Absence

Five

The lights trailed when her eyes moved. The sound of those people's voices was muffled - and not because of the masks they had covering their mouths.

Still, even sedated, Maria couldn't fully escape the pain she was in. She closed her eyes to kill one of her senses, hoping to save energy to ask where she was, who were they, where was her husband, and how was the baby.

But they say that the less active senses you have, the more acute the ones left get, so the already omnipresent mechanical sounds of remote cameras moving, combined with a new, yet familiar, electrical beeping sound coming from behind her was enough for Maria to connect the dots and find the answers to most of her questions: that darkened undressed room was an area specially built for her to deliver her baby, while recorded - probably broadcasted live - for the whole country to watch.

"Is it rolling? She's waking up", one of the muffled voices said, pausing briefly before projecting his speech to the others in the room: "Ok. Alright, everyone: It's go-time".

A male hand grabbed Maria's arm and urged her to push, as she finally opened her eyes to take a good look at the people surrounding her. They were using scrubs, masks, gloves and everything required when in surgery, but it was all branded Big Brother which was eery and made her wonder if they were covered to protect her and the baby from germs or because of the whole participants are not allowed to have contact with the outside world directive.

Among those men, not her husband. She couldn't see their faces, but she would recognize her husband, father of her child, love of her life, just by seeing his eyes. Would I?, a voice inside her head asked her. Of course I would. It's been only what? 5 evictions? Of course I remember. He's...h-he's my husband. We've been together forever. But forever happened before Big Brother. Big Brother is what happens after forever. As a coping mechanism, Maria quickly put together in her brain the image of her husband. She couldn't do it just by remembering him. She had to think of a picture of them during a trip to the desert; one of those pictures in which couples play with perspective. Him, huge in the foreground, holding a magnifying glass; her, tiny in the background, hands trying to cover herself from being examined by the "giant". His face was goofy yet endearing, just like she remembered him.

"Is he not coming?", she asked.

"Only if you push. Push, Maria!", the man in front of Maria's spread legs said. His muffled voice was so loud through the mask, it wasn't muffled at all.

Still groggy, but not enough not to understand the context of, as a woman, having a doctor asking you to push, so did Maria.

It wasn't at all as she expected. She pushed, she yelled, she felt sore, but she did not feel her insides burn, her inner thighs vibrate like a jackhammer.

"I can see the head!", the man said: "One big push more so we can meet this beautiful baby, ok?"

As soon as he said PUUUuuuuuSH!, Maria gave all she had, and a crying sound quickly seemed to approach. 

"It's a beautiful boy!"