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Immediately, I felt Rori’s eyes on me, and I shook my head. “See what y’all did?” I asked. “I wasn’t ready to tell this story yet.”
“It ain’t your story anyway,” my mother corrected, pushing me away to pull Rori off to the side. “He got stuck!” she told her. “Big ass! Got stuck coming out, ended up with nerve damage, compressing his cord, the whole mess.” She shook her head. “They put that thing on his head to yank him out, tore me three different ways. I didn’t even know until way after, too busy worrying about them trying to save his life. Seemed like it took him forever to cry that first cry, but whew, when he did!” She put a hand to her chest and Rori grabbed the other one.
“That’s so scary!”
“Baby who you telling!” Mama agreed. “I didn’t even get to hold him. They rushed him straight to the neonatal unit. It took weeks to get to hold him the first time, and even longer to see him without a damn tube somewhere. Very scary,” she said. “You got a section in the app for that?”
Rori smiled. “Yes, actually. A very special section, developed with a ton of help from neonatal specialists, nurses, everything. We also have specialists on consult for a second opinion on rare cases, twenty-four-seven counseling, and the business donates heavily to living arrangements and expenses for families with babies in NICU.”
“Oh you’re really about your business, ain’t it?” Mama grinned, and Rori nodded.
“Yes ma’am. This is my life’s work. I’m ten toes down. Now, I’m personally… a nerd,” she laughed. “I code, I don’t… counsel. But I can happily make sure that people who do that stuff are in the right places when people need them.”
“I like her, Tater,” Mama whispered to me, loud as hell.
Before I could even say anything, she and Tam had swept Rori away, talking her ear off about something.
Grandma Jenny turned to me with a grin. “And you were worried about me taking your bitch?”
My eyes went wide. “I wasn’t worried…”
For a long time, I wasn’t allowed to play in the dirt.
There were no early mornings with the chickens, rough-housing with the dogs in the yard, learning to ride, or rope. On occasion, I could ride beside my father or Grandpa Nelson in the tractor, but only under immense secrecy and the rare occurrence that my mother wasn’t home.
I hated that shit.
Long before I ever understood why there was that difference between what was allowed for my siblings, but not me, I resented it.
Hell, I resented it after I understood too.
They were learning to be ranchers while I was cooped up in the house, watching from the windows until I got brave enough to start sneaking out. I wanted to do what they were doing, learning the family business, developing skills as a ranch hand.
Every time I got caught, I was dragged back to the house and lectured on the danger of me being out there without supervision. It was a reminder that I was different.
That I was weak.
While my brothers were learning to rope, building fences, mowing, being taught to drive, I was struggling through occupational therapy to get my physical development caught up to my age. Motor skills that came naturally to them, were hindered by neuropathy and the associated pain of it for me.
It often felt pointless.
Strides forward were followed by setback after setback.
Which led to a long period where I wouldn’t even try, even under threat of whoopings, punishments, whatever. None of that shit meant anything anyway, not compared to what I was living with.
Every adult in the family tried reasoning with me, and I wasn’t hearing any of it.
Ultimately… my siblings roasted me into it.
Even if nothing else was going to move me, the approval/disgust of them, especially Tam and Tim, was gonna do it every damn time.
They were vicious with it, saying shit that could probably qualify as hate crimes, but it certainly worked.
I had to prove them wrong.
The pain, frustration, failures, none of it mattered, as long as by the “end” of it, I was able to pass every milestone they put in front of me.
And I hadn’t stopped since then.