AIIIEEEE!

-a satire of a world gone mad-

Asher screamed joyously over the nursery rhymes on the car stereo.

“Poo-poo!”

“Poo-pee!” his little sister echoed with glee.

Taylor Nicole Abott-Miller simply could not take it anymore. She was exhausted; it was unbearable. It was only 7:45 in the morning. She hadn’t even had her coffee yet, and he wanted to yell obscenities on the way to kindergarten.

For a moment, she forgot about the children and the yelling, becoming lost in her fears, what her therapist called ‘definitive symptoms of anxiety’, of what would happen, what people would think, if her son yelled that or something even worse in class--and now to pull up late. Ugh! She had taught him better than this. He was becoming an embarrassment.

“Poo-poo!”

“Poo-pee-poo!”

Their cries of laughter were cut short by the swerve of the vehicle and the subsequent slamming of the brakes.

“Asher! Be quiet. Now. Do you see your little sister? Stop it. She’s doing exactly what you do. No more potty mouth. It is embarrassing.”

“But it’s funny, Mommy,” he laughed.

“No. It is not. It is gross and it is dirty. Now be quiet.”

“But I’m having fun.”

“You are gross; you are being gross. Stop it,” she huffed, before throwing the car into gear and, making sure to use her turn signal, merged back into traffic and on toward the school.

She bathed in the quiet of obedient children as she continued down the parkway. They should name a fragrance after that, she chuckled to herself. All she had ever asked for was a little cooperation. She didn’t want to be ‘mean mommy’. She wasn’t one of those parents that beat their children, or even yelled at them. Punishment was the opposite and enemy of progress. Children should be, could be and would be reasoned with...if he would just listen.

A kick smacked the back of her chair.

Her eyes darted to the rear-view mirror. Addison was looking quietly at a coloring book.

“Asher,” she screamed. “I. Have. Had. Enough.”

“There was a bug.”

“No, there was not. Stop lying to me. Stop it. I am done. I am done. I am done. Look at Addison. Do you see her? Do you see what she is doing? Being quiet like a good girl. You do that. Can you do that? Can you even do that?”

“But Addison is a girl.”

“Well, be more like a girl.”

“That’s gross, Mommy,” he laughed.

“How is it gross? It is not gross, Asher. I said, be quiet.”

They drove on in silence, her frustration and his confusion filling the car in minute increments until, to their mutual relief, they pulled into the carpool line.

“Mommy?”

She grinned widely and waved at Nicole.

“Mommy?”

“What? What do you want? What?” she demanded through gritted, smiling teeth.

“There really was a bug.”

She didn’t reply until the teachers came to get the children out of the car.

“Have a good day, sweeties. I love you. Mommy loves you!” she cried, blowing kisses.

Addison tottered away, lost in babbling conversation with her teacher, while Asher frantically waved goodbye with a sad, pleading smile.

“I love you too, Mom!”

----

They had done everything they could to make it a boy’s room. Cars. Dinosaurs. Trains. Diggers. Space. He loved them all, and she had gotten them for him. Denied him nothing. Maybe she was a fool? Maybe she had contributed to it. It was like Nicole had said, society exploits us all. It wasn’t fair to Asher either. He couldn’t help that he was the way he was. She was his mom. She didn’t know she was doing him any harm. She didn’t mean to make him bad or hurt him or anything. You just want to see your kids happy, ya know? She never would have done any of this if she knew. But there were some things she just couldn’t change. Maybe he would have been different if she had known? Maybe he was born that way. Maybe boys just are that way. But she just couldn’t accept that fate for him. She wouldn’t.

She sighed, beginning to fold the kids’ clothes.

“Hey, honey. I’m home.”

Paul knocked on the door frame. “Where are the kids?”

“Help me with this laundry. They’re next door at Morgan’s. She got the kids a new trampoline. Listen,” she said. “I think something has to change with Asher, and I am going to need your help. I think...I am worried that he is becoming, and I know you don’t like the word, toxic. He doesn’t listen to me, Paul. He’s so loud.”

“He’s rambunctious. I used to be just like that. It’s all part of being a boy,” Paul said, sitting down grabbing some clothes.

