When Xibal visited Sam for the last time in her childhood, Lucy was already born, and their mother had stopped visiting her husband in the hospital. She had stopped after her husband, Richard, had lunged at her belly, teeth clacking together as her chomped and strained at the restraints buckled to his bed. The doctors were baffled, he had been missing for less than 24 hours, and yet behaved as if her had gone feral overnight. There were no drugs in his system save the ones they gave to calm him, and those didn’t work at all. He had no injuries, save for a series of puncture wounds along his arm, in the shape and spacing of a peculiar sort of bite. He simply went ‘boogity’, as the nurses whispered loud enough for Sam’s mom to hear, and there was no going back.
Sam knew none of this, she just had a stepfather one day, and the next day did not, and life went on, because Richard was a hard man to love anyway, at least for his stepdaughter. On the other hand, the man called Daddy by Sam was a traveling man by nature, and usually had a job that led him far away for the majority of the year. He sent presents for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and sometimes he would visit; after the briefest of conversations with her mother, he would take Sam out for ice cream or brunch or for a movie. Then he was gone again, for months and months, and Sam didn’t know any better to expect things to go a different way.
Lucy was lucky. She was born under a full moon, when the hospital staff was busy with the ever-increasing influx of lunatics in the ER, and didn’t have the time nor inclination to bother her mom. The original plan was to have Lucy at home, but since Richard was gone (or as good as gone, if not worse), Sam’s Mom made it to the hospital on her own, for once opting for the courtesy valet parking, and checked herself into a quiet room on the 3rd floor. She paced the hallway for an hour or so, stopping with each contraction and swearing like her father, until her water broke. She then informed the nurse that she would like no epidural, but perhaps a mild sedative; they complied, checked her vitals, and scurried away.
The doctor, ironically a friend of Richard’s from the hospital, visited her about 40 minutes later, after the sedatives should have kicked in, and found she had carefully removed her IV, and was walking in increasingly difficult horseshoes around her bed.
“Don’t mind me.” He said, after the typical ‘let’s see how you’re doing’ greeting, which she ignored. It was her third child and should be easy enough, he figured, and why force a pregnant woman to lay down when she was perfectly at ease in motion? Why force a soon-to-be mother of three to do anything, he mused, wisely. Still, he stood at the door, watching her make the circuit from the sink and mirror to the window, until she chose, on her own, to hoist herself onto the bed.
Almost at the exact same moment, the doctor’s beeper went off, his phone vibrated, and lifting it to check the number, he read SOS across the screen.
“well, little lady,” (he winced, it was words spoken out of habit, thankfully she all but ignored him) “Looks like you’re about 5 minutes apart, which means you’re in the right place, but we have some time, and….”
“You HONESTLY think I don’t FUCKING know that?” She growled. She was in the middle of a contraction, gripping the sheets, her knees pulled up as far as belly would allow.
“Well, I just got a call from downstairs, and it seems like they’ve got a full house tonight, and I just figured…”
“GO, just go.” The contraction passed, and her voice softened. “I’ll be fine for a while.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want,” He checked her chart, even though the nurse had already informed him as much, “…an epidural?”
“This was supposed to be a home birth, Andrew. Let’s just say I’m playing pretend.”
“I….” the doctor was sure her should say something about Richard and his condition, but what could he possibly do? Wheel up the crazy bastard from downstairs? Tell the gibbering thing that used to be his friend that his daughter was coming soon? No way, no how.
“Really, I’m fine, now please….go.”
The doctor admired her, really her did, but there was an SOS on his phone, his beeper was STILL going off, and he had places to be. So without further fanfare, he left the room, stopping a passing nurse and instructing her to PLEASE, convince the lady in 303 to put back her IV.
Sam (13) was at home, with her big brother Mark (19) convinently home for spring break, although at her age she barely needed a babysitter. Mark teased her endlessly about Xibal when she and he were younger, but this visit, he actually seemed interested in the little flying unicorn. They chatted over dinner, (mac and cheese and salad, the latter on which their mother insisted), about Xibal rather than their soon-to-be sister.
“so he’s white, and sparkly….” Mark recalled, mixing his salad into the mac and cheese to make it somewhat palatable.
