TRACK 5: Breathe
I shook my head, took a larger-than-necessary swig from the flask, and began heading down the long hallway to the control room. It was so dark that I had to feel my way over to the light switch. I brushed the switch plate with my hand and noticed that someone had placed tape over it, preventing me from turning the light on.
Then I heard a female voice whisper, “Uh uh,” over the control-room speakers. I felt my way to the sound board and chair and sat down. I was squinting, trying to see inside the sound room, when the music began playing. Even though there were no lights blinking on the board, I still felt around for the buttons and knobs but quickly realized the equipment in the control room was off except for one microphone feed.
Whoever was in the sound room had control of the music. I recognized the song right away from the humming in the beginning. It was “Retrograde” by James Blake. The sound room remained dark until the first clapping beat of the song. What happened next is hard for me to put into words, but goddammit, I’ll try.
Right at that first beat, a small light went on overhead on the other side of the glass. The dim spotlight shone down into an empty space in the middle of the sound room until a woman very slowly and seductively stepped into the light. She was wearing a short, black lace dress, so short I could see the black garters peeking out from underneath. Feeling my heart rate increase, I wiped my sweating palms on my jeans and rocked back in my chair nervously.
She threw her leg up onto the piano bench and then ran both hands up her thigh, raising the dress even higher. With ease, she reached down and removed her black stiletto heel, setting it on the bench beside her foot. She raised her dress again and unbuckled the garter from the leg still perched on the bench. In painfully slow motion, she rolled the material down and off her foot before tossing it into the darkness. I could see bright red nail polish on her fingers and toes, the same shade of red she wore on her lips. It was like the overhead light created this illusion that the woman was in one of those black and white photos where only a few objects are colored in. Her skin was radiant and glowing against her dark, almost black hair. She put her heel back on and then repeated the same torturous motion on the other leg as I watched in complete awe.
Her beauty took my breath away and the way she moved and the music—I was about to come undone. I took another swig of whiskey. She approached the glass, slowly unzipping the side of her dress as she moved. Her eyes were fixed on mine. Her pouty lips were just barely open. Standing two feet from the glass, she slid the shoulder of her dress off one side and the whole thing fell to the ground. Her dark hair, curled in loose ringlets, fell back on her shoulders, caressing the tops of her breasts. She turned around and, with her back to me, unclasped her bra, tossing it aside. She gripped her garter belt and thong on each hip and bent over to slide them down her legs. Her perfect ass was right at my eye level.
She strutted away from the glass, never turning around until she reached the piano bench. Her movements were so graceful and seductive, like she had been stripping for years. She turned to face me as she straddled the bench. I watched her expression change from alluring and provocative to playful. A sweet, knowing smile flashed across her face. With her legs spread, totally exposed, she pointed her finger at the glass and summoned me. It was my beautiful, lovely Mia, sitting there wearing nothing but her heels, waiting for me to take her.
I could barely walk I was so turned on. Still disoriented, I fumbled my way through the door into the sound room and past several instruments and chairs until I was standing over her at the piano. Her position, perched naked on the bench, looking up at me through her big, beautiful hazel eyes, was so vulnerable and sweet. Yet I knew Mia was very much in control.
“That was the f*cking hottest thing I’ve ever seen, baby.”
She laughed, a blush creeping over her cheeks. “I can tell,” she said, her gaze moving to the belt on my jeans.
“You have to play that song again so I can act out everything I was imagining behind the glass.”
She stood up, her feet still on each side of the bench. “It’s on repeat,” she whispered as she undid the buckle of my belt.
With her legs spread, I could feel the heat radiating from her body. It was as though my hand had a mind of its own. I reached down and touched her, gently at first and in just the right spot. She sucked in a quick breath and then closed her eyes and moaned quietly. I placed my other hand on her hip and then slid it up her smooth sides, touching her breast, circling her nipple and then up farther until I was holding her neck and kissing her mouth. My other hand stayed at work on Mia as she made approving sounds against my lips. I could feel her pressing herself against me, harder, wanting more.
“I’m ready,” she said in a breathy voice.
I wondered in that moment if it would be shallow of me to like that part of Mia the best, the part of her that liked to plan secret stripteases and let me touch her all over. I’m a guy, after all. When we were together, kissing and touching, it was like playing music. She always knew what move to make, like she was subconsciously counting beats from a sheet of music. We were always so in sync that it felt like we’d been together for centuries, but in a good way. I was convinced we had lived twenty thousand lives, and in each one, we had found each other, like two tiny magnets in a drawer the size of the universe. She and I fit and moved together with such ease, I couldn’t imagine ever being with anyone else.