“No. That is just your excuse. Your ego just can’t let go of your conception of self or your son being like you were, or something.”

“What? That is bullshit. He’s our son.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. See you’re already being defensive. ” Taylor said, stabbing a finger at him.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’m sorry. Just do what you want to do then.”

“Aren’t you ever sick of yourself being so indecisive? Because I am.”

“What are you talking about? I tell you my opinion and you reject it immediately.”

“Because its a stupid opinion, Paul. Everything you do and say is stupid. Even your hobbies are stupid.”

“You want to talk about ax throwing at a time like this? Right now?”

“You’re obsessed, Paul. That is all you do. They’re not even axes, you idiot! They’re tomahawks.”

“Oh my god. Tomahawks are a type of ax. How don’t you understand that?”

“I don’t care. It is cultural appropriation whatever you want to call it,” she said, standing up.

“What the?” Paul paused. “Tomahawks...no culture, past or present, can lay exclusive claim to the tomahawk or ax with any real historical accuracy. I’m sorry, but first off, that kind of hurts that you would accuse me of that, and, you know what, frankly, that statement makes you seem ignorant.”

“Just shut up, Paul. It’s a stupid child hobby, not some connection with the ancestors. It’s not even a hobby. It’s a child’s game. Fuck, it’s not even that.”

“I’m sorry, but I need me-time too, okay? Miss Hot Yoga and Mimosas,” he retorted, returning to the clothes.

“I am not talking to you for the rest of the night. Good night.”

And with that she marched out of the bedroom slamming the bathroom door behind her.

“Babe. I’m sorry.”

But she was gone. He sighed, finishing the clothes, the glow-in-the-dark stars above him just beginning to illuminate.

That night as she slept--she slept with a scowl ever since the kids were born--Paul went to the bathroom and began masturbating: imagining that stupid, uppity bitch getting railed in the ass. Her moaning like a whore. He’d put a bag on that judgmental cunt’s face. Paper or plastic? Draw a little smiley face on it. Or a big ‘O’ face. Tell that whore ‘bite the pillow, slut’, and she would, like a good little bitch.

He stroked faster, her moaning into the pillow, begging for more, harder. Unannounced, the moans became Spanish, ‘ay, papi. fuck me so good! te quiero muchísímo!’ He saw his wife sitting in the corner chair, watching him absolutely lay pipe, urging him to “fuck the shit out of that big brown ass”. He was as hard as he had ever been. He pumped harder, his wife beaming approval. He looked straight and deep into Taylor’s eyes while he fucked the holy shit out of this bitch, ‘ay que rico!’. Taylor began to lift her shirt, massaging her breasts, sucking and tonguing a manicured finger, sliding her sex back and forth on the chair in time with his balls clapping, her abs flexing with every thrust. Then she started screaming. First slapping then punching herself in the face over and over, wailing as she pulled her own hair, berating herself for saying “brown ass”. He stopped, confused. He began stroking again. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched her wail and draw blood from her own nose and now split lips. She paused just long enough to point and accuse his dick of being a colonizer, which made him want to cum, but, by that time, back in reality, he was already limp.

Stumbling in the dark for his headphones--maybe porn would help get it up--he just became frustrated and distracted. Cursing himself, he closed the private browser, deleted his browser history (just in case), then checked that his alarm was set before falling into troubled, scowling sleep.

----

The next day, after morning errands, was brunch with Nicole, who was an absolute firecracker and Taylor’s absolute bestie.

“So, what does Paul think?” Nicole asked, sipping a second mimosa. They had been texting after carpool. God, it felt good to vent.

“He says that boys will be boys. He says he was like that as a boy” Taylor said, between fork-fulls of avocado toast.

“Well, that is unfair. You kick him in the balls? I would have.”

“Stop it. Of course not,” Taylor laughed. “I told him. This is toxic masculinity. You are letting our son be toxic. But he just laughed it off, and told me to do what I think is best. Asher listens to him though. So it’s not like he cares, or even has to.”

“It sounds as if he is in some sort of denial. Like his ego just can’t let go of his conception of being a man kind-of-thing.”

