Lucky

Bob’s grip tightens on his steering wheel. He glances over at Lucy. She doesn’t look back at him. Her right arm is stretched upward, with the SUV’s mounting grip clutched in her fist. The fingertips of her left hand dig into his arm. “Lucy, loosen up. I can’t steer properly.”

“You’re an idiot. We should have left earlier. But, oh no!” She emits a piercing scream.

“Remember to pant. Deep breath now and blow, blow, blow it out.”

She gasps. “You frigging moron. I’ll never let you near me again.”

Bob scowls. The cultivated diction of Lucy’s normal voice has disappeared. Today she sounds like her mother, Lucinda, who could scare the heebie-jeebies out of the wicked witch of the west. Her hair and face are drenched with sweat. She doesn’t even look like herself.

He glances and sees it’s 1:05. They have traveled less than a block in the last few minutes. He pounds his steering wheel, adding his horn to the cacophony of other vehicles.

Lucy yells with another contraction.

Bob says, “Remember, you must blow and pant.”

“Frigging nightmare. I need outta this car you asswipe!”

He grimaces. “This garbage strike isn’t my fault! People have clogged the streets with their trash.”

“Aaaaarrgghhhhhhhhh!” She pants then screeches, “Damn you!”

He bites his lip to hold in his response. He really hadn’t wanted to move to the suburbs. If they had remained in their apartment, they would probably already be at the hospital.

Bob inches his vehicle closer to the stoplight. Lucy screams again. It’s 1:10. Her contractions now 2 minutes apart. The light turns green. Bob gasses the car to cut off a driver who is trying to turn into the lane ahead of him. He rolls down the window and puts up a middle finger in response to the blaring horn.

“Aaarrggggghhhh!” She pants, then screams, “I hate you!”

They are now two blocks from the college campus. The teaching hospital is at the far end. Sorority sisters are directing guys unloading furniture from a U-Haul.

Bob again thumbs his window down and yells, “Move that truck outta the way!”

The beefiest football player scowls and approaches. Lucy screams in agony. Hearing her, he turns back to his cohorts. “Josh drive it around the block.”

1:18. Bob follows the lumbering truck. He passes as it moves to turn and narrowly avoids hitting two students who have stepped into the crosswalk.

Lucy emits another scream. He accelerates to 50 and the next block passes in a blur. She yells again as he swerves into the parking lot, barely slowing as he rounds the curves. The tires squeal as he brakes at the emergency entrance. He fights with the seatbelt, frees himself from Lucy’s digging fingernails, then he is free, racing inside the gliding doors. “Help! Help! She’s having a baby!”

An orderly rushes outside. A nurse follows with a wheelchair. Two moments later, the young man says over his shoulder, “Grab some towels. There’s no time to get her inside. She’s going to deliver right now.” He turns to Bob. “Need you to rotate her seat.” He moves so Bob can do this.

Lucy screams into Bob’s ear.

The orderly says, “Get back inside. You must push on her back until she’s almost reclined.” He takes her hands. “Everything will be fine little lady. We just need your butt off the seat. I know it’s uncomfortable, but your baby wants out now. No, no! Don’t push yet.”

A sea of hospital personnel flood from the entrance. A smaller woman pushes forward. “Quick update Jackson.”

As Jackson moves out of the way, he says, “Head already crowning doc. She’s already begun pushing.”

She nods and puts her hands under my wife’s nightgown. “What’s her name?”

Bob answers, “Lucy.” But he can’t be heard over his wife’s scream, so he repeats her name when she stops.

The doctor says, “Lucy, take a deep breath. Next contraction, push and pant. All right, push, push, push. That’s good. Another breath. Push, keep pushing. It’s a girl.” She hands the blood-drenched babe to a nurse who wraps it in a cloth then rushes indoors. “Lucy, you’re not done yet. Another breath and push again.”

His wife’s groaning turns into the loudest scream yet. Within moments they’ve loaded Lucy onto a gurney and wheeled her inside. Everyone has disappeared by the time Bob parks and enters.

A nurse finally leads him to Lucy, who asks, “Where’s my baby?”

The nurse frowns. “Doc Lewis will see you momentarily.”

Two minutes later, the small woman from earlier pushes the curtain aside. “I’m Dr. Sylvia Lewis. Your daughter is doing fine now. Her first Agpar score was concerning. Lucky you arrived when you did.” She departs.

A nurse wheels a bassinet into the enclosure. She lifts our girl up, places her in my wife’s outstretched arms, then leaves us alone.

Bob stares down at them, then pats his wife’s hand. “You’re so beautiful. Thank you darling.”

Her lips quirk into a smile. “I love you and know you dislike the name Lucinda. How does Lucky sound?”

