Push!

A heartwarming story to remind us that in this world, there's someone for everyone.

I tell people that I never wanted to be a doctor. That following in the footsteps of my Dad and two older brothers just wasn’t the path for an independent-thinking guy like me. “Frankly, it’s gross,” I’ll say. “Catching goo-covered babies, fresh out of that muscle-oven?” I make a crinkly face here. “What kind of job is that?!” Now my hands wave and I get real close to whoever I happen to be talking with. I look straight into their eyes. “Imagine all that sweaty, swear-wording coming at you from some pain-crazed mother unit? Then Sccchhhhhllurp! Out comes a squawking bundle of alien slime! NO THANKS!” At this point the person will nod with a serious-looking face, and I know they believe me.

But the real truth? Different story. See, I tried damn hard to get into a top-notch medical school. When that failed, I tried to get into a reasonably good one. And so it went, until eventually, any old medical school at all would have suited me, but it wasn’t to be. I guess they didn’t like the local college I went to, or the fact that I didn’t actually finish. Finally, I decided to stop trying for the medical thing altogether and got myself a job selling photocopiers. If I couldn’t make it in the reproduction business one way, I could do it in another.

Here’s the good news: My first week on the job, I sold three copiers! The Ob-Gyn practice of Hanson, Hanson and Hanson bought them, and I am grateful to Dad and the Bros for their support there. They already had a Xerox copier, but ditched it in a hurry once I gave them my sales pitch. They were so impressed that Dad, Walt and Irving each decided to purchase their own copier. If only every sales call went so well.

Being family and all, they get a special bonus: Every day I go into their offices and lovingly clean the copiers, using fresh-smelling products and a soft cloth. If the truth were to butt in again right here, it would say that I like being in those offices. That I like hanging out there, feeling doctor-ish and looking at all the women with bellies that range from ironing board up to watermelon, and everything in between.

I imagine one of them going into labor, dashing into the office to see a Dr. Hanson. She’d cry, “No, not THAT Dr. Hanson. I want Dr. CHESTER Hanson. Only Dr. CHESTER Hanson will deliver MY baby!” And I’d look at Dad, Walt and Irving, and shrug. This is when I abandon the copier-cleaning, run into the bathroom and look into the mirror, like it’s really happening. There I am, in the delivery room. I know that my light blue eyes will get all squinty, and the ‘ol nostrils will flare like a dying tulip when I yell, but that stuff doesn’t matter. I got a job to do. “PUSH! PUSH! PUUUSSSHH!” I yell at the mirror. I look good saying it. Yeah. I look good.

“My whole life I've felt a missing puzzle piece inside. It's like a deep hole somewhere in my chest, but not a round one. It's all curvy and winding.”

One day I notice someone new standing at the reception desk. Something about her really makes me look up from the copier, then look up again, and then one more time. Maybe it’s her hair, blonde as my own, or her face, round like the Harvest Moon, but my eyes don’t want to go back to looking at anything else. It feels strange too, since I look at ladies all day long around here, and I never love seeing any of them in the way that I love seeing her.

When Ina the Receptionist asks the Delightful One her name, she answers, “Lillian. It’s Lillian.” I like that name. She makes it clear she's not a ‘Lilly’ or ‘Lil,’ but she’s Lillian and proud like, “Hey, I’m WORTH one or two extra syllables!” I take to her in a feeling that’s strong, very strong. I’ve heard about this kind of feeling, but never imagined it would visit me. My skin is all tingly and my chest feels light and laughy, like when I’m going up the big hill on a roller coaster and I’m scared silly, but still, just can’t wait to reach the top!

I run into the bathroom, gaze at the mirror and wildly tousle my hair. Dad once said I look great with messy hair. A “Devil may care” look, he called it. I lean closer to look into my own eyes.

“Could she be the puzzle piece?” I ask the mirror. My whole life, I’ve felt a missing puzzle piece inside, but can’t explain it better than that whenever anyone, like Dad or Dr. Brighton, asks me about it. It’s like a deep hole somewhere in my chest, but not a round one. It’s all curvy and winding. I tousle my hair one more time, wink at the mirror and run back out to the copier.

Lillian is still standing at the desk. I can see her shoulders and beautiful face, but not any lower than that because Ina the Receptionist has knick-knacks and plants all over the damn place, blocking my view. I lean sway-backed from the copier I’m cleaning and try and check out her belly. It has a baby-puff all right, and a big one at that, which makes my heart sink a little. That puff means she’s probably spoken for by whoever planted the seed to make it grow in the first place. I lean backward a little bit farther to check out her hands. Dang, they're on the counter and out of my sight, but I just can’t stop trying. Suddenly, my feet get all crooked and I fall backwards, stumbling a bit first with wild arms, and before I know it, my rear end is on the floor and I’m rolling into a strange and loose backward somersault. With a quick jump I’m back on my feet, and peer around the waiting room for staring eyes. Sure enough, plenty of eyes are on me, but they quickly dart back to their copy of People or Parent Magazine.