“Exactly! I don’t know. Paul isn’t even really that manly. He just kind of hangs out at the brewery and does his little lumberjack throwing. I mean, that is literally why he grew his beard.”

“Lame! It’s like all these white men saw the al-Qaeda beards of the real men who destroyed their civilization and started wanting to look like them or something. Anyways, maybe Paul just needs a different take, like maybe he would listen to an expert. You know Lena?” Nicole asked, flagging their waitress.

“Is that the one with the trans-or the lesbian, or…?”

“Right. She has two trans-kids. The one with the little boy who was born a girl, but also the little girl who was born a boy. I don’t know if that would be a trans-boy or trans-girl. I don’t know if she, I guess it would be he, is a lesbian or not though.”

“Sometimes I think it would be easier,” Taylor sighed.

“Tell me about it. Seeing Asher and Addison together, it’s night and day. Evil and good. Roberto wanted more, but I said ‘No, siree’. I am not going through that hell again. Put it back in your pants, mister. Another mimosa, please.”

“You are so bad,” Taylor laughed. “I mean, yeah, I guess he might. He’s pretty open-minded. A hard seltzer with cucumber.”

“But, yeah, so like you should totally talk to her. She’s really into it. She was a grad student at Oberlin, so she has that kind of mix of being super connected to the Earth but also being like super smart.”

“I don’t know, Nikki. It feels like I just don’t want to admit that I have a problem.”

“Listen, having one child is hell. I can’t imagine two. And it never hurts to talk or do your research. You have to consider your own mental health. You have to take care of you, not your kids.”

----

When she saw the red ink on the next day’s report, the room literally spun. This was the last straw. Fighting?! What could he possibly be fighting for? Maybe he didn’t start it. No, it doesn’t matter. This is it. This was too much. This is too much. This is unacceptable. She had done everything she was supposed to and still he persisted. She had tried everything. She had tried to get him diagnosed for ADD, ADHD, Autism, Aspergers, BPD, everything, but that old fucking quack doctor just said the same thing everyone said. He’s just a child. He needs more exercise. He just needs time. Well, he didn’t have any damn time. Time was of the essence here! He would absolutely ruin his future, his life and, God forbid, maybe even ruin someone else’s life by the time he even had a chance to get into a good school. He could kill someone for Christ’s sake! Fighting? He wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had given up so much. Too much. She needed someone to talk to. Now.

----

“As I am sure you know, both of my children are trans. A fact I am very proud of.”

“Of, course, yes, a son and a daughter, right?” Taylor nodded. “Please, tell me about your son. Excuse me, now your daughter?”

“Um, yes I think that’s how you’d say it. Correct. Eron. Let’s see, zi was expected and welcomed. IVF. The donor went to Ivy. My partner and I were super happy when we found out we were pregnant. Our first, so we were fully prepared when the time came.”

“Oh, are you married?”

“Taylor. Marriage is a cisgender institution created to be governed by the state and to be withheld from those identified by these supremacist institutions, not only to marginalize them from their fascistic conceptions of normalcy but to enact invisible passive violence to those not born as white hetero able bodied men,” Lena stated.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry. I...I didn’t know, just. So many new changes.”

“No, no, no, no. It’s okay. You are learning. That’s why I, moi, am here: to educate. But you have to put in your own work. It is your responsibility. Believe me, I will correct you, I can take it, but, remember, next time you may be doing someone serious, even violent harm.”

“Oh. I will. Wow. Please. Do go on. Um, would you like some more coffee?” Taylor asked, gesturing toward the table.

“Oh, no thank you. Of course, now where was I?” Lena said, sucking her teeth. “As you know, we don’t assign gender, but the sex was male. A tiny, little penis. I healed very well, of course. The O-B-G-Y-N even commented on it. When zi was a little older, around three, Eron chose zer name, which I was hesitant about with the ‘-on’ at the end being more masculine, but, like my partner reminded me in all her infinite wisdom, it was zer choice. The only problem really ever came when zi was around four or five, much like your little boy,” she squinted. “I would like some more coffee, please, with sugar?”

