Terell and Cynthae Harris were sitting quietly, watching Survivor: Antarctica. But the antics of the `real people' starving and freezing as they shot paintballs at little targets to gain the "Immunity from the Cold'' idol didn't really register. They were waiting for test results that never came.
"It's 7:00, Terell. They're not gonna call.''
He clapped his brown hands to his face, sighing deeply. "They still - no, you're right.''
Cynthae wrapped her arm around her husband, squeezing him tightly. "It's alright. They'll call tomorrow.''
He held back tears. "I just wanted to know. It's not knowing that hurts. I need to know!''
"I know, honey, I know,'' she replied, resting her braided hair in the crook of his neck. She put her other hand on his leg. "Does it really matter?''
"If it isn't my fault - if your eggs... Damnit, Cynthae, I know you want to have a baby.''
"Hun, there are options. We can adopt, there are sperm banks, plenty of resources... If I'm the problem, there's nothing we can do about that,'' she said, reasonably.
"And that's why I gotta know. Once I know, I can come to terms with it. This is torture,'' Terell moaned fitfully. After only about a minute or so, he grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. "This show is garbage.''
Cynthae chuckled, trying to playfully ease the tension. "Hey, now, don't take it out on Survivor: Antarctica. It never did us wrong.''
A smile slowly warmed Terell's face at that, and he pulled his wife into his arms, kissing her lips. "I love you.''
She returned the kiss, smiling with her teeth. "You know I love you.'' They grinned at each other as young lovers do, stole a kiss or two, paused a beat, then started to tongue each other fervently.
The two young African Americans had been blessed with two affordable college degrees, two excellent jobs, a beautiful suburban house in Ohio, a large backyard with upright garden plots, and their very own henhouse. Nine out of ten people agree that local, grass-fed eggs tasted better, after all.
But despite all their blessings, Cynthae and Terell couldn't get past the one thing missing from their perfect future: kids. They'd tried, sure enough, but a year had passed without success, despite watching all the timings, cycles, positions, eating the right foods, playing the right music. Cynthae had even taken to lying on her back with her legs up against the wall after intercourse.
Something wasn't working, and they didn't know who.
They'd decided to find out together, using the same clinic to test both his sperm and her eggs and return the results at the same time. But another night of uncertainty awaited the two.
"Speaking of eggs,'' Terell segued smoothly after pulling away from their improvised makeout, "I want to make you an omelet.''
Cynthae smiled. Their first date had been a bit unorthodox - they'd met at 5:00 in the morning at an all-nighter study session for Anthropology 101. Neither of them cared about Anthropology, and they'd never have met if it weren't required. He was a lawyer, and she was a chemist. But he offered to walk her home. When he found out that she lived just off campus in a house with a kitchen, he had insisted he come inside and make her an omelet, and his omelets were damn good.
The rest, as they say, was history.
"Uhp! Looks like we're out,'' he said, looking in the fridge.
"The hens should have laid some.''
Terell reached in and grabbed a little, corked bottle of vitamin water. "This new?''
"Found it online. Vitamins D, C, E, Antioxidants - thought it might help with...you know,'' Cynthae explained.
Shrugging, he grabbed the bottle and headed toward the back door. ``Alright. I'll check and see if any have been laid yet.''
His wife followed along. "Y'know what? I'll join you - I've got to check on the chicks anyway.''
Together, the young couple travelled the grass to the back of their yard and the rather well-constructed hen house. They'd had to call in for a rooster, and bred Henna and Checka. Their eggs had just hatched, and the chicks were kept under a heat lamp as they adjusted to life outside their shells. While Cynthae spread out new food and water for the chicks, Terell went to the unfertilized eggs, grabbing the brown eggs and placing them carefully in a bowl.
"Hey, we got six,'' he said.
"Another chick died,'' she said, sadly, dumping the body into the waste basket. Still, they were ready and able to hold a few more hens, and they could eat or sell the young roosters.
