I am at the Swedish Medical Center. My sister, Maple, is on her back wearing a billowing cloud of a uniform. The uniform for birthing is light blue with wisps of white—additional details that make her look like she is wearing a cloud. There are three bags suspended like carcasses dripping into tubes that drip into Maple’s body. There are only two chairs in the room, so I sit on the counter next to the sink. Maple closed the bar she works at last night—even when her water broke—her co-workers got drunk instead of helping her out. She is a powerful woman; she wiped down the counters, she put the chairs on the tables, she drove herself home. In denial, she returned to work in the morning—opening the bar; she put the chairs back down, she hardly slept the night before. Her friend convinced her finally to go to the hospital.
I stayed up late last night, I ignored her call when it woke me up. It didn’t occur to me that this would happen so soon. When Andrew—the future father—walked down the stairs into my basement dungeon, Broke, Onion, and I lifted our heads from the comforter, synchronized.
Since neither of my cats can speak, I asked what we were all wondering, “What’s up, baby girl?”
Andrew moved briskly, gathering some things but I had no time to pay attention to the details, “I am becoming a daddy.”
I flung myself out of bed, shoved my amphetamines and my laptop into my backpack. I asked, “Do my parents know?”
“They are on a plane from Mexico now.”
I looked at my phone. I have a text. It’s from Maple.
Maple: I am in labor.
I gave myself a whore’s bath. Splashing little soap and water on my face. We both shove our backpacks full of items. We move like we are abandoning our home.
7:28pm
I just left the room. I guess something is somewhat wrong. I left and walked around the cold streets and smoked cigarettes. I am nervous. It’s been magical living with my sister, and everything has to work out right. Andrew is dressed like a doctor, I grab my backpack, I tell my sister I love her—twice—I squeeze Andrew’s shoulder, I tell him I love him too.
I go to the waiting room and wait. My sister’s friend is here with her husband. I talk to my mother. She is rushing here on a plane, but won’t be here when the baby is born. It doesn’t matter to me, anything/everything as long as everyone is safe. I head outside to pace while smoking.
It is here that I wait. Bullshit vibrates out of the television. I am here, waiting for you, waiting for you—Paige.
8:12pm
There you are Paige. In a little hat, with lots of hair, there you are. There is Andrew, your dad, my best friend in Colorado. His eyes are squinted as they usually are, a smile is plastered on his face. He is dressed like a doctor, still. Maple is still in the operating room. It is you! That is you Paige! The little girl who I will watch grow up! And you are beautiful.
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