“with dark pink hooves, a purple tongue, and pink mane and fetlock,” (she had looked up vocabulary on horses, figuring unicorns were at least somewhat the same) “and a long silver horn.”
“eyes?”
“Black and huge, with three pupils.”
“Creepy. And he’s been with you for 8 years now, huh?”
“yes, but…” Sam looked down at her plate, absentmindedly swirling the ranch dressing from her salad into the mac and cheese.
“What is it?” he leaned across the table and, seeing the look in her eyes, teased her gently, “little brave hobbitses mustn’t cry….”
“I’m not crying! He’s just been gone for a while now, and…and I miss him.”
“where” Mark said reasonably, through a mouthful of mac and salad, “do you think he’s gone?”
“He told me.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s gone to the Other Side, to ‘finish up some business’ and be re-assigned.”
“so they have burocracy on the Other Side too, huh? Damn, can’t escape it.”
“it’s true! He’s going to start being someone else’s imaginary friend, so he doesn’t fade….”
“what? Fade out? Fade away? What?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Samwise Miranda!” Mark put down his fork, all at once the vision of their mother and father combined, “What did I tell you when that bully, what was his name…”
“Conner.”
“What did I tell you when that little shitbag Conner was stealing your treats at lunch?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, little hobbitses, you do.”
“You said….you said anyone who would make you keep secrets from your big brother isn’t a good person.”
So Sam told Mark about the monsters, and from whence they had come, and Mark, who had grown up considerably in the last 6 months, listened patiently until she was done.
“well, I think mom was right. The things you believe in only have power if you give them power. But you can’t forget about faith. ‘Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.’” Mark said ever so slightly smug, quoting his first year ‘Philosophy Through the Ages” professor.
“what does that mean?”
“it means that even though you know something isn’t really ‘real’, it doesn’t mean it can’t be comforting, or even helpful. So maybe Xibal can’t stay with you forever, but if you have FAITH in him, his memory will always be there for you.”
“oh.”
Mark regarded Sam for a long while, watching her eat her food as miserably as a child taking their medicine. It was no coincidence, in Mark’s mind, that Xibal had gone from reliable to flighty around the same time Richard had gone from missing to incurably insane. Wasn’t it around when she was five or six, the Divorce Year, when the chubby white creepy-eyed unicorn had appeared in the first place? And now he was leaving her, had left her possibly for good, when Richard had too? Mark had visited his stepfather in the hospital several times, it was on campus after all, and there was no doubt that the man, formerly a rather stern doctor of high regard, was a raving lunatic. It occurred to him, for a rather cold minute, to write a paper on the whole thing in his independent study course.
Later that night, after the dishes had been washed and put away, and Sam was happily cheering on her namesake as the Two Towers played on DVD, Mark called his mother at the hospital. A Nurse answered, and after talking briefly yet audibly with his mother, allowed that she was having consistent contractions, a minute or so apart, and there was speculation that the baby would be delivered by midnight. Mark asked the nurse to pass on the message that he would be staying up, they/she could call him at any time, and if there were any complications for the mother or child, he could be on campus in 15 minutes or less.
What the nurse didn’t tell him, what she didn’t want to pass on over the phone, was that now, despite their best efforts, it would almost certainly be a breech birth, and the mother was vehemently denying a cesarean. Her husband was well-known in the hospital community, and very few people wanted to confront her. They knew, too, that if this baby died, it would be the second family member she had lost in the last 6 months. She was hooked up to an IV now, as well as several intimidating and not-at-all home-birth-friendly machines to monitor the baby’s heartbeat, oxygen supply, and position.
“Don’t you people have better things to do than bother me?” Sam’s mother groaned, as the doctor pushed on her belly, attempting to reposition the baby within, and failing miserably. The damn thing wouldn’t budge, and although Andrew tried to be gentle, he felt as if he was crushing something. He felt, in fact, almost exactly as he had in his first year of residency, as if the procedures he had been so studiously trained on were doing more harm than good. It was a terrible feeling, and one he only felt rarely now; usually he felt adept and with the aptitude of a god.
“sorry about this, Miss….Rebecca.” they might as well give up on formality now, he figured. Unprofessionally, he admired her for coming here alone, professionally, he wished there was someone else with her to talk to and convince her to go into surgery. The aptitude of a god, indeed.
