Through Grey Eyes: Fifty Shades of Fatherhood

Stuck

Lightning strikes outside the window as we sit in the SUV, stalled in a massive traffic jam. Horns honk. Some idiot is yelling at a bus like he thinks it will answer him back. The speakers in the car next to us blast the same country song over and over again like water torture. I get it, he's not coming back because he's a restless whiskey drinking wanderer. Jesus, it's like the whole fucking world saw the rain pounding down and thought it would be fun to clog the streets and go for a storm chasing joyride, maybe getting into an accident or two along the way to really make things exciting. But, I don't need anymore excitement for one night! There's enough excitement pulsing through my veins to light CenturyLink Field.

"I don't care what the fuck you have to do. I need to get my wife up in the air and to the hospital!" Ana's tucked around me on the back seat as I yell into my phone.

"Maybe you should look into alternate means of transportation," says a punk air traffic control officer with the pompous lisp of some inbred 16th century royal on the other end of the line. Who the fuck is this kid? He sounds twenty-two, wet. How is he responsible for who or what goes up in the air? He doesn't sound like he'd be responsible enough to sort out deliveries of pizzas to multiple addresses.

"Other means?" I run my free hand through my hair and pull. "The hospital is in Seattle! We're in Portland! The roads are closed! What do you suggest we do, fucking click our ruby red slippers together and think of no place like home?" I would gladly kick his ass all the way down the yellow brick road if I thought the Wizard could replace the shit between his ears with brains.

"I don't appreciate your tone or language." Is he scolding me? Oh, he doesn't know who he's dealing with. Nobody does that, but Ana.

"Christian!" She clutches her belly and moans. Fuck, another contraction.

"I don't appreciate you as a human being!" I hold Ana closer, trying to comfort her, as I tell this kid where to sit and spin. It takes ambidextrous skill and coordination to softly stroke the hair of your broken watered wife with your right hand, while the left clenches with venomous rage around the phone in the hopes that it will strangle the person on the other end. "And I know that you'll be out of a job if you fuck with me! I'm tight with government officials."

"Is that a threat? Because this call is being recorded."

"For quality assurance and you are no one of quality, of that I am assured!"

"This tape could easily be slipped to various news outlets."

"Good! Then it will be broadcast all over creation what a fucked up shit head you are and you'll be fired, so I won't have to resort to other measures." Where does this kid get off? Nowhere, I'm sure. Even Friday night dates with his hand are a disappointment.

"Is that another threat?"

"Yes! Don't shut your eyes too tight at night! I'm coming for you."

I hang up on him.

"Christian, you shouldn't threaten people with bodily harm," Ana says, as her pain subsides.

"That was nothing. It's what I do." I shrug it off and she snorts a laugh. "Taylor," I yell out to him as he drives, or rather sits behind the wheel watching the parking lot ahead of us like it might suddenly start moving and he has to be on his racing game. He turns his head to me, expectantly. "Get someone who's at least hit puberty on the phone and garner me some 'yes' answers!"

"To which questions, sir?"

"The ones that will get us up in the air the fastest!" He nods his head and picks up his cell.

"Don't get so upset," Ana says, curled in my lap as I gently rub her belly. I've come to do this of late. Its comforting, like my own personal Buddha belly bringing me to a place of zen. I'll miss it when it's gone. Perhaps I'll have to knock her up again. Don't go there, Grey!