“Of course. Oh, my god. Yes, it has been just an absolute mess,”Taylor said, waving her hand frantically as she walked to the table. “Four years of hell. I mean, he doesn’t even want to listen sometimes. They say rambunctious, but I think destructive is more appropriate. Malevolent, even?”

“Exactly! That is exactly how it was. Telling me ‘No’. Saying I am not his boss. Running around...getting into fights. For almost a month, zi was like that. Assertive, aggressive, malicious,” she paused to accept the coffee. “So we did what I think everyone should, we consulted the experts. Eventually, and it took a little bit to find a solution that really made sense to me, but one of them, a true pioneer on the absolute, cutting edge of gender theory (pronouns: they/them), and they pointed out that while gender is a spectrum, sex is a binary. Binary, as you know, means two.”

Taylor nodded enthusiastically..

“So, some would call their ideas too radical, but I say radical ideas change the future, right? And you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,” Lena sipped her coffee before continuing. “So, back to the binary. No matter the sex and gender expression, we know we want to avoid the child going to the far side of the male, which you, of course, agree with.”

“Oh, of course. Yes, please continue,” Taylor nodded.

“So, there are two testicles; a binary. Their theory is, and this is brilliant, that by removing one of zer testicles, it would actually instill zer with a true bio-psychological binary and give zer a real choice! There is actually a way to free male children from the tyranny of testosterone and give them a chance to escape biological determinism! Of course, those are the theorist’s words, but as I also like to say, we gave Eron the option to have an option. After that, we discussed the procedures with some specialists, flew them in and the rest, as they say, is history. Zi healed quickly, and life has been mostly peaceful ever since. So, overall, being a birthing person has been a really pleasant experience other than that couple months or so of aggression,” she shrugged.

Taylor sat in silence, chewing her lip.

“There is government sponsorship,” Lena offered.

“You know what, let’s do it.”

“What? Oh, wow. Yes!”

----

“Just tell me, why does he have to be so aggressive, Paul?” she pleaded, phone in hand, legs curled up on the sofa.

“He doesn’t, honey. He didn’t do anything. It’s just testosterone. They were trying to take his friend’s toy. That’s kind of a good thing that he stood up for his friend, don’t you think?” Paul said, putting on his jacket. She looked cute in her oversized alum sweatshirt.

“No, I don’t. Not at all. That little friend isn’t even going to be around. Don’t you get it? I am trying to give my son a future,” Taylor insisted, throwing the phone down.

“He is our son, first of all.”

“Paul, he is going to end up in prison, or not get into college, and never have friends or a future. And not in that order. It is a slippery slope, and he is gaining speed!”

“What the?” Paul laughed. “No, he is not. He got into a scrap with a kid. It’s testosterone. That’s it. It’s okay,” he said, massaging her shoulder and kissing her cheek.

“We have to do something drastic. I’m going to do something drastic.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I am going to see a doctor about this. Lena recommended me to one”

“He doesn’t need a doctor. The one with the tranny- or the lesbian?”

“Excuse you. That is wrong. That child, those children have been through enough.”

“God dam...okay, you know what, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Babe, you have to do better.”

“You know what, you’re right. Do what you think is best.”

“I already made the appointment. Lena helped me fast track everything. They can squeeze me in on Friday morning. We will be home by the afternoon. Can you come?”

“Eh, I’d love to , but I have the first round of that tournament tonight and the second round is Thursday night, with big meetings every morning this week.

“But Paul, this is important.”

You know what? I can take Addison to school though. That would be helpful, right? And I’ll call you and Asher after the meeting. You got this. I believe in you, ya know.”

“Thank you for your support.”

Hey, we’re in this together. We do what is right for Asher. To help him. That doesn’t change. Right?”

“I’m worried you’ll forget,” she pouted.

“Just email me all the info that morning of the doctor, okay? Otherwise, I probably will.”

“K. Hey, have you ever thought of getting pegged?”

“What? No. Can I fuck you in the ass?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Paul! It’s disgusting. Speak to me like we did with the therapist.”

“God dam...you know what…I’m sorry. I love you and Asher and Addison very much. Okay, I believe in you, and I believe in us. I trust you. And, no, I’m not getting pegged, not now or ever.” he said, kissing her forehead goodbye.