“Ma’am, now, we’re just trying to move the baby just a teeny bit so….” One of the younger nurses spoke up, slowly and in a saccharine voice, the way someone would speak to a child.
“I know what a fucking breech birth means, you condescending cock-pocket.” Rebecca replied, “now be as useful as you have the capacity to be and go get me some ice. CRUSHED. Slag.”
It was past Sam’s bedtime now, although her brother told her she could stay up if she wanted to (considering the situation), but Sam opted to go to her bedroom, turn on the white Christmas lights her mother had allowed her to string up across the ceiling, and kneel at the open window. Above her, the white, sparkling moon looked like nothing so much as Xibal’s fur, the dewy grass below her like his sharpened silver horn, and the starry night sky was black and firey as his eyes.
After a time she sighed, gave up, and turned to go to bed. With a loud SNAP, Xibal appeared in front of her. She barely consealed her squeal of surprise and delight.
“XIBBY!!!” it had been nearly two months since he had left her alone, citing his responsibilities on the Other Side. They hugged, giggling and urgent; she had missed him more than even she realized.
“where have you BEEN?” Sam cried out, after the giggling and subsequent crying had waned.
“Busy,” her face fell, “Busy but I HAD to see you.” (one last time, he didn’t add)
“Where have you been? Mom’s in the hospital, she’s having a baby RIGHT NOW, and Mark is here and he’s being really nice, and Daddy came to see me just a week ago….” She was rambling and she knew it, but there was just so much to catch him up on, so very much to say! Her heart was racing, and suddenly, as if it wasn’t before, the night seemed magical, important.
“ I can’t stay long….Snugglebuns, now don’t cry, I can’t stay long and I may not get to…” Xibal was struggling not to cry himself, he shook his head (she ducked automatically) to clear his mind and say what he had to say.
“I may not get to come back. Not here, not to a new little girl, not on This Side at all. The Great War has begun.”
The contractions were excruciating now, and Rebecca regretted not asking for an epidural when she had a chance. The fact is, Rebecca was, although a strictly reasonable woman most of the time, extremely superstitious when it came to birth. She knew to rub honey on the baby’s head to ward off bad luck, she knew to unlock all the doors and windows to ease labor, and she had even brought bay leaves to rub on her baby’s legs, for she had an unexplainably accurate premonition that this would be a breech birth. A footling child would become lame in the legs if they had not had bay leaves rubbed on them; If the bay leaves were used, they would have the ability to ease pain. Richard had been a footling breech birth, maybe it ran in the family.
So Rebecca the Superstitious had declined an epidural, because Rebecca the Reasonable knew she would be in the birthing room all by her lonesome, save for the stupid nurses and a doctor or two. There were things that MUST be done when the baby was born to ensure her health and safety, avowed Rebecca the Superstitious, and she was the only one with the good sense to do them. An epidural would cloud her brain, and that was simply unacceptable.
By the time she was dilated sufficiently to begin pushing, there was a crowd of nurses and doctors outside her door, begging, cajoling, and nearly threatening Andrew for permission to go in. a breech birth is almost always dealt with by cesarean, at least in America, and this gaggle of lookie Lou’s wanted to watch. Andrew stood, hands on each side of the doorframe, politely declining each offer to ‘help’ and begging, cajoling, and threatening back.
There were two nurses in the room already, and Andrew would be damned if he wouldn’t be the one to deliver the baby himself. Already, he found himself falling for Rebecca, her regal manner intermittent with spats of ear-boiling cursing, her curious grey eyes, and her almighty gall at having a baby alone, on this night of all nights, when almost every educated person knew by now that it was dangerous to visit a hospital on a full moon. Guiltily, he also reminded himself, he owed Richard more than he could say, more than he could ever repay, and that was his wife in there, dammit.
Andrew sent the last of the cajoling staff away with a kind word and a smile, took a moment to wash the silly grin off his face, and turned to face his fate, closing the door behind him. One nurse was monitoring the baby, giving quick and comforting updates to the mother, one was at her side, letting her hold her hand until she felt that, by doing so, the nurse might seriously injure herself. Rebecca was groaning with effort, her face beaded in perspiration; still she was beautiful.
