Excerpt
The consultation room door open. In walked white coat number two. Doctor Smith was not as kind looking as Betty, the sonographer. Her jet black hair was tightly pulled back giving her face a taut restrictive texture. If she was to smile her face might crack and bleed.
“Hello Mrs. Williams.” Dr. Smith said dryly to Sara.
Ann stood to introduce herself. Smith brushed past her, taking a seat behind her desk. Clip board in her cold fingers, she flipped through Sara’s file, silently making notes. A few minutes past in muted dialogue. Finally Dr. Smith began.
“Mrs. Williams, according to your file and based on your socioeconomic status and background check, your family qualifies for package 72B: Subtopia Station” she said pertinently. Sara and Ann blankly stared back. Smith recognized the confusion and reached for manual titled All aboard Subtopia Station.
“Here is a complete list of possible options under that specific plan. Have you contemplated your baby’s future, Mrs. Williams?”
Sara gulped. Ann took the manual of man making from Smith’s clawed fingers.
“I’ve been thinking about the eye color and hair color.” Picking up the fashion magazine, Sarah turned to glossy page forty-three; an ad for alternative hair color, “Break out of your shell” the strawberry blonde sassy chic exclaimed. “I like this color. It reminds of Mom.” Sara showed the picture to Ann and Dr. Smith.
Ann nodded her head and tenderly placed her hand on Sara’s arm.
Smith shook her head and rolled her eyes away from the sentimental scene.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Williams, package number 72B doesn’t include the option for a color such as that. And your insurance doesn’t cover it. Here…” she opened up the handbook “these are the fabulous options available to you.”
Sara’s brow lowered. Her eyes examined the pages of hair samples; three inch strands in ten different shades of blonde. Sandy Beach. Pale Platinum. Honey Golden. Lemon Aide. Sara tilted her head and closed the book. Ann sensed discontent. Sara fingered her small plastic wedding photo, trying to find strength in the flimsy moist material.
“I would like my child to have my husband’s eyes.” Her eyes lingered on the photo. “He’s got such a nice color. Like the sea”.
Smith sat back in her chair. She silently amused her power. “Yes, that should be fine. Now, let’s discuss the other options.” Smith shifted her plasma computer screen towards both girls. Numbers, statistics, three tiered diagrams and gene jargon confused the image. Smith began to decipher and decode. “Here your chart shows, after blood work, that your husband is a carrier of Cystic Fibrosis. I’m actually quite surprised it wasn’t caught sooner. But we shall take care of it. After eradicating a few issues your baby will have a clean bill of health.” Smith typed in a few keys and the next screen appeared. Sarah smiled and sighed. Relief.
“Next, we have the physical selection.” Smith reopened the Subtopia Station catalogue. “Have we decided on hair color yet?”
“Well, I think the Honey Golden is pretty.” Sara looked to Ann for approval.
Ann nodded and yawned.
“All righty” Smith punched in more keys “Your female package also includes average height of five foot three inches to five foot five inches. And athleticism, good posture and small feet. If you’re interested in an upgrade, we can instill a lower sleep mode.”
“Sleep mode?”
“Yes, it allows your fetus the ability to survive and function on as little as three to four hours of sleep. The capability will take affect during her puberty years.”
Ann awed. She let out a laugh. “I wish I had that capacity!”
Smith nodded her head in agreement and a small smile crept out from her stony persona.
“Is that covered by insurance?” Sara asked.
“I’m afraid not. And it’s slightly pricey. But if you like, I can give you literature on funding and loans offered for specific upgrades. Certain corporations are willing to fund the sleep mode option in exchange for guaranteed employment.” Smith proposed.
Sara nodded, slightly interested.
“Good. Next…” the screen shifted again showing the final stage of selections. “Lastly we have mental. Your package provides motivation, discipline, capacity for reasoning, math skills and reading comprehension.”
“Oh, maybe baby girl will be an astrophysicist someday! Or even a poet!” Sara said dreamingly.
Smith smirked, mocking Sara’s naivety and hopes. “Of course, gene therapy does not guarantee future occupations. The doctors do their part and parents must also do theirs. As an expecting mother, you must follow the prescribe diet and pre-natal vitamin intake. After the child is born, it is up to you and your husband to provide the correct environment and encoding.”
“I understand.” Sara replied earnestly, making a vow to her unborn baby and to society. Sara pulled the manual in for a closer look. She sifted through the pages, searching and reflecting on her future baby girl’s personality.
“Sociability and etiquette are also included” Smith offered.
Ann snickered and sighed silently. Building a super human. Important traits include small talk bullshitting and folding napkin in lap. Pathetic and sad.
Sara thumbed through the index quickly. Rummaging through qualities, some of which she adored and some she which she thought totally irrelevant.
“What about creativity? Artistic ability?” Sara wondered.
“All young ladies are given the talent of needle point and watercolor.” Smith replied questioning.
“But…I don’t know. Ann, remember how Mom was so imaginative? I’d love for baby girl to have the same ability.”
Ann nodded. “Her vision went beyond water color pastels and crochet.”
“Mrs. Williams…”
Ann interrupted, intuiting what was to be said. “Why not leave it up to fate, Sara? Let nature bestow the family creativity. Mom didn’t get her talent from a test tube.”
Smith cleared her throat in objection. “Mrs. Williams, its time to validate confidentiality. Ann, my assistant will escort you to the waiting room,” she said sternly.
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