Elisa Albert - After Birth

One night, I was beet red admitting I was a virgin and had never had an orgasm— I mean, I don’t think I have, but maybe I have, I don’t know —and she very patiently, slowly, and assuredly reached down her drawstring pants to show me what an orgasm was. Watching, I understood that I was fairly far from ever having had one.

On a trip into town one night just before the end of the summer we got matching tattoos. Both of us high. Acorns. My left shoulder, her right wrist. Because however far the winds might carry us, we were certainly of the same tree.

She was only two hours outside the city at college, and for a while we saw each other all the time. We met up and down the East Coast, went to shows, me so giddy, all disappeared into her. The way she stood up front, screamed her assent, threw her fists in the air, and emerged hoarse, with a tear-streaked face, swollen and satisfied. My idol. We ate at diners after like we hadn’t eaten for a week.

You and your dyke music , Erica remarked once. I hadn’t thought of them as dykes, my beloved Indigo Girls, my Michelle Shocked, Dar Williams, Shawn Colvin, Le Tigre, my Ani DiFranco. I just knew that at those shows I was whole and right. I was a person. I mattered. I was in fact not stupid or fat or ugly or lame; I was smart and valid and right and well. I had a fucking voice. The women at those shows weren’t gussied up like geishas. They talked of art, life, politics. They felt entitled to feelings and opinions and rage and poetry and laughter and tears and bodies. There was dissent. Looking “cute” was low on the list. Practical shoes were high. It mattered only that one articulate oneself properly and loudly and the rest of the world could fuck itself. I was beautiful. I had style. Substance. I smoked. Drove too fast. We’re all clichés. You learn who to be from your friends. Especially if you don’t have any siblings.

Or a sibling with nothing to teach you , Mina says.

Jess joined the Peace Corps, went to Ecuador, fell in love with a German guy, lives in Berlin now. She apologizes once a year for being so bad at keeping in touch.

Can I please hear about it?

What, birth? Craziest experience of my life. I mean, acid, heroin, S & M: kid stuff. Adolescent bullshit. Playtime.

What, because of the pain?

The pain is incidental. Actually, no; the pain is the point. The pain gets your attention. When something is actually wrong there’s fear attached to pain, which is what makes it horrible. Fear is horrible. Fear is the fucking worst thing in life. When something’s completely as it should be, and when you trust that, there’s no need for fear, so pain is… whatever. A fact. A thing. Pain in itself doesn’t always warrant fear. Getting that straight is the game changer. Blew my fucking mind.

Go on.

It approached death. You go down into places it’s hard to get at in life, you know? Extremity. And there’s no safe word. No, like, “stop this train, I want to get off.” It was like being turned inside out. It was like my skin came off. My soul left my body. Ego firebomb. I thought I was exploding. Like, literally: becoming a star. It was galactic. And it goes on in these waves, which are really rhythmic and crazy. This… I don’t know… like fucked-up primal cosmic rhythm. And you’re alone in it. Your whole life, your whole self, just obliterated. It’s like when you try to lose your everyday consciousness? That’s why people drink or compulsively exercise or get stoned or whatever else? Because it rules. But with this there’s, you know, redemption, survival. The minute it’s over, the pain is gone, and here is the literal fruit of your labor. The literal fruit of your labor! You can hold him in your arms, wrap him up and hold him tight and keep him safe. How amazing is that?

Huh , I say.

Her fingers travel up and down the length of Zev’s leg. He’s really alert. I always thought infants were just kind of out of it, but turns out, nope, when they’re born regular, they’re actually — oh, hi — quite present.

Because it’s not like a construct the way S & M is, for example. An agreed-upon game. There’s no one holding the other end of the rope, as it were. Or it’s some force you’ll never know. Like… life, death, outer limits. I don’t know.

She puts one of his feet into her mouth and nibbles on it. He pumps his arms, concentrates so hard on her.

And what about the baby?

What about the baby?

I don’t know, how does the baby figure in?

The baby is a reward. The baby is the prize. The baby’s a gift. Waiting across… a… like… mythic crossing. I don’t know. There’s before and then there’s after. Before is this entirely different thing, and after, the before is irrelevant. Death, rebirth.

The baby’s an innocent. Clean slate.

Completely. Isn’t that the thing? Clean slate, in your arms, and: go.

Yeah , I say. That’s exactly the thing.

She’s awesome, Paul. She’s so great.

He nods.

She sounds cool.

I love her, Paul.

He wipes down the counters, straightens a pile of mail.

I mean, she’s way more fucked up than me.

Than I.

What the fuck, Paul.

Another thing I needn’t bother trying to explain. She’s like a big old bell I can feel ringing in the best part of me. The vibrations go on and on, clear away the cobwebs, all the dense, cluttered junk, and it’s like oh my god there’s so much space in here, I had no idea there was so much room in me, what a pleasant place I turn out to be. Recognition. Reunion. A light on that’s been out a long time.

I really like this one. I won’t wreck this one. I’ll take this one slow.

So start from the beginning. What happened in the beginning?

I called my friend Ilana, who agreed to doula for free while she was getting certified. Bryan was here. Bryan had been here for a few days. The midwife was driving up from Poughkeepsie, taking her sweet time. It went slow. Bryan was sleeping. There are those moments you realize holy shit I am all alone.

Were you scared?

I was serious. I was focused. I wasn’t tense. Tense is the worst. You’re not supposed to tense up. After a while Ilana shows up and Bryan thinks she’s cute, so they’re flirting and I’m, like, both of you go away. Couple hours went by. Contractions were chill, pretty chill, every few minutes, but I was totally present, just had to stop whatever I was doing, you know? It pulled me out of whatever I was doing. Cutting an apple, had to put down the knife and just give my full attention to the contraction. Perfectly doable. No biggie. Okay. Midwife continues to not show up. Contractions get more and more intense. Got so I couldn’t do anything else — couldn’t have a conversation, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything but manage. Get through them. Must’ve been, like, seven hours in at that point. Midwife finally gets here and checks me and goes upstairs to take a nap, because it can take hours and hours, but I don’t know. I was kind of looking forward to her being with me. Bryan was in charge of music, and he kept putting on this fucking cerebral indie-rock nonsense, like, trying to impress Ilana. I was, like, fuck you, I need some good R & B, some blues. Something. And the minute some detached new indie-rock number came on, I’d be, like, turn that shit off, off, off.

About nine hours in, Ilana vibed kind of timid to me, like kind of beside the point. Bryan’s not timid but Bryan aspires to exist in mainly virtual space. He could not handle it. He checked out. I didn’t care. The midwife came and went. I remember at one point watching her eat a sandwich in the kitchen, thinking what the fuck, lady? I got down on the floor when a big one hit, and suddenly she’s paying attention to me. It was so clarifying; it was like the most stupendous high. Everything was clear. There was no room whatsoever for bullshit.