of his grungy apartment window not caring that he was running late. His roommates had gone home for the Christmas holiday, so he had the sparsely furnished apartment to himself. Maybe he should just blow off his appointment at the clinic and go straight to his job at the café, where he worked as a waiter for the three-hour lunch period. But, he needed the last payment from the clinic. Needed it desperately to pay the final installment on his tuition for his last semester. In the end, what the hell difference did it make one way or the other? He shrugged his shoulders, reached for his Windbreaker and baseball cap.
Thirty-five minutes later, Pak, as he was known to his friends, entered the Berkeley Sperm Bank thirteen minutes late. The unlucky number didn’t go unnoticed by him. For one crazy moment he wanted to bolt, but the last reminder from the billing office told him he had no other choice. He signed in using his donor number of 8446. He turned his baseball cap around so the bill could tickle his neck as he sat down and picked up a magazine. Like he was really going to read Field & Stream.
His eyes glued to the glossy magazine cover, he didn’t look up when a steady stream of guys paraded past him, some leaving, some entering. He’d done this gig eleven times. Everyone entered and exited this place with eyes downcast just the way he did. No one spoke, no one made eye contact. All they wanted was to get the hell out of there so they could try to exorcise their personal shame and spend the guilt money. He should know because he was one of them. He took a moment to wonder how many of the donors walking through the clinic’s doors went to the counseling sessions that were so strongly recommended each time a donor signed a contract. He took another moment to wonder who owned the place. Probably some very rich person. More guilt piled up on his shoulders as he waited patiently for his number to be called.
Pete shifted his mind to a neutral zone and closed his eyes. He thought about his family back at the farm in Idaho where they grew potatoes. They’d all be getting ready for Christmas. One of his brothers had probably cut down the tree by now, and it was sitting in the living room just waiting to be decorated. His nieces and nephews were probably driving everyone crazy to decorate the tree, but his mother would make them wait for the branches to settle themselves so, as she put it, her heirloom decorations wouldn’t fall off. He wondered what his mother would serve for Christmas Eve dinner. A turkey or a ham. Maybe even both. Five different pies. Well, probably just the turkey or just the ham, but not both. And maybe only two pies this year, he thought, remembering his father had told him it’d been a bad year with a blight that had hit the plants midseason. His mouth started to water at the thought of what he was missing. Oh, well, five more months and he could go home for a week or so before he started job hunting.
Pete’s thoughts shifted to his three-and-a-half-year struggle to get through college. He thought of the lean meals, the long days of work followed by all-night study sessions, and getting by on only a few hours’ sleep. So many times he wanted to call it quits, but something deep inside him wouldn’t allow it because he was determined to be a self-made millionaire by the age of forty.
The day he made his first million he was going to do two things. The first thing he was going to do was send his family to Hawaii and set them up in a nice house right on the ocean. The second thing he was going to do was buy this goddamn place, and the minute the ink was dry on the contract, he was going to burn it to the ground.
A chunky woman in a nurse’s uniform appeared in the doorway. “Number 8446. You’re up next. You’re late this morning, 8446.” Not bothering to wait to see if he would offer up an explanation, the woman said, “Room 5. You know what to do.”
Yeah, I know what to do, Pete thought as he brushed past the woman. He knew she didn’t approve of what went on there behind the numbered doors, but she worked there anyway, collected a paycheck. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t make it compute in his head. At one point he decided she was a hypocrite and let it go at that. He didn’t give a good rat’s ass if she approved of what he and hundreds of other guys were doing or not. He always stared her down when she handed him the envelope at the end of the session.
Pete entered Room 5. The setup was always the same. Small TV. Porno movie in the VCR. Dozens of what his father would call “girlie magazines.” Equipment. He argued with himself for a full five minutes. I don’t want to do this again. I can’t do this anymore. You have to do it. If you don’t, the next semester is gone. Just close your eyes and do it. No. Yes. In the end, he lost the argument. He unzipped and turned on the VCR.
In the building next to the sperm bank, Lily Madison entered the egg donor clinic for her last session. She looked at her watch, knowing she had only an hour. She hoped that today’s session would go as quickly as her others had. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she was going to feel when she picked up her last check for $6,000. Relief? Guilt? Satisfaction that her last semester was going to be paid for? Maybe all three. When she left after graduation, she would never, ever come back to this place. Never, ever.
Lily adjusted her homemade denim hat with the big sunflower on it as she walked through the swinging doors. For some reason, wearing a hat gave her confidence and courage. She’d tried to explain it to her roommates, but they just laughed at her. They said she wore hats because she hated her kinky, curly hair. Maybe it was both. Her head up, she marched up to the desk and signed in as Donor 1114. Within minutes she was whisked into an examining room.
When it was all over, Lily dressed and sighed with relief. She could leave the place and never come back. Her eyes filled with tears. How weird was that? She swiped them away as she walked toward the payment window. She handed the clerk the slip the doctor had given her and waited. She almost swooned when the check was in her hand. She thought about buying a bottle of wine and drinking it all, by way of celebrating the end of this…this…experience in her life. It was such a stupid thought, she chased it out of her mind. From here on, what had transpired over the past months was a memory. A memory she could think about or forget about.
It’s no big deal, she told herself as she walked out into the late-afternoon sunshine.
Her thoughts all over the map, she didn’t see him until she landed on the ground, and a hand was outstretched to help her up. “You knocked me down,” Lily said inanely.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I mean it, I’m really sorry. Are you all right? Can I do anything for you?”
He smiled, and Lily was charmed.
“I like your hat!”
“I made it.”
“Wow! Are you sure you’re okay?”
He sounds like he cares if I’m all right or not. She nodded and held out her hand. “Lily.”
“Pak,” Pete said, electing to go with his initials instead of his real name. “Are you…what I mean is…did you?”
Lily nodded again. “I guess you did the…uh…”
“Yeah, it was my last session.”
“Mine, too.”
“This is embarrassing,” Pete said, offering up his megawatt smile.
“Yes, it is. Are you a student? Do you suppose that when we meet up at one of our reunions, we’ll remember this moment?” Lily asked as she jammed her hat more firmly on her head. Like she was ever going to go to a reunion.
“Yeah. I’m studying to be a teacher. I bet we do. Well, I’m really sorry. If you’re sure you’re okay, I have to get going or I’ll be late for work.”
“I’m okay. I have to get going myself. Good luck.”
Pete
