A week in April

I'm not sure that the story is as good as our others. This was my first fear, actually, to not have a good story of the conception. My mind blocked the evening out of my memory, or so I thought. In reality, I was high, it was late, and I was being selfish and I was horny.

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Now that I know better, what happened around 1:55 in the morning, Friday, March 18, was the result of the particular peak of life I had achieved, and the source of an entirely new mountain range full of peaks. My very own Sangre de Cristo range. My very own San Luis Valley, and my very own Blanca Peak to climb.

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Three weeks had passed since that night. It's a Thursday morning, April 7. Carolyn and I are in the shower, and she comments about her lack of a period. She dances in the shower. She dances and I have never seen this dance before. It is funny. The sight is etched into my head. That was when I knew. I rode the train that morning. I thought about the dates and I worked up December 17 in my head. Only inaccurate due to the true meaning of "9 months." December 17 is my second niece, Aislin's, birthday. Aislin is beautiful, and Aislin is stoic. Aislin hasn't had it as easy as her sister. I work out the date on the train ride.

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Later that night we have dinner. We eat at the Cheeky Monk. We have mussels and we talk. I have beer. As usual, we end up having a wonderful time. I am very happy with my meal, my beer, my woman, and the way that the world tends to our needs and desires. I've been cracking jokes about having a child, and she's laughing at them. She is still denying it.

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On Friday, I come home from a great little happy hour with Ron and then, a half-decent hockey game. It's my last of the season. The woman at the Jamaican restaurant has given me some nice and flattering attention. I tell Ron that I think my girlfriend is pregnant. We drink filthy mojitos and he tells me some reassuring words about fatherhood. I am served a wonderful glass of rum with a single ice cube by the barmaid. I leave the game early because I want to leave my camera stuff at home. I have a Friday night to attend to.

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Carolyn has a present for me when I get home. The card talks about 30 things someone should do by 30. She marks up the card: #31, "knock your girlfriend up" and her scribbled signature. I reach into the bag and find Michael Lewis' "accidental guide to fatherhood" and I still don't quite get it. She holds back her smile. This is not a climax because I already knew, but it makes me very very happy. We embrace. I apologize for not being surprised. I had known for 36 hours.

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Maximin and I meet up. We hang out at a bar. We park in the wrong part of town for a concert, and so we run to the concert through downtown, drunk. This is stupid, but this is fun. I see a show, and I see people. I am happy about all of them, and I am happy for all of them. I must be glowing, because the women are acting like I am the only man at the show. I smile stupidly.

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I make it home, then I make love to my pregnant girlfriend. I sleep easy. I wake up rested and I make coffee. I help get the sprinklers turned on. I make pictures of the two of us; me smiling through a beard I've been growing since january (and trimmed down once), her eyes giving away our secret. We finish some chores and we get on the motorcycle. Our trip south is impeded by traffic lights, then a vicious headwind-crosswind. Our necks are tired when we arrive at Palmer Lake. I have a beer and a burger, feeling bigger and stronger than each and all of the three dozen harley riders at this restaurant. I hve two beers. We turn around to come to Denver, the wind at our backs. I show her 120mph and we pass cars with ease, and we take it easy and enjoy the view. There are horses, ponies, buffalo, alpacas, birds, and camels along the roadway. We are headed to her parents' house.

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We sneak smiles at one another and tender touches. We have some snacks and some cappuccino. We watch an episode of a comedy about a single dad with an insane family and a crush. We hang out on the porch with our coffee. Carolyn and I head home. I have a race in the morning, and I turn 30 the next day.

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Sunday morning I wake up and I run. I run 13 miles ahead of 2,200 other runners, but my fiercest competitor is my shadow. My shadow is unshakeable; I hear him breathing, and I hear his footsteps. I enjoy the run, and when it is done, we have some drinks together, us and some friends. I share the news with Maximin, because I need to tell someone. He does say congratulations. Later in the day, we make chicken wings in some hot oil, and we add brown sugar to the mix. Neighbors join us, and they bring smiles and conversation. We enjoy each others' company for a few hours.

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The next day I go to work. I am a different person than who left this job on Friday. Carolyn tells me that it is because I was basically a rock star all weekend. She has a point, I partied hard and I partied well. I had a lot to celebrate.

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Now as we sleep, her body is a furnace. Her body is doing me the ultimate service and it is doing something fucking magical. Her dog moans and lays her head close to her master's body. Any and all faults are forgiven. Why blame the moon for being dark one night, and too bright another? The moon is not there to serve us, yet the moon does exactly that.