The One with Samantha 1: Love at First Sight

DISCLAIMER: These stories are inspired by Felicia’s colorful 2017. If the reader prefers, the short stories/blogs or parts of it may be regarded as fiction. But as Ernest Hemingway said, there is always the chance that fiction may throw some light on what has been regarded as fact.

The One with Love at First Sight

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It was 6:09 am(PST) in the morning on a beautiful Monday in August of 1999. I opened my eyes and found myself in a quite spacious maternity suite on the west wing of the hospital my father drove me to about 5-6 hours earlier. I looked at my mom who was at my bedside holding my hand. I smiled at her and I was teary-eyed. I didn’t know exactly why. I just knew something wonderful happened. The last thing I remember before I passed out was my doctor saying “You did good. She’s beautiful.” I did not get the chance to see who it was she said was beautiful. I guess they used a really fast-acting sedative in the delivery room.

The right side of the double doors opened, and a nurse came in carrying what seemed to be a big loaf of bread wrapped in a pink blanket. And there she was, my beautiful Samantha. It was  then when I knew what love at first sight meant.

I chose this hospital because Chynna, one of my girlfriends lived on the same street. Although the suite I was in was big enough to accommodate many visitors, my very supportive homegirls can get quite boisterous. So I figured, when they start getting loud, but not ready to go home yet, which was usually the case, they can easily exit the hospital and continue the “party” at Chynna’s house. And then, I could see them from my window.

The next day, I was surprised to see Samantha’s father arrived. My dad did call him before we left for the hospital, but he said he could not leave his internship (which was 3 hours away) until Wednesday. So I asked him how was he able to switch schedules and his response was, “Oh, I actually left internship early yesterday. I told my resident you were in labor. I celebrated a bit with my friends, but I was too drunk to drive, so I didn’t leave until this morning.” He walked towards the window and started to light up a cigarette. I was too tired to call him out, but Chynna noticed and said, “ Are you really going to smoke in a room where there’s a newborn baby?” He sighed and grinned, and went out instead. Two days later, it was time to go home. I was still in a bit of pain, so my then 5-year old Brian helped me walked down a ramp, with a pace of 0.5 mile/hour on my way to pay my hospital bill.  

• I am not going to stay long in this story. After all, that was 20 years ago. Despite what I’ve been through back then, believe it or not, it was not as “colorful” as my 2017.  I am merely writing this to give my readers a bit of a background before I go back to another Samantha story in our John Smith saga.

Long story short, 2 years later, I brought my children, Samantha and then 7-year old Brian to Boston. We were now 8,300 miles away from home.

Unlike Brian, Samantha grew up to be a very chatty and crowd pleasing child. As for their father, time and distance made us friends. We all talked on the phone and sometimes video chatted about once or twice a month.

Years passed and our communications with their father became less frequent. We continued celebrating special occasions. I always bought a cake, they sang the Happy Birthday (sometimes, Happy Father’s Day) song and blew the candles. I did this for my children. I made sure they knew they do have a father, and that mom and him were friends. Samantha became less and less interested talking to and about her dad up until we went back home for a vacation, when she turned seven. At first, Sam was shy and felt awkward meeting her father. But then, the affable and bubbly girl that she was, it was none too soon you could tell she was very happy to spend time with him. Every single picture of her with her dad showed her tiny arms wrapped around his neck.

We came back to Boston and things were different. Their video chats and Skype messaging became a regular schedule. Sam was always eager to chat with her dad, because he was no longer just a name or a photograph. To her, he was now a real person. Sam even started talking about her dad, mentioning his name at random conversations, whether around the family or around her friends. It was almost like she wanted to keep reminding herself and show others that she does have a father.

A few months later, something quite life-changing happened. Samantha was doing homework using my laptop and was sitting next to me on my bed. The Skype notification came up and it looked like it was going to be another chat session between Sam and her dad. So I minded my own business and let them talk using my Skype account. A minute later, Sam turned to me with an impassive look on her face.I asked her why, but she just took the laptop off her lap, placed it on my bed and then she walked straight to her room. I followed her, but she locked her door. I went back to my bedroom, and this was what I found on my computer screen.

I did not know what to do next. If I walked to Samantha's room and make her open her door, what would I tell her? Although I did not know about this, I was not shocked, but my heart broke for Samantha. I decided to leave Sam by herself, at least until I know what to say. I had to process this, because this was going to be one very important conversation. I looked at my screen again, and then my maternal protective instinct took over.

To be continued…

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