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September 27, 2002 triad "I'm pregnant." She was rubbing my bare back with Biotone oil.  I opened my eyes and, through the face opening, stared at the floor.  My massage therapist and I hadn't known each other long, but she made the announcement as if I were the father.  I wasn't, of course; that's just the way she spoke. I knew she was pregnant.  At the last session, I'd heard a sound so faint, so innocent, I thought it was my pulse.  Now I knew it was the baby's heartbeat, thumping through his mother's slippery fingers. He was floating in amniotic fluid.  I was covered in oil.  We had so much in common.  I strained to communicate with him. Thump... thump. There's nothing happening out here, I thought. "Did you say something?" she asked.

©  2002 by the beastmaster