“Am I circumcised?” he asked his dad, quietly.
“Yes,” answered his father. “They used to do it just as a matter of course.”
“What do you think?” asked Damon. His father was holding the baby, staring at Ricky in fascination.
“It’s better to do it now,” said his father. “If you wait until later, it’s a very painful procedure.” When Amina explained the procedure in detail Damon thought that he was going to faint from horror, but Sasha signed the papers without batting an eye. Damon had no say, because he was a minor and couldn’t legally acknowledge paternity, but he agreed to watch the procedure because he thought that he should. A wave of protectiveness surged out of his heart every time he looked at the baby. Ricky was so tiny, but he had all the working parts. It was like holding a moving doll.
When they got to the room for the procedure, a male nurse named Don picked up Ricky and took his diaper off. He put the baby in a plastic container called a circumstraint, explaining everything as he went. The circumstraint looked like a reversed toilet seat cover. Don strapped the baby’s legs wide open with light blue Velcro tabs and also strapped his arms so that he could not move. He rubbed Betadine solution on the baby’s private area and placed a surgical drape over the baby. When the nurse hooked the baby up to a device that looked like a miniature guillotine Damon felt the room rushing forward like a video game vortex and dropped to the floor like a stone.
When he came to a few minutes later, Damon heard the baby wailing. He struggled to sit up but was stopped by his father’s hand on his chest.
“Relax for a minute,” said Mr. Hamilton. “Don’t want to have to admit you to the hospital with a busted head.” Damon turned his head and looked around curiously. He was resting on a gurney and the procedure was finished. Damon could hear Don crooning and soothing the baby somewhere out of Damon’s sight. The baby quieted.
“What happened?” Damon asked.
“Circumcision got a little rough for a brother,” said Mr. Hamilton, looking a little shaken. His light brown skin was ashen and his pupils slightly dilated. “Got a little light-headed, myself.”
Damon felt his stomach pitch.
He sat up slowly and when he didn’t immediately throw up or get dizzy he breathed a sigh of relief and looked at his father.
“That was crazy, dad,” said Damon.
“Yeah,” said his father. “It was. They didn’t used to let you watch. I see why.”
Damon wanted to grab his crotch to make certain everything was still where it was supposed to be, but restrained himself.
Mr. Hamilton shook his head.
“That’s the kind of thing have a brother checking his shorts, make sure nothing’s missing,” said Mr. Hamilton. Damon and his father laughed uneasily, in complete charity with one another.
February
Damon and Brielle
Brielle was sitting in Jada’s mother’s kitchen working on the debutante college project. They had all been assigned to pick three colleges and do a collage and report on them. Brielle had picked Howard University, Hampton University and Michigan State University for her report. Sammie and Kyzie were sitting on the floor in the living room bickering over which one was going to report on Spellman College. Jada was adding the finishing touches to her poster on Western Michigan University, outlining bold brown letters with orange marker. They had to present the reports at the upcoming college and career fair.
Brielle hadn’t wanted to come to Damon’s house or ever see him again, but Jada had convinced her that Damon probably wouldn’t be home, or if he was, he’d be tied up in the room with the baby and wouldn’t try to talk to her anyway. So engrossed was she in her project that Brielle did not notice Damon until he was standing right in front of her, cradling the blanket wrapped baby.
“Hi,” he said softly. Damon looked exhausted, with dark circles ringing his eyes like Egyptian Kohl. He wasn’t wearing his glasses so his eyes had a slightly unfocused, bleary look. He was barefoot with faded jeans riding low on his lean hips and wearing an oversized white tee shirt that had unrecognizable stains on it. He looked so good that Brielle felt a jolt in her insides. Hastily she tamped down the feeling.
Brielle wanted to dismiss him haughtily or give him the cussing out of his life, with every fiber of her being but she didn’t want to give Damon the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt her. Besides, when he looked at her with those pleading eyes she couldn’t maintain her anger. Better not to say too much and give her inner turmoil away.
“Hi,” she said.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Fine,” said Brielle. “I’ve been good.” She glanced back down at her project, wishing that Damon would just go away.
“Um,” he said and then paused. “This is Ricky.” He leaned down to show Brielle the tiny round face. The baby stared back at her solemnly, light brown almost yellow cheeks smooth and unblemished. His eyes were cloudy blue-grey. He was wearing a little blue cap and mittens on his hands. The rest of him was wrapped tightly in a blue receiving blanket.
Brielle smiled.
“He’s really cute, Damon,” she said. Her hand reached out of its own volition and Brielle caressed the tiny cheek with one finger.
“He’s a month old,” said Damon, every inch the proud father. “He’s holding up his head and trying to roll over already. The baby book that I’ve been reading said that most babies don’t do that until they are like four months old.”
“Really,” Brielle, fascinated with this little life. She found that if she focused on the baby, her awareness of Damon faded a little.
“Do you want to hold him?” asked Damon.
“Can I?” breathed Brielle. “He’s so little. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“You won’t,” said Damon, confidently. He put the baby into Brielle’s arms and she
