My mother was pregnant. I had even heard a rumor she had already given birth the previous day. If this rumor were true, why had she not called me and told me the baby had arrived? After all, the child would be my half-sister or half-brother. The idea that my mother might have birthed a child and not have called me seemed inexcusable.

My mother was living in the Grandview Avenue House. I was walking north on Grandview Avenue toward the House, about a block away. As I proceeded, I began thinking of a recent phone conversation between my father and me in which he had tried to persuade me to go into business with him. He had been aware I had returned to college to pursue some courses in science, and he had also been aware I wanted to work in a high tech company. Even though I had a law degree, I still felt compelled to obtain some low-level technology degree before trying to obtain a job in the technology arena.

My father, aware of my desire to work in technology, had suggested he and I could start up a technology company together. He had even suggested we focus on "telemetry," and had added that more than 100 telemetry companies already existed in the United States. In his attempt to persuade me, he had become rather emotional about how much it meant to him to have me work with him, and I had even heard him softly weeping on the other end of the line. However, I had remained unpersuaded. I would keep open the option of working with him, but I imagined I would go my own way.

When I finally reached the Grandview Avenue House, I walked around the side of the House to see if I could look through my mother's bedroom window and see anything inside. Through a small crack in the blind, I was able to see my mother, but only from mid-waist down. However, I saw enough to conclude that her stomach was no longer swollen, and that she must have already had the baby.

Angry now, I walked around to the front porch and entered the front door. My sister, standing in the room, didn't say anything. I brushed past her and stepped into my mother's bedroom. My mother (probably in her mid 30s) was holding the baby girl in her hand; she handed it to me. As she did so, I noticed a second baby also lying in a crib, and I immediately realized my mother had given birth to two babies instead of just one.

Both babies seemed to be fully developed, more so than a newborn baby should have been. Their heads seemed a little too large. I thought about my brother Chris, and immediately feared that just as Chris had had muscular dystrophy, something might be wrong with these babies. I asked my mother if everything was all right. But when she told me everything was fine, I seemed to detect a note of concern in her voice.

After less than a minute, I abruptly handed the baby back to my mother, and asked her why she or my sister hadn't called me. I told her they would have only needed a few seconds to have picked up the phone and called me. Obviously neither of them cared anything about me. I turned around and stormed out the door.

I was extremely angry. I simply couldn't understand why they hadn't called me to tell me the babies had been born. Their actions didn't make sense. I could only conclude they didn't care anything about me.

The more I thought, the angrier I became. Finally, I turned around, walked back to the House, and again pushed into the front door.

My mother was standing on the other side of the room, talking to a woman who apparently had come to visit her. I picked up a pillow lying on the floor next to me, slung it toward my mother, and cried out, "Bitch!" Then, once again, I turned and walked out.

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