“We’ll see.”

“No, we won’t. Love you.” he hollered, the door closing behind him.

“Love you.” she yelled back, feeling better.

----

The rocket shaped night-light glowed its soft orange.

“And so, basically, you have two things inside of you, and they’re making the boy part waaaaay too strong, you see? So, the doctor says they have a way to take away some of the boy parts, and that is what they will do tomorrow.”

“But I want to be strong. I like the boy part,” he said from his bed with a nod.

“You like boys?”

“I said I like the boy part.”

“Yes, so do I, but the boy part will hurt you if we let it get too strong. It can even hurt other people.”

“Dinosaurs are strong, and the meat-eaters they would hurt people for sure.” he exclaimed, sitting up in his excitement.

“Yes, they would. They’re called carnivores. You don’t want to hurt other people, do you?”

“Sometimes, but only when they take my toys.”

“You see? That’s why,” she said, pushing him back down.

“But I don’t actually want to hurt them, Mom, I just want my toys back.”

“Yes, but someday you will want to hurt them. That’s what boys do,” she assured him, pulling the covers tight on his neck.

“That’s what Daddy does?”

“No, of course not.”

“But, you said.”

“Daddy is a man.”

“But we’re both boys,” he insisted.

“No. Daddy is a nice man, and the doctor is going to help you be a nice man someday. Not one of those mean, nasty men.”

“Will I still be a boy?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Yeah. It’s better than being a girl.”

“No, it isn’t. Why would you say that?”

“Oh, you know,” Asher shrugged. “Cuz I just like to play in dirt and playing some ball, and girls like other stuff I don’t like.”

“Well, that is very mean of you. You are wrong for that. Maybe the surgery will help you like girl stuff more. I think you’d look cute in a dress.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“But you will. Be quiet, Asher. You will be fine. You’ll feel better after the doctor tomorrow, honey. Now, go to sleep.”

“I want Daddy,” he cried.

"Well, he’s not here right now, is he?”

“I want my Daddy!”

“Go to sleep. Now! Right now!” she yelled.

And the little boy did as he was told, because he wanted to make his mom happy, and he did not want to see her angry face. It was scary and confusing, so he rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head, forgetting, for a moment, that he was scared of the dark, and hoped that when he woke up he wouldn’t feel so sad.

Taylor glared at the little body under the dinosaur blanket, her disgust softened by a ping of pity, a small remembrance that he was just a little boy, her little boy. She had carried him. Nine months of knowing her baby before anyone else. He was just a baby for fuck sake. No, but, no. He would turn into an adult, a man. He wouldn’t be a baby forever. He didn’t act like a baby anymore either. She did not want that for him. Like that doctor had said, with two testicles, how could he ever have a chance, much less a choice against all that aggression, all that toxicity? It’s better this way.

When Paul stumbled home drunk that night, she lifted her night-shirt and tugged on his cock, and he breathed hop-flavored breath on her with every half-limp thrust, and she wished he would choke her or bury her face into the pillow so she could scream everything away, but it, and he, never came. He rolled over, tucking her in with mumbled apologies, and she took a Xanax and lay in the dark, hoping that when she woke up she wouldn’t feel so sad.

----

Inevitably, morning came. She made sure to have her cup of coffee, and let Asher sleep in a bit. Paul kissed her goodbye and took Addison to school.

She was nervous, but she knew she had to be brave and that things would be better soon.

“Good morning, honey,” she announced, pulling back the curtains.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He went to work. He’ll be back tonight though.”

“Where’s Addison?”

“Daddy took her to school,” she said, trying to be pleasant.

“Mommy?” he asked, pulling the covers over his head.

“Yes?” she asked, pulling the covers off him.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Jesus, can you at least say ‘Good morning, Mommy’ before arguing with me?”

“But I’m scared, Mom!” he wailed.

“Oh my God. There is nothing to be afraid of. Listen, let’s get you ready and I can tell you all about it in the car, okay? Come on. Now.”

She hurried him through his routine before he could give any further argument or resistance, provided him his favorite breakfast--buttered toast with strawberry jelly--and whisked him into the car without a word.

