This afternoon...

(I wrote this last October, 2009...not sure why I didn't post it then...)

This afternoon, there is the faint scent of hospital soap on my hands. I exit the parking garage and turn right on Lucas, the shortcut to the freeway, up the big hill and through the light until I’m going down the steep side of the hill, so steep I can’t even see over the hood of the car until, oh yes, there I can see, yes, I’m in my lane, barely, and I’m passing that large school with all of the modern looking architecture and steel and no kids and then, I catch a whiff of my hands again.

I merge left onto the street that I’m supposed to merge onto and take a right just under the bridge, just past the trees, where the sign for the freeway is only visible the moment I am about to miss the turn. There’s that park on the left and the freeway entrance comes up on my right, at the no right on red light. I roll through the turn, the cars ahead of me slipping by on the green light and, with only a brief pause, I too am released into the stream of cars. My foot holding firm the accelerator, I can feel the weight of the car as she gains speed until finally we are coasting, floating along toward home. By the time the hills of Hollywood are in view, Haven is asleep, her head resting to the side, her pacifier resting on her chest.

The late afternoon sun fills the corner of the windshield and I move the sun visor down to cut its brightness. With an unconscious sweep of my fingers, I brush my bangs off to the side and once more I catch the slightly sweet smell of soap. It is subtle, just hand soap, but the memories have piled up. I smell the back of my hand again and then again and now I can feel it. I can feel her head resting on my forearm and the contour of her body up under my breast, resting on my other arm, on my soft belly. I can feel her little leg squirm, I can feel the gravity of her small yawns and the earnestness of her fingers, her tiny delicate fingers.

I hold my hand now to my nose, trying to capture these memories, these sensations, before they vanish once again. Gower, Cahuenga, Universal. I brake for the slowing afternoon traffic as we head into the valley and I am almost nauseous. The memories are palpable. I can feel the details in my arms, in my gut and my chest. In the past thirteen months of reviewing, remembering, reminiscing, telling the story over and over, I have never felt it in my bones like I do now.

This is what it felt like to hold her, her little body with her cone-shaped head and her paddle-hands and feet. This is what five pounds feels like in a little burrito bundle with IV’s and oxygen tubes and monitor wires draped out the side.

This, this is the scent of my baby’s head.

I float down the freeway, rocked gently by the rhythms of traffic.