Bob grins. “That’s perfect.”

Town with a Secret

Aunt Huldah and Uncle Lancy had never had children, so when he broke his arm, she asked me to come lend a hand. Arriving here was like traveling back in time. While Route 41 was the main thoroughfare through Lake Village, it seemed to carry only local traffic. I had remembered it as a busy 4-lane highway. A greasy spoon, farm supply store, gas station, a solitary church plus a volunteer fire station were now the only buildings along the route. The others were boarded over.

This wasn’t the only difference. Soybeans and clover filled fields that had formerly held stalks of corn that waved golden tassels in the breeze. When I asked about this change, Aunt Huldah said, “Cuz Tom said corn is too exhaustive a crop. He’s right. The land is happier. If you listen closely, you can hear it sing.”

“Who is Cousin Tom? I don’t recall anyone by that name.”

“He isn’t any relation. He’s been our mayor for the past decade.” She smiled. “He’s got a package for us. Please go pick it up. You’ll find him at CuzTom Cleaners behind the firehouse.”

Uncle Lancy said, “Take my bike. No need to waste gas.” He smiled. “Ask him to come for supper.”

I filled a bottle and went out to their garage. More than a decade since I had ridden one, my first pushes to the pedals were awkward. The wheels barely moved. But within a few seconds, I was a confident rider pedaling down farm road N350W.

A swarm of bees droned over a nearby clover field. Panting, I pushed the bike off the dirt lane and propped it against a large oak. With a sigh of relief, I drank from my water bottle, then sank to the ground beneath the shady limbs. I had forgotten how sweltering it could be on an early May day. I took off my Chicago Cubs cap, wiped away sweat, and decided to catch my breath for a few seconds.

Five minutes later, I turned onto the highway, then turned again next to the firehouse. The wooden building was hidden behind it and didn’t look like a store. Kicking the stand, I propped the bike outside and entered.

I stood a moment, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. A solitary lightbulb hung down in the center, and most of the room was cast in shadows. Not seeing anyone, I called, “Hello?”

A weird sounding voice answered, “Whose there?”

“I’m Diane. Aunt Huldah asked me to pick up a package.”

A tiny figure emerged from the back. He wore aviator sunglasses, a mask, and a hooded robe. “Ah, yes.” Coming closer, he said, “You look parched. I’ll get you a drink.”

Before I could answer, he disappeared. He returned and handed me a cold glass of something green. Not wanting to offend him, I took a sip. It was quite refreshing, so I drained it. We exchanged the empty glass with the package.

He said, “Tell the Sorensons I’ll be there by 6.”

As I got onto the bike, I wondered how he knew about supper. After I got back, I helped my uncle repair his irrigation system, then with his afternoon chores. I said, “I know you’re in your seventies, but you barely look fifty. How do you stay looking so young?”

He grinned. “Guess it’s my healthy lifestyle.”

Cuz Tom was already there when we came indoors. After we ate, my aunt suggested we take a walk. Uncle Lancy retrieved the package from an end table.

Once we reached the windbreak of spruce trees, they followed a path to a clearing. A small spring burbled in its center. Uncle Lancy looked up then checked his watch.

Cuz Tom said, “They’re on their way.”

My uncle nodded. He lifted a glowing crystal ball out of the wrappings. “Huldah, it’s your turn to lead our service.” He handed this to her.

Out of the darkness strode some of their neighbors. Without speaking, they formed a circle around the spring and joined hands.

My aunt took a chalice from her apron pocket, filled it with spring water, then gave this to Cuz Tom. He began humming. Instantaneously, the sky lit up by what I thought was a meteor shower. As this came closer, it appeared to be several small spaceships.

My aunt said, “Dear Lord, Father of all near and far, we have followed the advice of your servant Cuz Tom. The earth here again sings your praises. Please bless us and allow us to drink from this fountain of youth.”

As we walked back, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Uncle laughed. “You wouldn’t believe it then.”

Special Birthday

“Mom, Becky’s dad is going to have a pitching clinic this fall. I wanna do it, and he’s only charging $40.” I watch her face as she thinks. Afraid she’ll say no, I blurt, “It can be part of my birthday present.”

At last she says, “I’ll think about it.” She flips over a blueberry pancake. “Please set the table.”

I get out plates and utensils, then grab the milk, butter, and maple syrup from the fridge. I fill a sippy cup with milk, then hand it to my two-and-a-half-year-old brother. “Do you want a glass of milk?”

