aaron grayum | tinymusicbox.com

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{ stories by AARON GRAYUM }

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THE SECRET OF LIFE

©2002 Aaron Grayum

“Honey, where do babies come from?”

His wife turned down her paperback and responded only with a puzzled silence.

“I mean, I know the stork thing isn’t true, I know the story about birds and bees is just the way that grownups cover up the fact that we don’t know either, so we made up some tale that doesn’t even make sense. So where do they really come from?”

She looked into his eyes, one at a time, but still did not speak.

“I’m sure you remember when we were kids and your mom was pregnant with Sara. You asked her how the baby got there and she told you it was a gift from God, right? And that was all she was going to tell you because that was all you needed to know. I remember you telling me that, and, frankly, it wasn’t much of an answer at the time, but I guess in her mind it wasn’t much of a question.”

He paused and his breath was shallow.

He resumed. “There must be more to it than that, don’t you think? Everything these days seems to have a scientific explanation, and maybe there is one — but if there is, then why don’t they just let the rest of us know about it? Scientists must work in cahoots with doctors or something, because you’d think they would all know the secret.”

He turned to her and said, “Will you say something, please?”

She did not appear to be breathing, though she was looking straight at him, and spoke.
“I don’t have a lot to say here, Adam. I mean, we’ve talked about this before and you know what I think. And even if I’m wrong, what does it matter, where they come from? I just feel lucky we have one.”

“Haven’t you been curious, though?”

“I suppose there have been times here and there, but I think you’re obsessing a bit, dear. I mean, does it really matter? Why do you care so much?”

He swung his feet out of bed and glided to the crib, asleep in the shadows cast across the wallpaper.

“Well,” he whispered, “what if we wanted to have another? How would we go about it?” He watched their daughter chase butterflies somewhere in a dream. He returned to the bed. “Remember when you used to go through those spells? You would throw up, mostly in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. You felt terrible! Lasted for weeks, I recall. Weren’t you taking some kind of stomach medicine to help that?”

“I did for awhile,” she replied, “but it never really seemed to work. It might have been worse if I hadn’t taken anything at all.”

“What if it were something in the medicine, then? I think you got pregnant around the time you started taking it...”

“I don’t think so. Somebody would’ve been arrested if they’d laced medicine with something that created babies and didn’t tell anybody. We would have surely gotten a letter in the mail about it or something.”

“I guess you’re right. I wonder if our doctor could have had anything to do with it.”

“Our doctor?”

“It’s a thought. But it really doesn’t make enough sense. I think he would tell us before spiking your medicine like that. People sue doctors who have bad breath, I think he would be way up the creek if he made people pregnant without asking them. Doesn’t he also take care of the Tinleys? They do have five kids. Who knows”

“If you’re so curious, why don’t you call Doctor Ferguson in the morning?”

He shook his head. “I’ve already asked him. I called yesterday and told him I wanted to know where babies came from. He asked if that was all I was calling about, and after I told him that yes, it was, he laughed for a second, and then he told me where babies come from.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Albuquerque!” She laughed and then caught herself. “And then he told me I was wasting his time and hung up!”

Their daughter coughed but remained asleep. The room was quiet except for the dim sound of the ceiling fan, and they sat in bed, very awake. The clock approached midnight.

“Must be this Secret of Life they talk about.”

His wife tiptoed back into her novel.

“I’m serious. Haven’t you ever wondered if you’ll just keep getting pregnant?”

She put her book back down. “You know I have, Adam. We’ve talked about this, remember? I think it’s the rain.”

“Rain? Like water, rain?”

“Don’t you remember?” she said.

“Vaguely. Want to elaborate?

“I think women might get pregnant through raindrops.”

“Now that makes a lot of sense,” he said.

She looked at him. “Hey, it makes a lot more sense than the whole stork thing, and people have been buying that one for years. You bought it yourself, if I remember.”

“How would anybody get pregnant by rain?” he asked.

