Uzma Khan at 2015-06-27 03:57:36:
SCENE 06
INT. CAR, MONTREAL - DAY
MIRIAM, obviously having contractions, drives her car. Maybe twenty-eight, head scarf, gold ring in her nose.
(Every few seconds, she grunts in pain, calls “MO” on her cellphone. Endless RINGING. She gives up after a few tries.)
Stuck at a traffic light. Snowing outside.
MIRIAM: C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon. Allez! Yalla! Let’s go!
MIRIAM GPS: Turn left.
MIRIAM: Wha--
She looks around. She is way over in a central lane. She GROANS.
MIRIAM: Oh fu-- aaaaah.
(takes a breath)
Fuck. There, I said it. It’s labor day, God! You can forgive me.
A DRIVER in the neighboring car turns and sees Miriam’s expression, her condition.
The light turns green.
Miriam catches the driver’s eye. Miriam desperately indicates she needs to go left.
The driver lets Miriam cut through. Then another driver lets her pass. Miriam points frantically to her belly, then to the left lane. Many more drivers let her pass.
She makes it to the left lane and takes the turn.
Her cellphone rings. Miriam pounds the speaker button.
MIRIAM (shouts out): God I need to pee!
A WOMAN'S VOICE comes through:
CALLER (V.O.): Uhhh...Mrs. Miriam Khan?
Miriam GROANS, contraction.
CALLER: Sorry, is this Mrs. Miriam Khan?
MIRIAM: Yes, God damn it!
Miriam winces at her rudeness.
CALLER: Ma’am, I’m calling from the Montreal General Hospital.
Miriam gets excited.
MIRIAM: Yes! Yes! I'm coming now!
CALLER: Wha-- You know about your husband?
Miriam agitated.
MIRIAM: Of course I know about my husband.
CALLER: Ma’am, he’s here at the General--
MIRIAM: --What! What the hell is he doing there! He was supposed to pick me--
Clutches her belly, eyes widen.
CALLER: Ma’am?
Miriam pulls over on the highway shoulder. Her contractions in full force. Miriam writhes and shouts in pain. She flings her door open for space.
In the b.g. The caller still talks, barely audible under Miriam and the wind outside:
CALLER: Mrs. Khan, your husband Mohammed Khan has had an accident. He’s in surgery right now. Mrs. Khan?
Heavy snowfall, strong wind. Miriam writhes, not hearing.
A middleaged, kind faced stranger, CLAUDE, sees Miriam and runs over to her.
Miriam in the throes of labor.
MIRIAM: Oh Mo! Mo!
The man looks confused.
CLAUDE: Non! Je m’appelle Claude! (No! My name is Claude!)
MIRIAM: Speak to me in English!
CLAUDE: Mais c’est Montréal! FRENCH Canada. C’est pas possible-- (But this is Montreal, French Canada, it’s not right--)
Miriam yells in agony.
Claude stops his rant.
CLAUDE: Madame, I’m a doctor.
MIRIAM: Oh! Grace à dieu! (Thank God)
Claude throws up his hands in frustration, then feels her belly.
CLAUDE: But if you can speak French--
(stops, feels something)
Merde! This baby cannot wait.
Miriam wide-eyed, panicking.
CLAUDE: What are you waiting for? PUSH!
Miriam yells, pushes with all her might.