The 1st Son
1
April 27th, 1992 8:30 p.m.
Not for the first time, Ronnie Peyroux wished she had as many eyes as Argus, while she walked up the 2nd arrondissement of Paris. Paris was like a mysterious girlfriend whose revealed secrets about herself, little by little. She'd only been in Paris a little over three months, and she'd discovered 10 covered passages. Her most favorite one so far had been the Galerie Vivienne; Ronnie loved the layout of it, with its mosaic tiles, tea shops, and bistros. What she loved the most was Libraire Jousseaume a bookshop that sold rare books that the avid bibliophile would kill to possess. She felt right at home in the City of Lights.
Ronnie was a 17 year-old American expatriate. She'd struck up a romance with Mark, a famous professional wrestler who she'd met at a New Jersey summer camp. Their union had resulted in her pregnancy. Because Mark was 9 years her senior and a married man, Ronnie fled the United States to avoid the potential scandal. She left a note explaining to her parents why she was leaving, but didn't implicate Mark. It was a difficult decision, having to leave her old life behind abruptly. But she didn't regret her decision. It was best for her and her unborn child.
The sky was blanketed with inky purple clouds. Ronnie would have to retire to the boarding house soon. Frédérique, the landlady, was strict about punctuality. While she took an extra liking to Ronnie a little bit more than the other girls, that wouldn't stop her from punishing Ronnie from walking in late.
Before she went in for the night, Ronnie headed to the Rue Montorgeuile, a street lined with restaurants, bakeries, fish markets, and cheese shops. She brought a baguette, fruit, cheese, and slabs of chocolate to take home with her. She paid the venders and went on her way.
She was walking up the steps of the boarding home when she felt something warm trickling down her jeans. She hurried up the stairs, thinking she had to go to the bathroom. As she made it in, the trickling progressed to a leak. She suddenly realized what was happening.
"Frédérique!" cried Ronnie, entering the kitchen, "Oú est-tu?"
Frédérique appeared, wearing a black shawl over her red silk nightgown.
"Ronnie," she said in her throaty French accent, "What eez eet?"
Before Ronnie could answer, a gushing feeling, as if a water balloon had popped between her legs, spilled through her jeans. And then the worst pain, like someone had her cervix in a steel grip. She let out a cry of pain, holding on to the table for support.
Frédérique pulled up a chair and sat Ronnie in it. Then she called for Clemence, the coproprietor of the building.
"Appeler l'ambulance," Ronnie heard her say, "le bébé vient!"
As Frédérique went into Ronnie's room and gathered up her belongings. Meanhile Clemence timed Ronnie's contractions and got her to control her breathing.
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Frédérique and Clemence accompanied Ronnie to the hospital. The paramedics drove them to Hôpital Hôtel-Dieu, where she they quickly found a bed for her and put monitors on her to keep track on the baby's heart rate and her contractions. In the midst of the pain, she couldn't help but feel a little excited. This was it. She was about to become a mother.
In the wee hours of the morning, Ronnie's cervix became fully dilated. Frédérique held Ronnie's hand as the doctor assisted Ronnie.
"Ok, deep breadz," said the doctor. "Now push."
Ronnie grunted, grasping Frédérique's hand as she pushed with a mighty effort .
"Trés bon," said the doctor as Ronnie took a couple of deep breaths before the doctor told her to continue to push.
"Poussez, poussez," said the doctor, "Ne vous arrêtez pas."
It felt as if knives of fire were ripping through her lower pelvis. Ronnie cried out, nearly crushing Frédérique's hand as she continued to push."
"Tu le fais bien," said the doctor, "I see ze head."
Ronnie pushed with all the strength she could muster. Moments later, the baby was delivered.
"Eet's a boy," the doctor declared.
Exhausted relief came over Ronnie as she listened to the sound of her crying baby. After they cleaned him and snipped the umbilical cord, the doctor gave the baby to Ronnie.
" 'Ere ees your leetle boy." said the doctor.
" Ah, 'e is beautiful," said Clemence.
"Yes, he is," said Ronnie, looking down at those wide eyes that were peering up at her. A combination of elation and grief hit her, making her burst into tears. She had the baby, but it was Frédérique and Clemence who'd witnessed her son's birth, not her parents, and most of all, not Mark. They were not there to share her joy.
A few days later...
Ronnie returned to the boarding home with her baby. Everyone crowded around her, wanting to hold him. It was a while before she had time to herself.
Ronnie had decided to name him Mahdi Hendrix Peyroux. Mahdi was an African name meaning "guided one". She'd given him Hendrix as a middle name to honor Jimi Hendrix.
After feeding, burping and changing him, Ronnie put Mahdi in his bassinet and gotten out her notebook. She had a poem inside that was just dying to be written, and she wasn't able to do it in the hospital. Picking up a pen, she started scribbling away.
Alas! He has burst forth from
his liquid coccoon, so his journey
post womb has begun
My heart rejoiced with a canary's
song, the minute his skin made
contact with mine
The infrangible vow of motherhood
has been activated within me, I pledge
not only to be his mom, but his tutor,
his guide
Welcome to the world, my sweet little
cub, you helped see the lioness that I
am and have always been