Some days, you never forget, the sudden announcement, “it’s
time” and the long stumble to the pub three doors up the street for the call
for the cab, and the long ride to Belleview with the moaning coming faster with
each contraction, like a ticking time bomb you hope won’t go off until after
you arrive, and then through the supermarket-like dogs opening before you, the
wheel chair waiting as the orderlies cart her away, and you wait, knowing the
time bomb is still ticking only beyond yours perception, down somewhere among
the maze of halls and doors they won’t let you access, and the strange thoughts
that go through your head as you wait, the visions of the LA porn scene and the
parade of other men who had access to her besides yourself, and you wonder, if
it is possible, that what comes out did not come out of you, waiting out the
hours for someone to shake you awake on the bench to tell you, yes, you’re a
daddy, and it’s a girl, and you shake yourself from the ugly dream and terrible
doubts to make your way to the bedside to greet mother and child, a wiseman
bearing no gifts other than setting aside those fears, knowing later, they
would return again and again.
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