The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1)
Read The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) Online
Authors: Miriam Yvette
The Birth
Miriam Yvette
The following work is purely fictional. The characters, names, people, alive or dead, settings, products, businesses, and places are inspired from the author's imagination. Any resemblance is fictitious or absolutely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Miriam Yvette
ISBN: 978-0615980485
ISBN-1
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This book was published thanks to free support and training from:
This book is gratefully dedicated to
To Jocelyn, Rosa, and Rochelly
It was in 8th grade when you three huddled together to read a worn note book page. You made me the writer I am today.
Thank you
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the man who witnessed the grouping of this book, my darling husband, Alberto. You have been my strict editor and energetic coach for this series. You helped me karate chop through so many writer’s blocks. When my computer crashed (as we both know it did shortly before finalizing everything!) your tech skills saved me a week from waiting for new parts. I don’t think I can ever forget the moments we argued over a sentence, it always brings a smile to my face. As I continue writing, know that I will always depend on your cups of coffee, and your generous support. My daring, how I love you.
To Eri Eri, my cover book illustrator. The busy life of writing robbed me of the time to start my own design. When I asked for your help, you jumped right on the task. You didn’t just give The Birth a wonderful design, you created exactly what I imagined, thank you for your hard work!
My peers, and support group, scattered throughout the world we call earth. You guys are simply encouraging, I will continue to seek your cheer in this perilous world of writing.
Merced County Library, thank you for your helpful staff, resources, and for giving our small community a place to read.
Like the sun, rising at dawn
Like the moon, falling at dusk
Constant and forever changing
New and old
Flowing in the sea of time
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.
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This is my Birth
31 weeks pregnant
D
r. Graham lowered his head, his lenses leaned, to look at me. His gray eyebrows lifted—wrinkling his forehead. I reverted from his blue gaze, and focused on his white coat—bleached to the point of causing a migraine. He grumbled, restlessly flipping through my patient file.
My eyes averted to his desk, the polished wood reflects a burgundy shade on every corner. I began to imagine the trouble of moving such high quality wood through the small waiting room, past the narrow hall and through the slim door. This desk was built to enrich the busy life of a CEO, but destiny can be cruel, now it’s chocking in Dr. Graham’s tiny office. I could never own a desk like his, it must have cost him a fortune—
“Lola, are you listening?”
I blinked out my thoughts. Dr. Graham is not frustrated anymore, he appears to be on the next level—furious. His eyelids shut while he withdrew a deep breath. His blue sharp eyes, returned to gaze at mine.
“The snow will be here in November. This town can get about 22 inches of snow, where you live, it will be past 30 inches. It will be very difficult for you to commute to the city. You’re well aware your baby is due around that time. Well? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.” I replied.
“Yes?” he repeated “Yes—what?”
“That it might snow…”
Dr. Graham took off his glasses and placed them on his desk. He rubbed his temple. The tension between us has worsened. The Persian carpet is easier to look at than Dr. Graham’s red cheeks. This appointment was supposed to be a quick check up, and so what if I spaced out. I don’t want to talk anymore.
“Lola, I understand Californians don’t need to worry about things like snow, but this is Washington State. Next month the temperature will drop significantly, the rain will hit hard, and the dangerous fog will be hovering over these your precious forest like tick. Do you think a pregnant woman such as yourself should be living 3 hours from an emergency center? As a matter of fact, what will happen if go into labor in that cabin of yours? Don’t tell me you’ll be driving yourself. Lola? Lola, again—are you’re not listening to me!”
My silence doesn’t amuse my doctor. My mouth is locked so tight, it should be a vault for a bank. He knows I’m not going to give him any feedback. I have nothing to say to his well-opinionated observations. His concerns will not resolve the danger I think about every day. Finally, my doctor sighed away in defeat and flipped through my medical chart.
I admit, I’m rude and disrespectful, but the blame is mine to keep. I’ve always been this insecure, I’m incapable of speaking my mind. The thought of sharing my personal life is followed with nervous replies, sweaty palms, and stutters. There’s nothing good to say after my name and age.
I’m not a resilient person, I spent my entire life trying to suppress every bitter experience, and I failed. I swallowed my awful memories like a pill and gulped them down with force. Over the years, I developed a form of Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Recalling my life in that sunny state causes me shake, my throat shrinks to the point of suffocation. Just thinking about it, is making my palms sweat. The walls in Dr. Graham’s office are starting to close in—it’s coming back.