My angel is leaning on the counter and the moment is mine to look at her hands. Ha! There’s not a ring on any finger, which means she is not spoken for, or if she is, it’s by someone too cheap to buy his beautiful Lillian a proper ring. HA!

I place the cleaning cloth on a shelf beside the copier, next to all the brochures about birth control and taking the right vitamins during pregnancy, and glide, sideways-like, toward Lillian. Already my feelings have swollen and keep on growing with every tick of Ina the Receptionist’s bright purple clock. Lillian, Lillian, I believe you’ve put me under some kind of a spell.

“I think it’s about nine full months along already,” she’s whispering to Ina the Receptionist. “I’ve been so busy writing my poetry, I just haven’t had time to do the doctor thing.” She pats her belly gently, casting her eyes down for a brief, somehow delicious, moment. “Do you think I look big?” She turns sideways.

“The DOCTOR thing?!” There goes Ina the Receptionist, scolding another lady. “I can’t believe you would wait this long. What is your last name, Lillian?”

Lillian smiles. “It’s Yates. Miss Lillian Yates.” She gasps loudly, a noise sounding like a hearty backwards burp. “Oooooh! I feel something going on here!” She’s rubbing her belly wildly.

Ina is pressing extra hard on the buttons of her phone. “I’ll get a doctor to see you right away, Miss Yates. Have a seat.” Ina rolls her eyes once, then twice, muttering things like ‘Honestly,’ and ‘You would think…’ under her breath. Miss Yates has mucked up the schedule, but I know that Dad or one of the Bros will see her anyway. They’ll always make time for a person carrying a bun in the oven, because they really care about anyone, anyone at all, in that condition.

Angry Ina is whispering into the phone, but meanwhile, a little bud is beginning to grow inside of me. It’s a bud of happiness, for my brain just registered that Lillian had called herself MISS! Yes, a MISS! I don’t care how she wound up where she is, with that belly and all. What matters here is that she is a Miss and I know inside, deep inside where that bud of happiness is bursting into a tree, that I am her Mister. We could be just moments away from an instant family… she and I, complete with a drooling baby.

My feet bring me right behind my Lillian so she can see me when she turns to find a seat. She spins around quickly, almost bumping into me. “Oh!” she says, in a sweet little squawk of surprise. Our eyes meet and for that moment I can’t get a breath into my body. Her eyes are giant and blue, with those popping-out kind of eyeballs that look as though they’re trying to escape her body and leap into mine. They sparkle like a clean copier and the rest of her entire face is one giant, happy grin. “Excuse me, Sir!” she says, curtsying, like a Southern belle. We just stand and look at each other like one of those couples in the movies, and all the office noises of Hanson, Hanson and Hanson seem to go quiet.

“Hey, who turned off all the volume?” I ask her. She giggles, and we stand, the two of us in our cocoon of quiet that the rest may or may not hear from behind their People and Parent Magazines. “Someone turned the knob down.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Waaaaayy down.” She is nodding slowly. We’re floating together…

“Chester! Miss Yates!” Ina the Receptionist says, clearing her throat. “Could you both please move aside and let these ladies through?” Lillian and I look to see two ladies, one big-bellied and one flat, waiting for the reception desk. We turn back to each other and squeeze hands. Just then Dad walks up. I give her a wink, then with quickness in my blood, get back to work, spraying the cloth and wiping with tenderness, the machines that help Dad and the Bros to do their job, looking after ladies like Lillian.

I lean over and see Dad and Lillian talking quietly in the corner. She is smiling at him. Everyone does. He has kindness in every bone of his body and I am proud to be his son. I’ll bet Lillian doesn’t know we’re related. I poke my head into the waiting room. “Almost done cleaning this one, Dad!” I shout, making the thumbs up. Dad turns from Lillian, nodding at me with a closed-mouth smile. He gives me a thumbs up too, then turns back to Lillian. There. Now she knows. Oh, one more thing. I stick my head back into the room. “Hey, Dad. Maybe I can come upstairs from my apartment again tonight, have dinner together, so I won’t be so… ALONE!” Again he turns, same smile, same thumbs up.

“You got it, Chester,” he says. What a man.

He and Lillian disappear into the hallway where the offices are. I watch them walk away, put the cloth down and once again run to the bathroom. At the mirror I see Lillian going into labor. “No,” she’s saying between grimaces, “I want that copier guy to deliver my baby! I want your son, Chester!” I nod to the mirror and take in a deep breath.

“Push! PUSH! PUSH, Lillian!” I yell to the mirror. “PUUUUSH!” When I walk out of the bathroom, several ladies and Ina the Receptionist are staring at me. Ina gives a little smile then looks back down at her paperwork.

Just then, Dad and Lillian come walking back toward Ina’s desk. That was way too quick. Dad’s mouth is pulled back on one side, which means something is not right. Lillian’s big eyes are filled with sadness. I hope she’s not sick. My heart is sure stepping up the pace. “I’ll get ahold of Dr. Brighton for you, Miss Yates,” Dad says in a whispering voice, his hand grasping hers. “He is an excellent doctor and I’m sure he can help you better than I can.” I stop wiping the copier to lean onto my forearms. My head drops, shaking side to side. I can’t believe my ears. Dad is turning away someone in need. Pawning her off, it looks to be, on someone who isn’t even a baby doctor! Since when did Dad stop caring about people? And just when did he start shipping off ladies who are ready to burst with a new life? And to his golfing buddy, the Head-Doctor! Dad writes something on a little square of pink paper and pats her on the shoulder. “He’s just one floor down. I’ll call and tell him you’ll be right there.”

