(a short story)

The following very short story was written for our birthing class. The assignment was "to express the moment of your baby's birth in a medium of your choice."

"The First Meal"

by Travis Leger

THE BEEPING, the orders, the shuffling - they all fade.

White latex gloves hand me a tiny person, no longer than my forearm, naked and feeling the air with its hands and legs like a swimmer underwater.

I bring the little girl to my chest and shade her eyes with my free hand. Her eyes, which have yet to open before this second, appear.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she says.

"How are you, little girl?"

As if still underwater, she wipes her eyes with the backs of her clenched fists.

"What just happened?" She turns her head away and then back. "I recognize your voice."

I can feel her heart beating against my arm, on my chest.

"I recognize your heartbeat," I say. "I used to listen to it."

She wipes her eyes again and then smacks her lips.

"I'm really craving. . . something. . . what is it?" she says.

"I think I know," I say. "Nurse, can you get us some fried chicken please?"