“I don’t know, exactly. But when I was little and mom was pregnant with my sister, I asked her how she got pregnant, and she said back to me, ‘How does rain fall from a cloud? It just does.’ Then she told me that a baby is a gift from God, and that was all she was going to tell me because that was all I needed to know. Seems like that was her answer to pretty much everything. But I think she was trying to tell me something without saying it, you know? Why does rain fall from clouds? Science answers how, but not why. I think rain is the way God spreads the gift of life. It comes from heaven and the clouds and every so often it rains and life is created.”

“Yeah, but everybody gets wet when it rains, how come there aren’t babies all over the place, then?”

“Look at the population statistics,” she replied. “There are babies all over the place!”

“Yeah, but if women got pregnant every time it rained, there would be so many babies dancing in the streets we could never handle them all!”

“Well, it only rains about two or three inches a year here, and we’re usually indoors or in the car or under an umbrella when it rains, so we usually don’t get wet. Kids tend to play in the rain more than adults do, but they’re too young to get pregnant anyway.”

“Rain, huh?”

She shrugged and nodded.

“So why don’t men get pregnant? We get rained on, too, you know.”

She smacked him with her book and he laughed. “Last I heard, men don’t get periods, Einstein.”

“Do you have to be on your period when you get wet?”

“Not actually on your period. Something in between, called oval-TA-tion or something.”

“Oval-tation?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what it’s called. You’d have to get rained on while you’re oval-tating. I just know that’s what happened to me.”

He pursed his lips. “Okay, so that doesn’t sound impossible. Hang on a sec.” He left the bed and crossed into the bathroom where he ran the faucet to fill his cup.

She called in to him quietly. “I mean, it may not be the rain, but it doesn’t sound so—”

“Do you think it could be something in the tap water?” he interrupted.

“The government would have to be the brains behind that one.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Guess not, then. But I know I can’t be the first person in ten thousand years to wonder why women get pregnant.”

“I’m sure you’re not the first, dear,” she replied.

He returned to the bed, sipped the water, and gave her the rest. He walked over to the window and peeked out. The evening had been a clear one, but clouds were creeping in from the west. Even from inside the house, he felt like he could smell rain. Maybe it did have something to do with rain, he thought. He hadn’t heard anything else that made sense, and he couldn’t refute her theory. There were plenty of things in this world that nobody understands, and maybe this was simply one of them. Wanna get pregnant? Wait till the time’s right, hope that it rains on the same day, and get soaked. Doesn’t seem impossible, does it?

Seriously, why not?

“Okay, so maybe it’s the rain. You’re still going to have to get wet sometime. How do you deal with that?” he asked, still standing beside the bed.

“Well, silly, if you don’t want to get pregnant, you just cover up your skin,” she replied.
“Wear a raincoat. Wear gloves. Take an umbrella. Especially if you’re in your oval-tation time.”

“Of course.”

“As long as you’re protected, you can go out in the rain pretty much any time you want, and not worry about it. Then it would be like getting hit by lightning if you still got pregnant.”

Fair enough, he thought.

“I’m surprised that we can even prevent ourselves from getting pregnant, actually.
Having a baby is such a miracle! It’s such an enormous calling, it would have to be
God’s decision in the end, anyway. It’s the creation of life, for crying out loud!”

The room swarmed with a pondering silence. He beat his thumbs together.

“So it’s the rain?”

She shrugged and returned to her book.

“Well, maybe you’re right. I’d still like to know for sure.”

“Try not to worry about it. If there’s another reason out there, I’m sure you’ll find it. Want to talk about it more tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I love you.”

She smiled.

It began to rain and he reached into the crib and touched his daughter to make sure she was dry. He returned to the bed and slid back under the covers.

She placed her book on the nightstand, yawned, and leaned closer to him.

“So are you finally ready to go to sleep now?”

He smiled and began to eagerly kiss her earlobe.

“Mmmmmm...Neither am I!”

She reached up and turned out the light.

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