That was at my office in rundown Sunnyslope, Arizona. I don't know why I rented that wreck of a place but it felt good to be sitting in that greasy, rusting room. Plenty of women would look at it and decide their midwife could Not. Work. Here.
I liked that office. It was next door to the Classic Kar office with hot Chicano guys always hanging out over some ancient automobile. The guys would flex and touch their slicked-back hair and nicely filled in muscle shirts and we would all show off in whatever ways we could for the twenty seconds I was walking past and they would say to one another in low voices, "Es la partera (it is the midwife)" and they would wonder at a midwife in their dirty old building and thank heavens their ladies went to the hospital like normal people in America. But, their abuelas stayed home, too, they would tell me, with that old lady from down the street who attended all the births in the neighborhood. They liked that I was a midwife and I liked that they were car guys. It was a good environment for all of us. Particularly during those 20 seconds...
When that young couple came into my office (seventeen? eighteen?) they told me about wanting a good birth and all the research they had done. About wanting to have a baby peacefully and how hard it had been to be taken seriously by their families and friends. About running off to different places and living off the land and reclaiming ancestry for months before they landed in Arizona. They also shared a story of loss that made my chest so tight I had to grip the desk. I felt stuffy and square, like all old radicals do when faced with unafraid youth, and told them I would be there if they wanted me as their midwife. "Thank you for inviting me," I said. I meant it.
She birthed in water. Surrounded by women. The baby was guided out by his hands and her hands. He is now in prison. She is now an actress. They are walking their separate paths towards what they want as well as magnetically following the paths of their ancestry. Both beautiful, proud and flawed like so many other humans out there.
But, Sol? He is perfect. He was born on his land. Born into the hands of his family. Born surrounded by love. Born because these two young and beautiful people knew they had to connect and create and honor what lived inside of them beyond just the superficial and their age and the pain or fear of their families.
We were all together, really TOGETHER, when he was born. Nations were united. Ancestors came together. Blood and water and a first breath whirling into a solar mix of one person's first encounter with his own humanity. A perfect moment regardless of what our society says is perfect. Perfect for two young people on the run from all the random jaded points of view and towards more than a sweet love story. Maybe they would still be running if it wasn't for that piece of sunlight they opened the window to bring in and birth and fiercely love. Maybe.
Prison. Beauty. Youth. Birthing in freedom. Unity. Promise and the optimism of what they did then and who they are right NOW.
It is all a part of Sol's story and his Sun shines BRIGHT.
