It Depends on How You Look at It

Baby Bethy

BABY BETHY

(2009)

Chuck-a, chuck-a, chuck-a, huh 

Chuck-a, chuck-a, chuck-a, huh

The rush began with a pistol shot.

Hundreds of hopefuls were gathered on the starting line in every conceivable kind of buggy or wagon. Some were simply on horseback. Others planned to run as fast and as far as they could. When the pistol fired, they were off, lickity split, in a wild chase. Careening wildly, banging into each other, toppling over their neighbors, all frantic to get there first.

There was Jiggling John, the problem drinker. He wore the moccasins and buckskin tunic of his mother's tribe. He wasn't too concerned, as he only intended to walk back to their family teepee a few miles away.

He was soon passed up by preening English Ned, the axe murderer, in his top-hat and gloves, perched pretentiously atop his dainty hand-tooled western saddle. He whipped his black stallion cruelly, but it refused to go. Instead, it bolted to the side, and threw him from the saddle.

Crippled Betty, hobbled along on wooden crutches, straining with iron determination to get ahead, but overtaken by all the others nonetheless.

Pirouetting Petrakova moved ahead with dazzling leaps and light mincing steps, her chin jutting forward and her arms extended gracefully behind her.

Alexi, the abstract particle physicist, could have gone faster. He had a quick, purposeful step, but he often paused to contemplate some intriguing notion.

All these were easily passed by Paradoxical Sue. She sailed past in a beautiful carriage with fringe on top and isinglass windows you could roll right down in case there's a change in the weather, flicking her switch nervously in the air as she passed.

The race was on... but it was Beat-a-path Bethy, who, with presence of mind, and the will to succeed, cut a path right down the middle and got to the other side first. She hurried up the fallopian tube, swimming for all she was worth. So intent was she on her mission, that she nearly went right by that radiant, lolling egg.

And what a lovely one it was. She stopped and gazed. The attraction was instant. The heavens lit up. The violins began to play. It was that chemistry of which the poets sing. Time stood still. It was meant to be. They were each other's fulfillment.

And so, following the natural course of things, they, like so many millions before them, were united...

Even as a clump of quivering cells, Baby Bethy felt excited about the future. Of course, then, the future seemed to be happening every minute. Multiplying, doubling, quadrupling every day or so. Gradually she took on a recognizable shape. Little buds of legs. A stubby arm, and then another. She perceived a finger; then another. A toe, a toenail. Until, in all, there were eight fingers, two thumbs and ten toes.

She weighed hardly anything. Nonetheless, that little bit was fastened securely with its own umbilical life line. Bethy bobbed around, floating warm and safe in black limbo, gently swinging gently to and fro.

'Yummm. Gooood. oooooouu...' 

A warm rush of milky sweetness engulfed her.  

'Oh man, that's good!' 

' Wow, is that good.' 

It seemed to be everywhere around her and within her.  

'Let's get some more of that stuff!!'  

'more. More. MORE.'  

Her wish was fulfilled.  

She drifted off into pleasant nirvana.