It was a bright day with a blue sky, but the white clouds were beginning to gray. Asher gazed out the window, practicing animal shapes, never turning his head when he spoke.

“You said you would tell me about the doctor.”

“Oh, honey, they are so nice. They care about you so much, and they want to help you. And you know Lena, Eron’s mom, she will be there to support us. Eron did this same thing.”

“I don’t like Eron. He’s weird and cries a lot.”

“She, i mean zi, not he.”

“Is the doctor going to make me cry?”

“There is nothing wrong with crying, but no. They will give you some medicine, and it will make you super sleepy and you will go to sleep and wake up and Mommy will be right there. I will never leave your side,” she assured him.

“What happens when I wake up?”

“You might feel a little drowsy, and then we’ll come home.”

“Drowsy like cloudy? That’s it?”

“Yep,” she smiled. “And then you won’t have so much trouble listening to Mommy and following the rules. Life will be much easier and better.”

“Will that make you happy?”

“Yes, honey. I will be thrilled.”

“Mom, I’m glad you will be happy, but I’m really sad.”

“Well, maybe you won’t be when you wake up. Ah, here we are. We’re here!”

Even after their talk, Asher still didn’t want to go in. She thought he was over it, but he kept yelling ‘No! No! No!’ in the parking lot, and she had to actually pull him up by his arm, and he just kept jerking backwards until she let him fall backwards onto the pavement.

“You see! This is why you’re going to the doctor!” she hissed, looking around making sure no one saw. Thankfully, he stopped resisting and stood up. He cried all the way in while holding her hand.

The building was an old urgent care facility. It was quite small, but the clinic’s professionalism was made immediately obvious in how they had made sure to consider the psychological states of the mothers and their patients. Forest greens outlined in soft yellows and browns undulated on the walls soothing the waiting section with their reminder of nature and birth, the chairs were plush and wide enough to curl up in, while little pink, blue and white squares excitedly checkered the floor of the children’s play corner.

It was a simple operation: the lobby, a door that led to the pre-op waiting room where there was a gurney and two chairs. Adjacent to that was a dividing wall with another curtain which could be drawn around all the necessary, standard medical equipment stored, and next to that was the surgical unit. Clinical. Efficient. Professional.

They were the only ones present when one of the nurses took Asher and Taylor back to the pre-op room. He shrunk from the gaze behind her mask, but she asked him if he knew the colors on it, which he did: R.OY.G.B.I.V.

Lena came in with the doctor and a nurse and introduced everyone. They were a small staff with a receptionist, surgeon, anesthesiologist and two nurses. Asher, who was now laying on the gurney in his medical gown, turned toward the wall and stayed quiet.

“Please excuse his behavior. He didn’t sleep very well last night,” Taylor explained. “Too excited.”

“I’m sure. Not to worry. That is a common response for both adults and children,” the surgeon explained, while a nurse prepped the IV. “Don’t you worry, buddy. Those butterflies in your stomach just mean that you’re excited, not scared.”

“And, mom, we have had trouble with kids becoming hysterical in the past, making IVs a bit of a hassle, so we’ll give him a very mild sedative, then tie him off, find his vein, the anesthesiologist will finish putting him under in the operating room, and then we are off to the races. Just a little poke, little one,” the nurse assured the boy, administering the injection. He checked Asher’s pulse as the little boy’s shoulders began to sag, his breathing becoming more and more shallow as he slipped off into darkness.

“Now that that’s taken care of, do you have a preference for which testicle is removed?” the doctor asked as the nurse finished Asher’s IV.

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought about it. Do you have any suggestions, Lena?”

“Well, we know that the left brain is more male, more rational and logical, and that the right more female and creative, so I had Eron’s left removed.”

“That makes sense. Let’s do that.”

“Absolutely, we can do that. I do want to clarify that there is no definitive data yet on the changes to behavior in relation to which testicle is removed, but there is some very interesting research coming out of Sweden toward that end. So, we would like to send you home with a questionnaire that might help us contribute to those findings. We really do thank you for participating in this. As you know, it’s still experimental, but you and your children will help us really turn it into a hard science. You all are pioneers.”

