Short Fiction
grateful they didn’t live like African refugees or the poverty-stricken families who were advertised by charities. But for Greta, the opinion of a man who couldn’t tell a crib from a cradle offered no comfort. Staring into the smoke trails that lifted in the breeze, she saw the great progression of her life from a child beauty queen to a Phi Beta Kappa student landing a rewarding asset manager position. She had achieved so much by twenty-eight. Only bearing a child was left to do, and her life would be complete. But her body was against her. She watched her wedding day swirl in the smoke trails above her and disappear in the night. In the kitchen, she washed her face and hands to remove the scent of mint and tobacco; then she made her way to the bed where the men in her life lay asleep. Under the covers she watched charity ads for third world relief agencies featuring starving women with swaddled children in their arms. She envied them greatly. Denise Behind the glass of the waiting room’s office, Denise rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and turned the radio to a classical music station. Across from her a young couple sat on plastic furniture whispering to one another. The young woman struggled to smile and reassured the tired-eyed man sitting next to her, explaining things Denise couldn’t hear. Realizing they were being watched, the young woman turned her attention to a childcare magazine, and her man slumped down in his seat, pulling his baseball cap down over his eyes. Denise watched as the young man’s feet bounced against the floor like a school boy about to receive a booster shot. She had seen hundreds of men like him pass by the glass in front of her reception desk, and knew that a semen analysis was the closest a man could come to understanding how she felt. Sometimes these men would sit on their hands or pace from one end of the waiting room to the other with naked worry on their faces. Would they be able to perform? Would their count be high enough? Their number was beyond their control. If it was too low, would they still be men? The young woman signed for the man she introduced as her husband, and Denise led them to a room down the hall with a plastic cup in hand. As the man entered the room dropped-shouldered, Denise smiled faintly at his mate. Atticus Review│Get Lit: Round 1
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