This week, we focused on characterization. On bringing the characters to life by ’showing’ them, not telling about them. We also had to pull an object at random from a bag the instructor had and based the story on that. My object was an Animal Rummy card.
On the radio, Willy Nelson sang about sons growing up to be cowboys. It sounded like a bad idea. “No thanks”, Jason said to the car interior. Keeping one hand at the ten position, he reached over to the CD player and hit a button. The sound track from Dream Girls wasn’t right either, so he tried the next button. “Hmmmm”. Finally, third time lucky, he made a choice. “When did eighties music start to become ‘retro’?, he wondered. The B52’s wailed out of the speakers and he settled back into position.
The highway was busy, but moving steady. He was driving in the right lane, just at the speed limit and in no particular hurry to get to The Clinic. He wasn’t heading to a clinic because he was sick or anything. In fact, if he wasn’t in great health, he wouldn’t be heading to this particular clinic at all. This particular afternoon his destination was to hand over his sperm in a little cup so his sister’s girlfriend could have a baby.
“Yeah, and then all live happily ever after in a well groomed Cabbagetown semi with perfect lattice work, a ‘no flyers please’ sign by the door, four recycling boxes and a well behaved bitch sleeping on the porch in the sun.”
“Bitter much?, he laughed.
If he was honest with himself, his sister, Janice and her other half, Linda had been together for twelve years at this point, and that was a lot longer than any of his relationships had lasted, by about eleven years, four months, if the truth be known. Not that he didn’t want a relationship, but the right guy hadn’t come along and in the meantime, what was wrong with a little fun?
Maybe it was the fact his older sister was going to be forty next year, but they had decided that something was ‘missing’, a child. Now, two lesbians might be great at fixing just about anything, but even they needed a man for this one, he thought. Jason’s little swimmers would ensure that the kid looked much like his sister (they were practically identical, although five years apart). All he was being asked to do was to provide a few million sperm, sign away his parental rights and promise to never reveal his role in the matter. Sounded easy.
“Really, Jason”, his sister had explained in her usual straight-forward way “just cut back on the sex for a little while, ok, save up a bit. You just have to jerk off a few times in a cup. We’re doing all the hard work”.
They had both laughed at that little ‘freudian slip’.
“You know what I mean, smart ass!”
She had handed him with the address of the clinic, his schedule of appointments and tests and a legal document her lawyer had put together regarding the ‘relinquishing of parental rights’, as it was politely called. “Show up, unload and leave. No big deal” she had finished by saying.
“Yeah, no big deal, I guess”, he replied.
Off the highway now and onto the main road, it wasn’t more than ten minutes until he was pulling into the metered parking lot of the Campbell Fertility Clinic and looking for a nice clear spot with no cars on either side. Parking neatly between the lines, he got out of the Volvo. Putting on his sun glasses and checking his reflection in the driver’s door window he thought “what does one wear to an occasion like this?” Nothing special, it seemed. He was just wearing what he usually wore to work, a button down dress shirt, khakis and a pair of white runners. He was lucky enough to work at a place where the dress code matched most of his wardrobe, casual and cheap. Double checking the car was locked, he headed up the stoned walkway and into the Clinic.
As he looked around, he noticed that the main office wasn’t that big. The waiting area consisted of half a dozen pine chairs upholstered with baby blue polyester in an L shaped pattern in the corner. There was also the customary matching coffee table with a variety of out date magazines. In this case, with titles like “New Baby” and “Mother” and a copy of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”. “Well, they’re optimistic here at least”, he thought. Behind the reception desk worked a couple of conservatively dressed women, their eyes focused on forms and computer screens. The bell on the counter seemed unnecessary in such a small space, although he was tempted to ring it just for fun. Walking up to the counter, the closest woman looked up and inquired politely “May I help you?” “Yes. My name is Jason Wilkins and I have a two o’clock appointment”, his voice trailing at bit at the end. Looking conscientiously at the schedule on the desk she said “Yes, Mr. Wilkins, I have you right here. You’re a little early, so if you’ll just have a seat in the waiting area, the nurse will come get you shortly”. “Thanks”, Jason replied. Turning to find a seat he thought “well, that was better than hearing “so, Jason, you’re here to give us some sperm, are you?”
He grabbed a seat a comfortable distance from a couple in the corner and looked over the magazines to see if there was any of interest. “Now where is that sperm donors, Quarterly”? the little sarcastic voice in his head grinned. Sifting through the pile, finally settling on a reasonably benign Newsweek from last April, he settled in to wait. The couple in the corner, most likely husband and wife based on the rings on their fingers and the way they held each others hands, talked quietly to one another. He wondered why they were here. ‘Plumbing’ problems, he imagined. Maybe the husband’s not firing on all cylinders. He’s cute though. Did they wonder why a single guy would be sitting in a waiting room like this? That thought didn’t make him any more comfortable and he returned his glance to the article he was barely scanning.
