2011 Issue - Santa Fe Community College

The Formula for Wholeness
by Katherine Seluja
The shape of his head was a pyramid, a pyramid turned upside
down. His chin the pointed capstone, widening slowly into granite
cheekbone, expanding further into a massive base. Hector was born
with only a brainstem and miles of space and fluid where the rest of his
brain should have been. I wanted to fill that space. I wanted to make
him whole. But all I could do was hold him. Wrapped in soft cotton
blankets, faded pink and blue stripes, the pink and blue of his veins
more visible every day. His suck was strong. Some ancient impulse directing
his tongue to grope and search, reach for nurses' hand, blanket's
edge, plastic tubing that randomly brushed his face. His eyes
protruded gazing at dark linoleum floors, too bright fluorescent light,
late night radio on the low shelf above his bassinet. Each nurse took
her turn with Hector, each one sure she had the formula for wholeness.
Or the cure for space-where-brain-should-be. And if not, then a mumbled
Hindu prayer, leather pouch of Jamaican curry, woven cross of
fresh green palm. His fontanel began to bulge. I counted his irregular
pulse there, in the little domed tent that swelled at the top of his
head. He lost his will to suck, we lost one more way to soothe him.
And then it was only quiet and nurse's arms. And faded pink and blue,
a stone from Medjugorje, a string of ivory beads. The prayer card with
a bleeding heart bursting under a crown of thorns was tucked behind
his bassinet, the morning I came to work and he was gone.
28 Santa Fe Literary Review