“Oh, of course, I am so glad to help,” Taylor replied. “I did just have this thought, so I wanted to at least ask. He really likes sports type stuff, is it possible that you could take half of each, so that his male part won’t be too affected?”

“Um, I’m sorry. That is not possible at this time,” the doctor said. “But maybe in the future?”

“Okay. Sure. No problem.”

“Alright, well, we are going to get prepped right next door. We’ll have you all go to the lobby and we will talk to you soon,” the doctor said, swooshing the curtain open.

“Thank you doctor,” Taylor stated.

Asher appeared so weak lying there on the table, and Taylor found disdain for him growing with every moment she looked at him.

“Can I ask you a question? Kind of a messed up one?” she asked, turning to Lena as they walked out of the room.

“Of course. Anything.”

“Do you think I will like him when all of this is over? Like feel love again?”

Lena paused.

“Taylor, you listen to me right now. Everything is okay, and, literally, everything will be better. You will not be leaving here the same person. That is a good thing. Your son will not be leaving here the same person. That is a great thing. Who knows maybe he’ll even become your daughter?” she smiled, squeezing her hand with encouragement.

“He made me so mad today. He felt so nervous, and he was so upset. Do you think he’s depressed, anxious maybe?”

“That is not my area of expertise, but I can recommend you to an expert,” Lena said, opening the door to the lobby.

“AIIIEEEE!”

The war cry pierced the air just ahead of a beer-stained tomahawk that came twirling through the air, striking Lena’s forehead, wedging itself between her eyes. She dropped where she stood, the ax dislodging as her head cracked against the floor.

Paul hurtled into the room, followed closely by his beer buddies, Sam and Carson, who dragged the secretary in behind them. They whooped as they slashed the throats of each nurse, blood spilling over the men’s duck shoes and mountaineer rugged khaki pants. They ripped open their red and black plaid shirts before tearing back the curtains and hacking the surgeon and anesthesiologist down. Their blue scrubs transformed to violet.

Taylor watched aghast before falling, shaking, to her knees. Paul kneeled in front of her, and, looking straight into her eyes, dipped his beard in the pool of Lena’s blood before sponging it across his face.

“Well, that’s unsanitary!” he bellowed.

His war-band howled their adulation as they finished scalping the doctors.

He stood, wringing the blood from his beard over Taylor’s head.

“I got your email. Crazy bitch.”

She sobbed and bowed her head, out of shame or prayer or gratitude, he didn’t know. He looked at his son there on the table at the precipice of medically induced oblivion. He was small and beautiful and a child and nothing would harm him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he buried the tomahawk in the back of his wife’s head and scooped up his son. Grunting to Sam and Carson, the war party walked out of the building and on toward the mini-van.

“B-brother!” Addison squealed happily.

“Yes, Addison. He is still your brother. And he always will be,” Paul reassured her, buckling Asher into his seat.

“Man, I just don’t know if we should have left her unattended,” Carson fretted.

“We had the air on, dude,” Sam said.

“Yeah, but what if someone had stolen the car?”

“I mean, I know it was irresponsible…but yolo, right?.”

“But if it didn’t work? What if we hadn’t made it out?”

“Holy shit dude. That’s why we did it, bro! Burn the bridges. Cross the fucking Rubicon!”

“Silence! My son awakens,” Paul cried.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, buddy. I’m here. And Addison. And Uncle Sam and Uncle Carson.”

“Where’s Mommy?” Asher said, rubbing his eyes.

“Eh, probably somewhere.”

“Why is your faces all red?”

“Daddy and his friends got into a fight with a jelly sammich.” Paul laughed.

“What! A jelly sandwich? Daddy, what are you talking about? Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure. Daddy is drunk right now, like absolutely hammered. The brewery released a new IPA, super high ABV and an even higher IBU to boot. Anyways, Uncle Sam and Uncle Carson are shitfaced too. We’re going to need you to drive.”

“Drive!? I can’t drive. I’m four years old,” Asher confirmed, showing four with his counting fingers.

Paul chortled.

“Well then, I guess we’ll have to figure something out, wont we?”

Follow P.C.M. on Twitter: @plzcallmechrist