Ben to the Rescue

    At the Cornstalk Fire Station Ben received an emergency call about a woman in labor. He climbed behind the wheel of an ambulance and turned the key. The radio came on. “Ben, I have more information about the pregnant woman,” the dispatcher said. “She’s at that old house on the east side of Krystal Lake. You know the one. It’s on the north side of the New Wave Salon."  Ben turned on the siren and drove into rush-hour traffic. “Did you get her name? Will we be dealing with a premature infant?”

    “I don’t know, sir. It was Tasha Brown who called. She hung up when I started asking questions. When I called her back she didn’t answer.”

    “Lord Jesus!” Ben said to the EMT sitting on the passenger’s side. “What if it’s Tasha having a baby, my baby?”  

    “Hey man,” the EMT said. “How long has it been since you got laid? I can’t believe you’ve still got the hots for her.” 

    Ben refused to discuss it. After being without Tasha for some time he didn’t want to admit to himself that he still cared for her, and he certainly couldn’t stand the thought of Tasha sleeping with another man. Even if she was having sex with someone else, what right did he have to be jealous? After all, when she broke up with him, she wanted more, he less. She longed for marriage, he craved freedom. She desired kids, he didn’t. 

    While driving out of town a gust of wind blew heavy rain against his windshield. He gripped the wheel and turned on the windshield wipers. As the blades swept back and forth Ben again wondered if Tasha was having his baby. If so, would he marry her? Would he want to? Would he do it just to give the child his name? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know. It had been months since their breakup, nine lonely months without sex.   

    As he followed Lakeshore Drive along the lakefront he forced himself to forget about his personal life. Past Stormy’s lakeside beauty salon and Tasha’s cottage he pulled into the next driveway and parked. He hopped out in the pouring rain with his medical bag and shouted at the EMT to grab the stretcher.  

    Screams came from inside the house.

    Ben ran to the roadside entrance and charged through the back door, into the hot house that smelled musty and old. From somewhere upstairs he heard more screaming. He bolted up a flight of steps to the second floor. Running aimlessly down a hallway he glanced in several vacant rooms. Finding the right one, he went inside. 

    Tasha was kneeling at the foot of a four-poster bed, her back to him.      

    “Push!” she said, giving orders to the redheaded woman lying on bloody sheets, her legs spread, her face dripping with perspiration.

    Ben knelt beside Tasha and opened his medical bag.   

    “Come on, you can do it!” Tasha coached. “Bare down one more time!”

    The young woman pushed; her flushed face wrinkled in pain.

    “That’s it,” Tasha shouted. “Push harder, Goldie. It’s coming.” 

    As Ben pulled on rubber gloves the baby’s head crowned. “I’ll take over,” he said, relieved the baby wasn’t his, yet disappointed Tasha wasn’t having his baby.        

    “Not on your life!” Tasha said firmly, as the infant’s head and body slid out into Tasha’s open palms.   

    As it kicked and screamed Ben compared it to his own race. Unlike curly hair on black babies, this child’s blond hair was straight, its white skin so fair it looked sunburned. “She’s so tiny,” Ben said, unable to think of anything else to say, wondering what it would be like to hold his own baby in his arms. 

    Goldie lifted her head from the pillow and looked between her legs at Ben and Tasha. “Is it a boy or girl?” 

    “A girl,” Ben said, guessing the infant weighed no more than six pounds. "Lucky for you, you don’t need stitches.”

    After Ben cut the cord Tasha wrapped the infant in a baby blanket and handed her to Goldie. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Tasha smiled.   

    Without answering Goldie peeked inside the blanket and burst into tears. As she cried Ben cleaned up the afterbirth and put it in a bucket. When finished he left the room with the bucket and headed downstairs. Partway down the steps he thought he heard Tasha’s footsteps echoing behind him. He wanted to stop and turn around, tell her he was sorry for dirty dancing with another woman on the dance floor months ago, but what could he say that hadn’t already been said? 

     Outside in the front yard Tasha yelled, “Ben, wait up! I need to talk with you.”

    He turned and stared at her with hungry eyes. As a warm breeze tossed her springy hair a familiar scent came his way. She was so beautiful, even sensuous in her yellow sundress splattered with blood. Burning with desire for her he swallowed hard. He longed to wrap his arms around her and kiss her deeply.  

    “Ben, I’ve been thinking, and...”

    “Me too,” he croaked out in a hoarse voice, his heart pounding.   

    “I think it best Goldie stay here. She doesn’t have medical insurance and can’t afford a hospital bill.”

    Ben pushed his dreadlocks from his face. He couldn’t speak. It wasn’t at all what he had expected her to say. Maybe he should tell her he still cared for her, that he was thinking about seeing her again. 

    She said, “I know taking Goldie upstairs when her labor started was a risky decision, however a necessary one.

    “You always were impulsive," Ben said.

    Tasha stepped closer and gently touched his arm. “I know it’s bold of me to ask you to leave Goldie here, but if you take her in the ambulance, she may never see her baby again.”   

    Ben stepped back as if her touch had burned him. “What are you talking about? It’s her infant.”

    “Yes, yes, of course, but Goldie was only released this morning from Huntersville Prison.”

    “Prison! What the hell’s going on? When you called the fire station I thought it was you having a baby.”

    Tasha’s mouth fell open. “What? You thought I was pregnant with someone else’s baby? I’m not a slut!”

    Ben swallowed hard, his eyes searching her troubled ones. He stammered, “No... I thought... I mean... I thought it was...”

    “Whatever it is you’re trying to say, it’s Goldie I’m worried about. While in prison she signed adoption papers. If you take her to Cornstalk Hospital, they’ll be social workers all over the place.”

    Ben’s shoulders stiffened. “What have you gotten yourself into this time? What right do you have to decide whether she gives the baby away?”

    “I don’t, but she can keep the child if she stays here.”

    Ben glanced at the shabby house in need of new shingles and a good paint job. “You want her to live in that dump? It should be burned to the ground!” 

    “I can’t believe we’re arguing over this. Stop being a fireman and listen to me. It’s not that bad! There’s a bed, clothes, and stuff for the baby. What more does Goldie need?”

    “Food for starters. And how about a job? She’ll need an income.”

    “She can apply for food stamps and earn her keep by painting and wallpapering the place.”

    “What the hell’s going on?”

    “I bought this place for a halfway house.”

    “My God, Tasha, that’s a big responsibility. You’ll be dealing with alcoholics, drug addicts and thieves. They could steal you blind.”

    “I won’t accept just anyone getting out of prison; only those who want to change and I think Goldie really wants to do that. Did you see the way she looked at her baby? It’s that child who will change her life, even if she didn’t want it when pregnant.”

    “You’re meddling.”

    “So what! My mother and a social worker manipulated me into giving away my baby when I was only sixteen. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t missed him. I still regret giving him away, even though he was a rape baby.”

    “But you were only a child.”

    “Yes, but Goldie isn’t. She’s a twenty-one-year-old mother.”