“Rebecca,” Her eyes snapped to attention, they had been hazy and unfocused.
“Rebecca, it’s time to push, but I have to tell you,” he paused, an old trick he’d learned from an anatomy professor in first year med school, to be sure she was listening. She turned her head to him and locked eyes. He was falling, all right. He swallowed hard and went on, “Once you start pushing, you can’t stop…you have to push through EVERY contraction, consistently, because your baby is positioned in a way that means the danger of complication is very, very real. Do you understand?”
She nodded, then doubled over with another contraction, “Double plus un good fucking flesh-mongering FUCK!”
“I need you to say to me, ‘Yes, Andrew, I understand.’ I need to hear that we’re both on the same team.”
“you MUST be joking.”
He wasn’t, and she could see that.
“Yes, Andrew, I understand.”
“Let’s do this.” Said the bookish, mild-mannered doctor, for once a badass.
The nurses stayed where they were, allowing the doctor to position himself at the foot of the bed. He instructed Rebecca to move down on the matress so she was closer to him; she complied, reluctantly leaving the jar of honey and twine-tied bunch of bay leaves out of reach on the nightstand.
“now…PUSH”
Andrew spoke low and urgently, “remember what I said….PUSH!”
Quicker than he’d expected, two tiny feet, red and wet, emerged.
“PUSH”
Lucy’s bottom appeared, and after a moment, meconium hit the floor between his itallian leather shoes.
“PUSH”
Her belly and one arm….ten toes, five fingers so far, the doctor had enough time to note.
“PUSH”
The nurse was saying something about oxygen, but Rebecca and Andrew were beyond caring about silly human things; they were bound together in the moment, the magic, the pain and ecstacy of giving life.
“PUSH!!!”
with one final, agonizing clench, Lucy fell into Andrews waiting hands, her cord wrapped around her left arm. She wasn’t crying, she wasn’t moving, and for a momentary eternity, Andrew was sure she was….
No, he screamed at himself in his own head, that’s not the way the story ends, you fucking whelp, you baby of a man. Check her airway. Mind her fontanel. SAVE HER, DAMMIT.
A moment passed, and the nurses were crowding him, Rebecca was sobbing, and the madness three floors below seemed a walk in the proverbial park comparded to the madness in his head, in this room, in this second.
He cleared her air passage and pressed her to his 300$ shirt, begging god for….
Sweeter than a chorus of angels, softer than a cherubs cloud, lucy drew in a breath and cried aloud. Rebecca was laughing hysterically, he was even laughing now, as the song went on and on. In the time it took him to collect himself, Rebecca was back with her head on the pillow, reaching for her daughter. Andrew reluctantly, with an animalistic protectiveness, stood up, carrying the footling child from the foot of the bed to where Recbecca lay, weakened, arms outstretched. He placed the baby delicately in her arms, against her chest.
Mother and child lay skin to skin, and Andrew collapsed in the chair that was luckily beside the bed. He would never forget the weird, unearthly beauty of the moment….a crying child and laughing mother. Rebecca reached over and took a dab of honey from the pot, rubbing it gently on lucy’s head. Next came the bay leaves, an unexplainable ritual to the nurses who watched on, but seemed to Andrew to be absolutely the right thing to do.
After Xibal had explained the Great War to Sam, she sat back, eyes wide and mouth agape. She was sweating and shivering although she had been merely sitting, listening, for a good hour.
“Now listen, Samwise.” She snapped to attention, he only used her true name when utterly, utterly serious. His voice was ominous yet somehow soothing, Sam was too trusting to realize she was being hypnotized.
“Samwise Miranda, you will not remember A WORD of what I have told you tonight. You will protect your new baby sister; you will obey your mother, you will STOP believing in me. You will remember me as a passing fancy, a childhood dream, and you will carry on without me.”
He floated to the open window, keeping his eyes locked on hers.
“I will always love you, Samwise.”
“I love you too, Xibby.” Sam was groggy, more than half asleep, and already forgetting.
They spoke in unison, for what Sam did not know would be the last time, one said ‘good night’, the other: “Goodbye.”
Kindling: Xibal, Sam and Tom 