SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Friday, May. 06, 2016 @ 5:36 pm
Negative



I drive across the city to the doctor. The sun is blazing in a thin blue sky, already warm for the time of day. The hottest April in decades.

I'm running late. I overslept by a full hour. I awoke thirsty, confused. I hadn't slept through my alarm in months.

I arrive with one minute to spare.

The doctor comes in. I've seen her so much lately that I am starting to think of her as a friend, a sister, an aunt. I pull out my FAM chart. I tell her that I haven't got my period, that according to my basal body temperature that I haven't ovulated. In three months.

She looks at me. Straight in the eyes. Is there a chance that you could be pregnant?

I laugh. I say, Well, I guess technically, yes.

I take the pee cup to the bathroom. I put it in the little pee cup cupboard. My warm pee in that cup, and I'm laughing, because wouldn't that be just the funniest thing. To be pregnant.

We talk a little more while we wait for the test results. She writes up a requisition for bloodwork, ultrasound.

It's negative

And I laugh. Yup. Nope. Haven't ovulated. The chart doesn't lie.

I drive back across the city to my job site. The new arts university campus. I don my hardhat, my vest, my boots. My godawful safety sunglasses. I meet up with an engineer on site. We walk around looking at all of the stuff that I designed, at how it's going in the ground. It's totally mind blowing... I drew that on a computer and there it is, live in concrete and plastic, big machines everywhere. And there she is, the manhole that I decided should go there.

Dust billows up on site. The crane swings around slowly, and there is an etheral moment of beauty, in the midst of this construction site.

The engineer is lean and attractive. He stands closely to me, just that shade too close that says something. Leaning in. Chemistry ripples between us. I feel confident. I know this stuff. I know exactly what I'm doing. My shoulders are square, my back straight. He leans in. I bring my hand up to point to something on the drawings, and my arm bumps against the tape measure hanging from his belt. That's how close he is. The tape measure in close proximity to.. his... sensitive areas. I pretend it never happened. He doesn't move away.

We shake hands and part, me to spend some time alone taking photos, him to attend to other matters on site. His handshake is strong, stronger than men normally shake my hand. I appreciate it. I'm on this job site, and I'm standing here in jeans with a drawing set rolled under my arm. The sun in my eyes. The dust whirling around in the blazing sun. Shake my hand like you mean it, goddamnit. Shake my hand like a man. I'll respect you more for it. Because it means that you take me seriously.

Tomorrow - the funeral for Carolyn's grandmother. At the church where I attended preschool, girl guides. The sun, her dead grandmother, my parents. The asphalt where I learned how to ride a bike. The sun will be shining, and for the first time I will stand up straight in front of Carolyn, sure of myself, proud.

Unashamed of who I am.


Roots | Shoots