“Will I get to go to the hospital?” Lillian asks, sounding almost happy.

“Dr. Brighton will decide that,” says Dad.

Lillian is rubbing circles on her belly. “Cause I’d better get in there soon. This little girl wants to come out!” So she knows it’s a little girl! I wonder what we’ll name her…

Suddenly her tone changes, and fear takes over her voice. She’s loud too. “Please, help me, Doctor!” Dad pats her shoulder, pressing the slip of pink paper into her hand. My mouth has suddenly gone dry as I watch big, fat tears spill out of Lillian’s beautiful eyes. It’s all the sadness and disappointment that her heart couldn’t hold, moving up to her eyes then pushing forth, salty. I’m feeling something toward my Dad that I don’t remember feeling before. It’s anger, hot and jumpy. Just then he looks at me.

“Chester, I need you, buddy. Could you escort this young lady down to Dr. Brighton’s office?” He gives me a little smile, but I narrow my eyes at him instead of smiling back. I nod though, biting my bottom lip to stop mean words from coming out. I want to scream, “How could you do this, Dad?!” but I keep my cool, and take Lillian by the hand. We leave the office and walk quietly to the elevator. I hold her bony elbow as we step in. She stares down at the carpet with all it’s colorful flecks.

“I’ve always wanted to have a baby,” she says before the elevator doors have closed. “Both of my sisters have babies. Why not me too? What’s so wrong with me?” I expect tears to be flooding her eyes again, but they look dry, and just a little wider if that’s even possible.

“Well, you ARE going to have a baby!” I say in my happiest voice. “That belly of yours tells me so!” My nose waves in the direction of her humongous tummy. The door opens on Floor 4, Dr. Brighton’s floor. Lillian looks at me, her quiet face asking what she should do. “Don’t,” I say, and push the ‘close door’ button, then the ‘L’ for lobby. We go down a few more floors, staring into each other’s eyes.

“You’re my domino.” she whispers.

“And you’re my puzzle p-,” I say, but that last word won’t come out because my voice is suddenly all stuck and scratchy. Everything feels so peaceful. Then, just as the doors open, Lillian screams.

“Oh, GOD! Here it comes! Not on the elevator, please!” She leans back for a moment, then with the force of a heavyweight boxer, shoots herself past me and onto the lobby’s light green indoor/outdoor carpet. “OOOOOH,” she groans, then squats in front of the tweedy love seat, hitching up her skirt. I pull my hands through my hair, Geez, this is really happening.

Okay, I could forgive Dad right this second and run back upstairs to get him… or Walt, Irving, or even Ina the Receptionist, for Gods sake, but no. My feet won’t do it. This is the moment I’ve always waited for and I can’t run from it now. I will be the first to meet that baby, which his just as well since she will be my daughter some day soon. My lawful child.

By now Lillian is howling with the fury of a tornado and moaning, over and over, “Here she comes here she comes here she comes.” She is on her hands and knees, crawling around the lobby floor. I get down and crawl next to her so I will be able to catch that baby when she arrives.

“Breathe,” I tell Lillian. I can barely wait to tell her to push, but it’s not the moment just yet. “That’s right, breathe deep.” I hear the hiss of whispering voices and look up to see a dozen or so people standing there, watching us.

“I’ll get a doctor!” says one voice, while another wonders aloud, “Is she gonna be alright?” A bushy-headed fellow is poking numbers on his cell phone. Just then, Lillian stops her crawling and grabs my arm. Before I can get into any kind of ready position, she lifts her sweater and pulls out a… a… a…

“CATCH!” she shrieks, tossing the thing at me so hard I hurl backwards. I’m anticipating the wetness of new life in my hands, but… what the heck? I hold the baby that Lillian so carelessly threw and look at its fully-dressed form. She is totally clean and pillowy, with a head of thick, yellow yarn hair. Oh, and look! There’s even a pacifier in her little mouth. Lillian is breathing hard, smiling and crying at the same time.

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Chester!” She scuttles over to me and the baby, and we huddle together. I look at her and laugh.

“Hey, Lillian. She is an absolute DOLL!” I holler. Lillian nods, all giddy, and we both start laughing wild and nonstop like a freight train that’s heading down a hill, out of control, no brakes!

Then, suddenly I stop. “Wait! I didn’t get to yell PUSH!” I pucker my lower lip at Lillian.

“Okay, you wanna yell PUSH?” She grabs the little blond baby and shoves it back under her sweater. “Let’s do it again!”

So once more we’re birthing and laughing, as the crowd grows to watch our beautiful moment. And together we crawl around the lobby floor, in a weaving and squiggly-line pattern that, I swear, matches the shape of my missing puzzle piece.