Terell paused at the front door, glancing back at his wife. "It happens...'' he said slowly, not sure how to comfort her. He held out the bottle of water and said, "Here, you want some?''
She shrugged. ``Eh, see if the trends are worth the hype,'' popping the cork and tipping some into her mouth. "Ugh! Shit, that's awful! None of the Etsy reviews mentioned anything about the taste.''
Terell took it back. "That bad, huh?'' He sniffed it briefly, then took a taste of his own before grimacing and putting the cork back in. "How much did this cost?''
"Enough for a 1-star review, I know that.''
Terell chuckled, leaving the door open as he stepped up behind his wife, placing the bowl on the counter and wrapping his arms around her. "Yeah, it was pretty bad.'' Flashing a thought to the tiny snuffed out life in the garbage bag outside, and the fleeting connection it had to their fertility issues, he muttered into her embrace, ``You gonna be okay?''
Cynthae took a deep breath, leaning back into his arms. She said, "It hurts to look at the dead chicks. I can't help but think - ''
"Then don't look at them. Look at these ones,'' he said, pointing toward the cute, yellow chicks that walked around and poked at the ground, the walls, and each other. ``Brand new lives , starting out, facing the world and it's challenges... getting jobs and moving out at eighteen...'' he added coyly. She couldn't help but laugh.
That laughter was abruptly cut off as first she, then he started to cough, a tingling sensation overwhelming them. Terell fell away from his wife, arms reaching out for anything before he collapsed on the hay floor. Cynthae screamed for a few seconds, staring back as her husband started to change in front of her, his body contorting and skin developing a terrible rash. That's when she realized the same thing was happening to her.
Terell wanted to yell, to plead, to question everything as he watched his wife through bulging, warping eyes. She'd curled up into a fetal position on the ground, her arms tucking in at her sides. He could only be grateful when she began to shrink enough that she disappeared into her clothing. A second later, he was cloaked in the darkness of his own shirt.
When the pain finally stopped, he squirmed his way out of his clothes, only to find the shed had grown ten times as large. The roof was barely visible! The hay all around him stuck out like poles, and the trash bin was as big as a garage. This is impossible!
Cynthae noticed him before he noticed her, and she squeaked. Out of the light blue shirt emerged a perfect little yellow chick. Terell, no!
But it was him, and worse, she looked down to find her body covered in soft, yellow down. They were chicks. There was no questioning this. She prayed this was a dream, but it certainly didn't feel like one.
Terell chirped in shock at his wife, hopping over to her.
Overwhelmed, they embraced, shivering from fear and from the overwhelming cold. How were they freezing!? It was 70 degrees out! But their chicks were in an 80-degree bath. Terell wished more than anything right then that he could talk to her, comfort her, tell her that whatever was happening, they would be all right.
Cynthae glanced up what appeared to be 100 feet to the counter where the other chicks basked in warmth. There was no way they could get up there. But the hens were only a foot off the ground in their boxes. They might be able to climb the apparently fifteen-foot wall if they jumped or moved hay over to make a ladder. But would the hens protect chicks that weren't their own?
Terell had a different idea. Looking at the open door to the outside world, he saw how the fifteen second walk across the yard had turned into a mile trek through the grassy plains. They couldn't even get into the house once they got there. But he racked his brains and realized their neighbors, the Husby's, would be home. Did they have a cat? If they could peck at the door, they might come and see the chicks. They'd know immediately that the two chicks must `belong' to Terell and Cynthae, and they'd either take care of them or put them in the incubator. If lucky, they could convince the Husby's that they weren't just normal chicks.
Cynthae hopped over to the bottle that must have started this all. It was a little bit taller than she was now, and the cork was in tight. But if they could work together to open it, they might be able to drink it again - to...some effect.
Together, the two looked in each other's eyes, silently asking each other the same question:
What do we do now?