She adds another pancake to a platter. “No, I’ll have coffee. Please get out the hazelnut creamer.” She shuts off the stove, then sets the platter on our kitchen table. Sitting down, she says, “Thank you, Lord, for what we are about to eat.” She forks pancakes onto plates for Jase, me, and herself. After she cuts my brother’s food into bite-sized chunks and puts the plate on his tray, she glances at me. “Is there anything else you want for your birthday?”

I was going to wait until my little brother was napping, but she seems to be in a good mood. I swallow another bite, then take a deep breath. “Well, this is my extra special birthday, Mom.”

She sips some coffee. “What do you mean?”

I take another bite of delicious pancake before I say, “I’ll be 8 on the eighth. That only happens once in a lifetime.” I see her nod and rush to say, “My friends say this one is super special because it’s also the eighth month.”

She glances at me. I can’t help squirming in my seat. This is so important to me. I put down my fork and take a deep breath. “Can I puleeze have a sleepover birthday party?”

Mom doesn’t answer right away. She gets up and dampens a wash cloth then wipes the stickiness from Jase’s face. She takes him from the highchair. Once he is standing on the floor, she flips the wall calendar up so she can see the month of August. “Hmm. Your birthday is on a Thursday. It would be better if it were the weekend.” She releases the calendar and starts clearing our breakfast things.

I put the items back in the fridge. “Pretty, pretty puleeze?”

She picks up Jase, carries him into the living room, and puts him in his playpen. She looks thoughtful as she returns. “We don’t have much room for a sleepover. How many girls?”

“Tracy, Becky, Liz, and Chrissie. Maybe Santina.”

Mom frowns then begins washing dishes. “The sofa bed won’t hold that many.”

I grab a dishtowel to dry. “We can use sleeping bags on the living room floor. That’s what we did at Tracy’s party.”

She rinses a plate, puts it in the rack, and washes another. I continue drying. I want to ask again but wait. Finished washing, she dries her hands and looks at me. “With 6 girls giggling most of the night, I won’t get much sleep. Guess I could schedule a vacation day for Friday.”

I hug her hard. “Oh boy! Thanks Mom! You’re the best!”

She smiles. “Would Domino’s pizza be good for your party?”

I grin. “Sure. Can I call my friends?”

Mom sighs. “No you cannot, but yes you may.”

Ugh! Why does she always correct my grammar? I wait until she leaves the kitchen, then grab the receiver from the kitchen wall phone. “‘Lo Becky.”

“Hey Tessa. Wassup?”

“Guess what!” I bounce on my feet. “I want you to come to my sleepover birthday party!”

“When?”

“Thursday, August 8th. My mom will order pizza, and we’ll have cake and ice cream too.”

“Hang on a sec.”

I twirl the long phone cord around my finger and listen as Becky asks her mom.

“She said okay.”

“Fantastic!” I dance around the kitchen. “Think I can convince my mom to rent a few videos. Maybe Hook, Curly Sue, and The Sandlot.”

“Have you seen The Addams Family yet?”

“Oh, that’d be a good one. Hope the store has it. Well girlfriend, I need to call the others. Talk laters.”

Landscape

It is a beautiful Friday afternoon as the man jogs along the boardwalk on the south side of Lake George. He slows his pace, thankful to be under the shade of the wooden canopy. He notices the ducks and swans afloat near the shoreline.

The jogger is amazed at the emptiness of the park. Even the lakefront gazebo is empty. He turns and glances back toward the clock tower. Almost 3:30. He does his cooldowns then heads to his car which he parked on Main Street. After a quick shower, he’ll be back here to help setup for the Hobart Jaycee’s June 1st festival at the other end of the lake.

Unknown Man

Tall and lanky, he grinned as he strode past me, raising a two-finger mini salute. I found his smile dazzling and infectious. I couldn’t help but answer in kind.

He was back again the next weekend, smiling that wide-mouth grin. Definitely a contagious kind of one. Charm emanated from him. I wondered if that grin had gotten him out of childhood trouble, or did it annoy his teachers?

This man appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He walked with a military stride even as he pushed a cart filled with animal feed, smiling and saluting again as he left the store.

To my way of thinking, his grin and bearing seemed at odds. A scene of him saluting a drill sergeant flashed into my mind. He was trying to control his enormous grin, but failing.

The sergeant yelled, “Wipe that silly grin off your face. You look like a village idiot. Drop and give me twenty.” He glanced at the other squad members. “Don’t stand there smirking. Drop and give me twenty.”

Back in the barracks, he apologized. One comrade scoffed. “You forking moron. Always getting us in trouble. Can’t you do something to dim that megawatt grin of yours?”

His grin widened. “Sorry guys. Can’t help doing what comes naturally.”

The beefiest private approached and punched him in the gut. Laughing, he said, “Sorry. Had to do what comes naturally.”