My throat is beginning to tighten, blocking any airway to my lungs. The patterns on the Persian rug is spiraling. Sweat is gathering on the hair follicles of my head. I should talk to Dr. Graham before he notices—before it gets worse.
“Hello.” I yelped.
I wish I could have said something better, I wish I could speak more than two words. I have a lot of thoughts in my head, but I can never comfortably express them.
Dr. Graham is ignoring the awkwardness, he’s pretending he didn’t listen. I’m confident his concern for my wellbeing is genuine, I only wish it kept him from scolding me and probing on my past. Ah, and here it is! His pale hands just flipped through a doomed page. He let out a depressing sigh, he’s looking at a particular section on my records. I stretched my neck to look at what he soured at. A sentence in bold lettering read.
In case of emergency, please contact the number below.
We both know I left it blank—not even a dot to make him think I have someone in mind. No one can fill that role—nobody joins me for my checkups. Dr. Graham took notice of my nonexistent support system and has since then, overwhelmed me with questions. I often reply with empty glances, but my silence has made Dr. Graham into a clever interrogator.
One day, I got so fed up, I came up with a complete lie. I told him when I was little, my mother and father were deported, and since then, I became an orphan. When he probed for more, I told a tall-tale of how I lived my years living from foster home to foster home. When he inquired about the father of my child, “dead” was my quick and short reply. He knows my story is a pile of bullshit, but I still insist it’s true, all that matters is that it keeps him quiet.
Dr. Graham’s office is connected to the examination room, the only thing separating us is the sheer window door. We left the tiny office for my examination. Upon entering, my sensitive nose caught the lingering disinfectant smell. The waxed floor looks like mirror, I gazed down at it and saw the curls of my dark hair. Dr. Graham helped me sit on a new sheet of bed paper, it crumpled as soon as I sat.
Dr. Graham began with the usual, my heart rate and blood pressure. He measured my swollen belly and told me of the importance of walking towards for the end of my trimester. His voice changed as he pointed out my risks, gestational diabetes. During his explanation, he suddenly paused. His chest rose as he inhaled, his forehead wrinkled.
“Pretty soon, you’ll have your baby in your arms.”
I nodded, agreeing with him completely. Dr. Graham looks disappointed, my reaction didn’t satisfy him. He rubbed his temple and told me how his sentence alone has made mothers chirp, smile, or tense up. I made none of those.
“That questions was a test?” I asked.
“Never mind the test, will you smile for once in your life?” he tapped on his own forehead. “You’ve been living in that mind of yours far too long. Relax, enjoy your trimester. Take in to the beauty of motherhood. Sure it’s not a carnival ride, but your mood can greatly affect your baby. My wife was just like you, one day she went from happy and excited to depression, of course that was 27 years ago. It’s important for you to consider that at this time…”
His speech is too long. I told myself to listen, but my attention is starting to drift away. My eyes have a better attention span than my own ears. They hooked on the heavy lines on Dr. Graham’s face, his pepper gray hair, and the bald spot when he turns around. I wonder how my lips will turn out when I reach his age, will they dry up like his? I should stop thinking like that, I’m avoiding Dr. Graham again. I’m probably doing this because I don’t want to admit how right he is, his knowledge hold a lot of value.
Dr. Graham measured my swollen belly and wrote down my new measurements.
“A healthy growth.” he commented.
“How long have you been married?” I started.
The sparkling gold on his ring finger caught my attention, but beginning to wonder why I asked him such a personal question. I hope I’m not being rude.
“42 years.” he replied. “We married young, I was 18 at the time.”
I tried to imagine Dr. Graham’s as a young man but I can’t seem to do it. I refuse to believe that this sixty year old man had anything but an exciting young life. He’s always wearing the same style of clothes. Checkered shirts and gray slacks are his permanent attire, and I’m beginning to wonder if his brown leather shoes ever leave his feet. He obediently writes on blue pen like it was one of God’s commandments. Just this morning, two patients were gossiping in the waiting room about seeing Dr. Graham in a bingo event. A Doctor playing bingo for a sport? It’s anything but interesting!
“Let’s check your baby’s development.” he said, reaching for the fetal monitor.