By the time I pulled away from her mouth, we were both naked. When I picked her up, she straddled me. Her perfect little legs were tightened around my waist like a vise, leaving little work for my arms. I moved to the wall and pressed her against the soundproofing material. Who knew those puffy little foam spikes could make wall screwing ten times better? I moved inside her as she settled on me until we were flush. I didn’t hesitate to press her hard against the wall. Our bodies melded together so effortlessly, moving with the rhythm of our mouths kissing and sucking.
She broke away from the kiss and pressed her head against the wall. Looking up and arching her back, she closed her eyes and called out a song of sounds: whimpers and moans, loud breaths and blissful cries so sweet and uninhibited that I couldn’t stop the waves crashing over me as I slammed into her. Against the wall, shivering like it was our first time, we both cried out.
I knelt down, still holding her against me, still inside her. She rested her head on my shoulder as we sat there embracing each other for several moments, trying to catch our breaths.
“Will?” she said in her melodic voice.
“Yes, baby.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Well if those two words didn’t throw this boy for a loop…
I leaned back so that I could look her in the eye.
“I don’t think it works that way, kitten. It usually takes a few weeks before one even has symptoms.” First stage: denial.
She took a deep breath through her nose and smiled piteously at me. “I don’t mean I got pregnant just now. I was already pregnant. I found out last week.”
“And you let me do that to you? What I just did… to you… against the wall?” I pointed frantically behind her. Second stage: anger.
“It’s okay to have sex when you’re pregnant.” She cupped my face. She was smiling, and then I saw a hint of sadness wash over her.
“I thought you were getting on the pill. I thought you were on the pill. Aren’t you on the pill?” Stage three: bargaining. In those moments after she told me, I had no clear stream of consciousness. I was simply spewing out every word that popped into my head.
“I never got a chance to start the pills.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Are we going to be able to handle a baby and the expenses and… oh my God… everything will have to change because of this.” I gestured with my hand toward her stomach as I held her out, away from my body. Stage four: depression.
Tears were now streaming steadily down her face. Her eyes were scrunched up with such an expression of pain dragging them down that it made my heart ache. She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Will. I thought you wanted this with me.” She looked down at her stomach the same way I had. “I’m sorry.” She put her face in her hands and began to sob. I was officially the biggest a*shole in the world. She was curled up in my arms, naked, sobbing, heartbroken, and pregnant with my child.
I watched her cry for several moments. She let me pull her closer so I could soothe her even though I was the cause of her pain. There was something so beautiful about her raw vulnerability, but it hurt to know I had caused her to feel that way.
“I love you,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she replied.
At first the news of her pregnancy seemed life changing in a scary way, but those thoughts were fleeting. Sitting there with her crying in my arms, I realized our baby, which we had made together, was growing inside her. Once it became tangible in my mind, her being pregnant became the most life-affirming news I had ever received.
“No, I’m sorry.” I started kissing her all over. “I love this baby. This is our baby,” I said as I kissed her belly and breasts and neck. “I’m so happy, Mia. I realize this is all I’ve ever wanted, to be with you and to make a family.” Stage five: acceptance.
I’m not sure why I had to weather the stages of grief after hearing the news that night. Maybe it was the death of my singledom or the death of my own childhood that scared me. For some reason, when you’re faced with the realization that you’re going to become a parent, it immediately changes how you view yourself. You no longer think of yourself as someone else’s child because you can’t be a parent and a child. It’s an official good-bye, and good-byes always scared the hell out of me.
I continued kissing her as she cried and cried and cried, until finally there were no more tears.
She looked up at me with puffy red eyes and said, “Really?”
“Really what?”
“You really want this?”
“Yes.” I brushed the hair out of her face. “I promise. It just took me a second to process it. I’m sorry I reacted that way. You know I want this with you, Mia.”
She nodded unconvincingly and then stood up and reached for her dress.
“No, here,” I said and handed her my black T-shirt. “We’ll clean this up tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”
We exchanged few words as we scurried, half naked, out of the studio and into the freezing air. The doorway into the loft stairwell was only a few feet away.
“I’m freezing. I want to take a bath,” she said as we ran up the steps.
Inside the loft, I immediately went in and drew a bath for her. “Are you allowed to takes baths?” I yelled from the bathroom as she tinkered around in the kitchen.
“Yes, it just can’t be too hot,” she said finally as she approached me from the hallway. She had a stack of books in her hand.
“What are those?”
“Some pregnancy and childbirth books Martha gave me.”
I immediately shut the water off and stood up from the side of the tub. “What?” I barked. There were so many things running through my mind in that moment.
“Calm down, Will.”
“You told Martha before you told me?” I was shocked.
