And I Go

It slithers out of the womb, lima-bean-green, with a viscous thread of slime trailing behind its tail, and stares at me with shining golden eyes.

I vomit.

“W-what…what’s wrong, Murray?” asks my wife breathlessly. The station doctors surround her, taking vitals, wiping sweat, tending to her every need after giving birth. Is this birth? What the hell is that thing?

None of the doctors seem to understand what’s going on – Shar, my wife, and I are both humans, and whatever just crawled out of her isn’t. They’re trying to suppress their shock while attending to Shar, and also still conveying a WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT-type expression in their eyes. I too am trying to do that, but I think the barf means I’m failing.

“Nothing!” I say with a tone that quite clearly indicates that something is wrong, “Nothing is wrong!”

She glares at me, and I can’t read her expression. Is it fear? Is it worry? Something else?

“Mrs. Galactigar, are you feeling well?” asks a nurse.

Shar grinds her teeth together and glares, “I just gave birth, how do you think I feel?”

Suddenly, a strange howling fills the room, like a violent birdsong underwater. I feel the pulsing in my ears, a shaky pressure oscillating between my left and right. There’s a sharp building pain in the back of my head, worming its way around my scalp like a crown of electricity. I’m looking around at everyone else, and they all look scared and worried…except Shar. Her eyes are wide, her lips puckered tight.

She looks like she just got caught.

I realize I lost track of the baby, and my eyes dart around the room. Every doctor has their hands cupped around ears – or whatever they hear from (One doctor has their hands on their nipples…). Oh god, did they drop it?

My knees sting from how hard I hit the floor; I’m scanning the room for the kid, checking under the bed as it hovers gently, peering under and around medical equipment. Nothing, and my headache has gone from a crown to a swimming cap. I can feel my eyes shuddering now, and now there’s a pain in my chest, like some kind of monster is beginning to squeeze it.

And suddenly Shar is somehow out of the bed and walking towards a bassinet. She bends over, just as casually as you please, and scoops something – the baby! – out, thin tendrils of slime stretching out between her and the cradle. The noise has stopped, mercifully.

Doctors are beginning to stand up straight, uncovering their ears (and nipples), even though some are bleeding from various orifices. Frankly it looks like something out of a war movie, and we’ve all got the same expression – that moment just after an explosion where the soldiers assess the damage despite being rattled to their bones. I can’t imagine what I look like, but I feel clammy, like the blood has drained from my skin. My hand goes to my face, to my ears, and my fingers are caked in crimson.

Yet there’s Shar, humming quietly while holding the infant close to her bare skin, nonplussed.

She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face.

 ⭐️🪐☄️

In the main corridor I can see the expanse of the surrounding space; distant stars and small pebbles of planets so far away. The nearby planet (My brain is spinning, unable to summon the simple recent memory of its name) is so similar to Earth in its coloring and shape, it’s a replica that has stirred a longing in me that began as a dull ache and now clutches my chest.

We came from that planet to this station just over a month ago – by Earth time standards – so I could work on my telescopic satellites and Shar could work on teaching common to young alien species. We knew she’d give birth at the station, and even though it was a bit nerve-wracking we grasped how well-manned this station’s med center was, how teeming with eager life this place would be. But still, despite the enormity of this station and the planet below and the infinite nothingness ahead, I feel so adrift.

How can the ties of family feel so strong, yet so threadbare? Shouldn’t I be excited? Shouldn’t I feel fucking anything besides an emptiness so vast I could swear I was cultivating a singularity beneath my sternum?

One of the doctors emerges. She is a tall, slender humanoid with beautiful features and dark violet skin. Instead of hair she has a vibrant plume of slicked-back feathers. Of course, I can’t remember her name exactly right now.

“Excuse me, Dr. Galactigar?” she says in a voice so melodic she may as well be singing, “Murray? Your wife and…and baby are ready to see you now.”

I purse my lips and nod. I don’t know what the fuck to say to Shar, or what the fuck is going on. I speak, trying not to let my voice crack from the ball of tears in my throat.

“Thank you Doctor…Birdlady?”

She smiles, flashing bright white front teeth and rows of sharpened canines behind. “It’s Dr Byrrlahee, but I can understand the confusion.”

She walks past me gracefully, and my dumb monkey brain can’t help but wonder what she looks like underneath her scrubs. I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts in a moment so thick with tension I could swim through. And then her hand is on my shoulder.

“Good luck, Murray,” she says.

I mumble something grateful, probably nonsensical, and the door slides open as I approach.

  ⭐️🪐☄️

It’s quiet inside, the panel lights filling the room with a warm orange glow. For some reason it smells like cinnamon and citrus. And in the middle, laying on a floating bed, is Shar. Her hands are covering her face, and her normally beautiful wavy hair is lank with old sweat. The bassinet with the baby is nestled among the machinery and the long (and very inviting) sofa. There is no wailing now, just the delicate sounds of small breathing.

After a few wordless seconds pass between us I decide to break the silence with something thoughtful, something calming, and something soothing to get her to look at me and talk.

“Is that gooey thing from your side of the family?” I ask, “Because my side doesn’t have a history of tails.”

Shar drops her hands from her face, and I see how puffy her eyes are. There’s a weariness to her that surpasses the delivery and leaves her looking barely functional, as though someone had cut her fuel line and she’s running on fumes.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe that one of us contracted an interstellar virus that led to the baby looking like it does, would you?”

I’m having difficulty keeping my shit together; our communication has been paltry for years, and even less so during the pregnancy. But I can’t yell at her, can’t scream obscenities. For one I don’t want to wake the baby and experience that bone-quaking noise, and for another…I’m just so goddamn tired of our frayed relationship.

“He was a lease from a school in the Crab Nebula,” she said in a soft monotone.

“Who was?” I ask, though the pieces are falling into place in my mind.

She sighs heavily. “Orengon, who was in my classroom serving as my assistant. I spoke to you about him a while ago, how much of a help he was in connecting with my new students.”

Oh yeah. That fucking guy. Of course.

“Murray, I don’t –”

I don’t hear the rest of what she says. I’m through the door and into the hallway, my legs churning even though I’m so in shock I can’t feel my feet…or my hands. Or my stomach, either, which is disconcerting, but I don’t give a damn about me when their picture is completed in my mind. I wonder if it was our inability to really talk to one another about life stuff anymore that drove her into Orengon’s arms. I wonder if he has a bigger dick than me…if he even has a dick.

The pieces of my life crumble around my feet as I reach the end of the hallway: it’s the shuttle bay.

I can go anywhere, do anything. Absolutely anything, including turning around and figuring us out, mapping out a new future for me and Shar…and the baby. Suddenly my future is as limitless as the universe.

And I go.