When he leaned to pour ultrasound gel over my belly, Dr. Graham grumbled. It’s empty. His personality is predictable, but his choosing for a wife left me dumbfounded. I’ve always known of Dr. Graham’s wife, I watched her from the distance and compared her personality to a nuclear reactor, full of energy. In the rare moments that I saw her, I admired her winter blonde hair, her classy modern clothes, and her pearly smile that supports her high pitch laugh. I’m sure she’s probably envied by the women in her circle. It’s hard to believe Dr. Graham romanticized her, in fact—she probably did the chasing! My judgmental thoughts evaporated when a haunting sound filled the room.
I’ve heard this strong beat several times, each moment brings me to the brink of tears. My delight made a smile crack on Dr. Graham’s face. Other than his outer mean, and strict personality, is a kind-hearted man. Any mother-to be in town knows that delivery in the hospital is second to Dr. Graham’s practice. What is keeping me from enjoying my visits like any other pregnant patient? My desire to keep my privacy and history in California, a private matter.
“You sure you want to keep the gender a secret?” he asked.
“I’m in no rush to know.” I reply. “I just want my baby to be born.”
“You sound like you’re in a rush.” he added with a hint of sarcasm.
Well, if he wants my honest opinion, I am. The dead father is looking for me.
“The heart beat is normally. Let’s look at the limbs and check the bones.”
I gazed at the screen, my baby’s arms folded, a thumb pressed at the lips. The sight brought me a warmth I never experienced before. Motherhood, a joy I can’t explain.
After the examination, I receive the same farewell by the good-old Dr. Graham. I reach for my blue backpack, carrying my essentials for the journey home: a water bottle, snacks, cellphone, first aid kit, maternal pills, and a flashlight. When Dr. Graham saw my blue backpack, the smile on his face fades. From the look of his expression, I have a feeling we’re going to go at it again, he does this every time our appointment ends.
What will he say today?
“Lola, on behalf of your baby, it gives me great concern that there is nobody who keeps watch over you. You won’t tell me, so it’s my personal guess. You live in that cabin alone don’t you?”
Dr. Graham has never sounded so calm before. He’s trying to sound as nice and sincere as possible. It’s his trick to say something offensive with a harmless tone. Now I have to reassure my OB-GYN that I’ll be fine just so his conscious will let him sleep well at night.
“It’s been an awhile since I moved in that cabin.” I tenderized. “I’m fine.”
“Ha! You’re lucky to be alive in the wilderness!” he argued.
“It’s a family resort.”
“It used to be a family resort for the Mable family. I’ve lived here for a long time, nobody goes camping there anymore, nothing but hunters in winter.”
“I like my privacy.”
“Your baby needs everything but privacy.”
A few words from Dr. Graham and I’m at his mercy. He’s playing his cards by warning me of the bears, wolves, cougars, and wolverines that can devour me. He can tell me the place is haunted and I wouldn’t care.
“Who’s going to dial 911 if you have an emergency, the deer?” he badgered.
Is this all he’s got? Smart remarks and wild animals to convince ‘me’ to write a contact number, and live in the city?
I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine, and for once it’s not a lie.
“Animals don’t scare me.” I stretched. “Not when I have a shot gun under my bed.”
Dr. Graham gave me a look of disgust, he breathed in a gallon of air and sighed away—defeated. He threw in the towel and concludes our appointment. His hands swiftly wrote a note for me to hand to the receptionist.
For once, I told the truth, but I’m starting to regret saying anything to him about the shotgun. The kind of protection I need, is not what lurks in the forest, but what comes out of California.
As Dr. Graham escorts me to the empty hallway, he pressed a sticky note on my palm. It appears to be his personal cell phone number.
“Don’t misunderstand me when I pick on you Lola. You’re not the first young woman who comes to these appointments without an escort, family, and friends. But if you can give your child a chance to have a father, you will be helping them form a strong sense of identity.”
A ringing sound rang in my ears, Dr. Graham’s voice started to volume into silence. The hallway starts to grow dark, and the air in my lungs are leaking like a broken gas pipe. Memories of my past start to unveil inside my mind. Thoughts of those lonely nights, I wanted to runway from my mother’s house, and search for my dad. The scarred emotions of abandonment whelp up inside of me. Flashing thoughts of my husband’s escalating voice and his clenched fist.
Dr. Graham watched me speed towards the exit of the hallway. The note he passed to me crumpled from my tight grip. I’m incapable of thinking right now, I’m blocked from flushing out these emotions, but Dr. Graham hasn’t finished. Even as I’m walking away from him, he continues to shout out.
“What about your family? You think no one is worried about your health and your baby?” he shouts.
