She touched her belly. She could feel her baby in there, wriggling, probably trying to find her way out of this pain. “It’s okay, little girl. We’ll be okay.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine the baby inside of her. For months now, as she’d lain in her lonely prison bed, she’d dreamed of this baby, and in her dreams it was always a girl.
When the pain came again, she cried out, certain this time that her stomach was going to split open like that scene in Alien. She was still screaming when the doctor came into the room, with a nurse beside him.
“Chained to the bed? Where are we, medieval France? Uncuff her. Now.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I can’t do that,” the guard said. To her credit, she actually looked sorry.
“Hello, Lexi. I’m Dr. Farst,” he said, coming to her bedside.
“H-hi,” she said. “I think I’m dying. Do they ever rip you in half?”
He smiled. “It just feels that way. I’m going to examine you now.”
“Okay.”
He pushed her gown aside and positioned himself between her legs.
“Can you see her yet? Aagh—” Lexi arched up in pain again.
“Okay, Alexa, it looks like someone is ready to be born. When I say push, you bear down as hard as you can.”
Lexi was so tired, she could hardly move. “What does that mean, bear down?”
“Like you’re constipated and trying to go.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, Alexa. Push.”
Lexi strained and pushed and screamed. She lost track of how many times the doctor told her to stop and start and stop again. She hurt so badly she could hardly stand it, and she wished someone were beside her, telling her she was okay, that she was doing great. That was how it happened in the movies.
And then a baby cried. “It’s a girl,” the doctor said with a smile.
Lexi had never known before that a heart could take flight, but that was how she felt suddenly; the pain was gone—already forgotten—and angels were lifting her up. She saw the doctor hand the baby—her baby—to the nurse, and she couldn’t help reaching out to hold her. One arm lifted; the other clanged against the restraint.
“Uncuff her wrist,” the doctor said to the guard, pulling off his blue surgical cap. “Now.”
“But—”
Dr. Farst turned to the guard. “In this room, I’m God. Take off the cuff. Leave the ankle if you have to. That should keep society safe from this teenager.” He walked over to the bed. “You’re young,” he said.
It meant he thought she had lots of time ahead of her, that someday she’d be in a room like this, giving birth to a child that she would bring home and love. That someday she would nurse her own child.
She could have told him that he was wrong, that she wasn’t young anymore and that dreams were ephemeral things, like balloons that, once loosed, disappeared into the sky above you. But he was so nice, and she was tired, and she didn’t want to look truth in the face right now.
The nurse came up beside her, handed Lexi a tiny bundle wrapped in pink.
Her daughter.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a minute. I know … there are people waiting.”
There was an awkward moment when truth muscled its way into the room, and then the nurse and doctor left.
Lexi stared down at her baby in awe, mesmerized by her little pink face and her bow-shaped lips, by her muddy blue eyes that seemed to know secrets that Lexi hadn’t yet learned. Lexi reached down and touched a grape-sized fist. “I have so much to say to you, little girl, but you won’t remember it. You won’t remember me. But I’ll remember you.”
Lexi held her daughter close, gave her all the love she had inside of her, hoping to imprint her in a way that would last. “Like geese,” she whispered into the tiny, shell-pink ear, “their babies imprint on the mama in the first sighting and never forget.”
There was a knock at the door. The guard answered, spoke to someone in the hallway outside, and then opened the door. Scot walked in. He was as rumpled as always, in a cheap wool suit and an out-of-date tie, but the look in his eyes was so caring and compassionate that she felt the start of panic. She instinctively tightened her hold on her baby.
“Hey, Lexi,” he said. At the red mark on her wrist, he frowned. “They shackled you? Motherfu—”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Look.”
Scot leaned down. “She’s beautiful, Lexi.” At the words, his face seemed to kind of fall. “It’s time,” he said gently.