“Mr. Wilkins?” He looked up towards the front desk at the sound of his name, momentarily expecting to hear his Father say “Yes?” No one ever called him Mr. Wilkins. “I’m Nurse Choi, we’re ready for you now. First, though, we’ll need to see some identification for our records. You understand, of course”. “Of course”, he replied.
He walked up to the desk, opened up his wallet and began pulling items out, searching for some decent photo ID. He found his gym membership, two credit cards, a discount card and more than a few slips of paper with a first name and phone number … he spread them all over the counter, looking for something suitable. Suddenly, he spotted “Randy” and smiled. Randy Raccoon, card number A4 from the old Animal Rummy game he had as a kid. He remembered that one particular day, he was probably barely seven and his Mom was away from the house on some errand or other. Bored and needing attention, as kids are at the age, he had come up to his Father and asked if he’d play a game. To his surprise, his Father had said ‘sure’ and they’d played the Rummy game for hours, just the two of them, laughing. It had been … special. He’d won that last game with the raccoon card and afterwards, he’d taken the card from the deck and hid it in his secret treasure box. Over the years, he had held onto it. Now it was a ragged-edged, faded orange in his wallet. That had been a good day, just he and his Dad.
Nurse Choi lead him to the back of the clinic, down a beige hallway lined with pictures of drooling babys and happy mothers faces into a small, dim (or was that supposed to be relaxing) little room. Patient Room 4, it was called. To say it was decorated would be an insult to decorators everywhere. It had one vinyl chair, a small side table with some magazines and a tiny lamp. Against the wall a counter and a small sink, with sanitizing soap in a pump and various plastic containers.
“You’ll find everything you need in here”, the nurse piped in handing him a rather intimidating large cup. “There are magazines on the table to assist you, if you need it and soap and paper towels by the sink. Take as much time as you like and when you’re completed, please just leave the sample in the holding tray to your left. Good luck!”, she finished cheerily. Closing the door, she left him to the silence of the room and the dreariness of the décor.
Looking at the cup, which seemed to him to be large enough to fit a good sized martini, he slouched down on the stiff chair and picked up the magazines. With titles like “Boobs” and “Vixen” he knew there wasn’t going to be much ‘help’ here. He flipped through the magazines hoping, maybe, to spot a good looking guy, but no luck. Maybe these guys were selected on purpose in order to make the woman look more attractive in comparison. Either way, there wasn’t going to be any stimulus provided by those pictures. Trying to calm his anxiety (talk about performance pressure!), he slowly undid his belt, lowered his zipper and let his mind wander hoping to find an image that might help.
Well, there was that hottie last week who he’d met at the bar on Saturday night, killer body, but the sex had turned out to be a bit of a bust, the guy having a fetish for spanking that Jason couldn’t deliver on. Hmm, then there was that hot Asian he’d cruised while at the grocery store the Wednesday before that. Four bags of groceries and twenty minutes later, they’d been pulling each others clothes off in the guys loft, while the Haagen-Dazs melted in the container. “Ok, that might work” he thought.
He tried closing his eyes and envisioning that particular erotic encounter, but it felt like recalling a dream after you’ve woken up. Vague images, impressions, but no real clear image. This just wasn’t working. What was wrong? It’s not that he wasn’t a full blooded young(ish) perpetually horny guy. One indecent look his way at the ‘Y’ and he had to consciously control himself. The plumbing worked just fine, but something … maybe it was the atmosphere, not exactly conducive to hot fantasy. Maybe it was the pressure of responsibility his sister had put him under. Maybe it was just the thought of bringing a child into the world and severing all bounds to him or her. It’s not like commitment had been high in his lifestyle. His sister had known what he was like and figured that this would be the perfect solution, just another one-night stand, except in a cup. But screwing the guy you met in the baked goods aisle was different than helping someone make a baby, and even he felt it.
It went back to that little card, didn’t it? Seeing it again had just reinforced all of the doubts he’d been having. He thought of he and his Dad playing cards that afternoon. How something so simple had made such an impact on him. How from a child to a teenager to an adult he had held onto that card. Held onto a memory, really, of one shining perfect moment. So here he was, asked to bring another child into the world and being asked to forever give away any chance at their one shining perfect moment, at least with their Dad. He looked down at the empty piece of plastic in his hand, the white child proof cap, the clear cylinder partially covered by the label reading:
Name
Date
Best Before
Putting down the container, zipping up and adjusting his pants, he walked out of Patient Room 4, down the hallway and back to reception.
“Finished already? Nurse Choi asked in supressed surprise.
“Yes. I’m done. Thank you. I’m afraid I won’t be making a donation today. My sister will have to find another anonymous sperm bank. I’m afraid it just won’t be me.”
And with that, he walked out of the clinic.
1 Comment
February 29, 2008 at 11:42 am
The title of the story is really interesting. I was thinking of something related to water or wine, when I first saw it.
I particularly like the section that was related to his child memory with the card. I think it was well done. It also has the reader thinking that every little moment in a child lift can have a significant impact on his/her life after.