The Lit Report by Sarah N. Harvey

Author:Sarah N. Harvey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2008-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

Nine

No one remembers her beginnings.

—Rita Mae Brown, Rubyfruit Jungle

I bought a water-damaged copy of Rubyfruit Jungle from a thrift store when I was thirteen. There was a pretty red and purple flower on the cover, and above it floated the words A novel about being different and loving it. At thirteen, everyone thinks they’re different, but they usually don’t love it. I thought I might learn something from Rita Mae Brown, whoever she was. And learn I did. For about six months after I read Rubyfruit, I wanted to be Molly Bolt—gay, unashamed, opinionated, artistic, original. I wanted, like Molly, to have sex with a hot cheerleader and inspire the adoration of rich and powerful women. I hadn’t bargained on my unremitting crush on Jonah and the fact that no cheerleader in our school seemed to be a closet dyke. I gave up on trying to be gay, but I’ve never forgotten how unapologetic Molly was about the circumstances of her birth. She says, “Who cares how you get here? I don’t care. I really don’t care. I got myself born, that’s what counts. I’m here.” I hoped and prayed that Ruth’s baby would feel the same way. And I knew Ruth and Jonah and I would never forget this baby’s beginnings.

Ruth’s baby was born just before midnight, six long hours after we arrived at the cabin. Jonah stayed with us the whole time, after phoning Pete and Peggy to tell them he’d decided to go on retreat with us. Of course they were thrilled. Obviously going to Bible boot camp had worked some sort of miracle. They wouldn’t have been so thrilled had they known there were only two beds in the cabin and their pregnant daughter was about to give birth to their first grandchild on one of them.

It turned out to be a pretty straightforward birth, although I certainly didn’t realize it at the time. My head was full of disastrous scenarios: breech birth, strangulation by umbilical cord, hemorrhaging, loss of bowel control, stillbirth, birth defects, vaginal ripping—the list went on and on, but none of those things happened. The labor was longer than any of us liked—Ruth kept moaning, “You never told me it would take this long”—but shorter than a lot of first births. Jonah and I moved every possible projectile away from the bed when Ruth was in transition. I did everything I could to keep her comfortable and calm: I gave her ice cubes to suck (she spat them at me) and juice to drink (ditto); I turned on the music she had chosen for the delivery (she yelled at me to turn it off); I wiped her face with a damp cloth (she bit me); I rubbed her feet (she kicked me); I left the room (she called me back); I came back (she yelled, “Get the fuck away from me!”). Jonah massaged her back and crooned old jazz standards to her. I thought for sure that she’d belt him when he

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