She held her ground. “Hold on a minute—just listen. I went to the café to visit Martha that day you came by, remember?”
I nodded.
“I was complaining to her about… you know, girl stuff?”
“No, I don’t know. Martha is not a girl, she’s sixty-six. What were you telling her?”
“I told her my nipples were sore, okay?” She blushed all the way to her toes and then stalked off to our bedroom.
“Wait, Mia, hold on. Aren’t you gonna take a bath?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you berating me in there.”
I huffed. “Just tell me the story.”
She sat on the edge of our bed with a pouty face and then she got all misty-eyed again.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not!” She punched the sides of the bed. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“Baby, you’re gonna have to get over that very soon. You can tell me when your nipples hurt, for Christ’s sake.”
“Will,” she whined. “It’s not that, but even if I did tell you, you wouldn’t know what it meant.”
“That brings me to my next question. How does Martha know about any of this stuff? She doesn’t even have kids.”
“Martha’s a doula. I thought you knew that.”
“She’s a whata?”
Mia shook her head and exhaled, looking down at her hands in her lap. She brought her thumb up to her mouth.
“Oh, no. You are not chewing on that thumb.” I pulled her hand away.
“A doula is like a birth assistant. She’s there for pregnant women before, during and after childbirth.”
“So, what, like a nurse?”
“Doulas mostly assist natural or home births. I want to have this baby naturally, no drugs.”
“Are you kidding me? You love drugs.”
“God, Will, be serious for once.”
I slapped my hand to my bare chest. “I am. I’m as serious as a f*cking heart attack, Mia. Why would you want to put yourself through that torture?”
“I just want to see if I can do it. I want to see what I’m made of.”
“It’s masochistic. One of my sisters had a baby naturally and she said she would never do it again. She said it was like being blown apart from inside out.”
“Thanks a lot for that visual.” She crossed her arms.
“Sorry, but it’s true. You need to know.”
“Listen, Martha has been present for hundreds of births and she says natural is way safer for the baby and me.”
“It’s safer?” That got my attention.
She held a book out to me titled The Birth That’s Right for You. “Yeah, it basically says that in here.”
“Well then, if it’s safer, by all means.” I took the book from her hands and flipped through it. “Oh, you’re not even gonna get a Tylenol, lady. It says every intervention you add increases your chance of having a C-section.” I waved my index finger at her. “No drugs for you.”
She laughed.
“And… and you are going to breast-feed that kid for at least five years. You know how much bad crap is in cow’s milk?” I was being silly at that point, but it looked like Mia was relieved and that’s all that mattered.
She smiled. “Let’s not go too far, buddy.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened, how Martha found out.” I sat down next to her on the bed.
She took my hand in hers. “That day at the café when I told Martha about my… you know…”
“Yes, your nipples, Mia. Let’s stop being embarrassed. I get sore nipples all the time.”
“Really?”
“No,” I said seriously.
She elbowed me. “She said I should go buy a pregnancy test and go up to Jenny’s and take it. I didn’t think Jenny was home. It was actually kind of awful. Right after I texted you, I used my key to get into her apartment where I found her crying on the couch. She said she saw me in the store, buying the test. She ran home and that’s where I found her.”
“Oh my God, poor Jenny.”
“Remember when Jenny had the miscarriage and you said that it would change her?” I nodded and Mia continued, “Well, now she has a really hard time hearing about other people getting pregnant. She doesn’t even like to see pregnant women on the street. She insisted on me taking the test—it was like she wanted to punish herself. We got into a huge fight because I didn’t want take it in front of her. She went completely aggro. There were two tests in the box, so I peed on both and handed her one as I left the apartment. On the way down the stairwell, I looked at the test and saw that it was positive.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? And how did Martha know?”
“I didn’t tell you because it seemed like you had a lot on your mind that day. I never told Martha anything definite, but somehow she knew. The next morning, she showed up here with a stack of books and some prenatal vitamins. She has that weird sixth sense, you know?”
“Yeah, she does. What about Jen? How is she?”
“I went to see her after Martha’s visit. I sat on her couch and let her cry in my lap for an hour. She promised she wouldn’t say anything to Tyler until I told you. Before I left, she told me congratulations. She said she was happy for us and that she hoped we could be pregnant together.”
“Aw, man, that must be rough for them.”
“Yeah.”
We sat there in silence for several moments, absorbing our new reality. “Are you ready for your bath, mama?”
“Will, please do not call me that.”
In the tiniest, scariest, robot-baby voice I chanted, “Mama, mama, mama, mama,” as I followed Mia into the bathroom.
“Stop, Will.”
“Better get used to it, sweet thing.”