mother and held the tiny frame that belonged to her youngest son close to her. Having had her first two children when she was in her twenties, there was something different and almost bittersweet about this child now that she was 38 years old—especially since she knew that this was likely the last child she would ever bear.

He’s so beautiful, Helen said, her breath yet again stolen away, only this time it was from sheer relief coupled with welling joy.

We’re going to get him cleaned up for you—you’ll be holding your baby boy in no time.

Helen knew she couldn’t rush this part, but anxiety gripped her again, almost desperately wanting to hold her newborn son. After another span of eternity, Helen soon had the latest member of her family wrapped up tight, nestled in her protective arms. They moved her to a more comfortable room where she could recover, and not long after that her other two children were brought in to see her.

Hey guys, Helen said to her older son and daughter. Come and meet your new baby brother.

Both son and daughter timidly and at the same time excitedly made their way over to their mother’s hospital bed. The elder sister was able to see easily over the edge of the bed, but the younger brother was barely able to peek over the top.

Hey, said the little boy, I can’t see!

Helen chuckled a little bit. Sylvia, would you please help your brother up?

Sylvia grabbed her brother under his arms and hoisted him onto the bed, where he plopped next to his mother. He leaned in, taking a close look at the tiny human being his mother held in her arms.

He looks like you mom, Sylvia said.

Helen laughed a little, and relief flooded her heart. While nothing could stop her from loving this little boy, she was relieved that he—at least according to her daughter-- didn’t bear any resemblance to the man who might have called himself the boy’s father. Helen shook any thought of that man from her mind, not wanting to let anything ruin or crowd out the happiness of that day.

Helen’s older son continued to stare admiringly at his baby brother, a bemused smile on his face. Can I hold him? he asked, looking up at Helen.

Helen smiled. Maybe in a little while Brandon—mommy wants to hold him for a little longer okay?

A hint of sadness mixed with understanding lined Brandon’s face. Okay mommy.

A reverent quiet came over the room as all three members of the Richter family stood in awe of their newest family member. A high pitched grunt came from the newborn, as he fidgeted a little bit in his blanket, his tiny eyes closed tight, oblivious to the world around him.

Sylvia spoke up in a quiet whisper, as if not to disrupt the ambience of the room. What are we going to call him mom?

Helen looked at Sylvia for a second, then stared ahead in thought. She couldn’t count the number of times she had thought about what she was going to name the baby once he came, and now her mind raced over the different names she liked and the process of elimination she had gone through over and over again of what names she liked most-- right now her mind was drawing a complete blank.

I…I don’t know sweetie—I never really figured it out before now. We’ll have to try and think of a name.

I kind of had an idea for a name, Sylvia said.

Helen looked at Sylvia and gave a proud smile. Really? What was it sweetie?

Sylvia smiled excitedly, looking at her new little brother. Well…we were reading about Greek mythology in school, and I read about this one king that I liked a lot whose name was Myles—his name means strength.

Helen looked once again at the beautiful face of her baby boy and sighed deeply. What seemed like rough and tough times for her and her family had now culminated into a new joy that shed a little light on the darkness that had crowded some of the brighter things out. This little boy now symbolized that good things had come and were still on the way for them, the very meaning of the name Sylvia had given was exactly what he had given them—strength. Strength for a new day and to face it, to bond closer and be more tightly knit than they had ever been before; strength, to be a family, even if they were a broken one.

Helen felt a