She’s in the waiting room when I arrive. I touch her shoulder. “Okay?” She nods.
In the dark examination room, a technician spreads jelly on her abdomen. Rocking the wand to and fro, white shapes bloom on black screens. The tech sings, “There’s baby!” Her arrow clicks several points, taking measurements. Skull, spine, legs. Cursors flutter, numbers appear.
My wife winces, studying the screen for something unknowable. The tech exits.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. She points: an empty box inside a table of numbers.
“That one’s blank.”
Unhurried, the doctor enters. “Hey, everybody.” She sits on a stool, sighs. “So.”
D. Brody Lipton studied creative writing and education at Sarah Lawrence College and Boston University. His stories have appeared in Spelk, Twist in Time, Literary Mama, CommuterLit, Aftermath Magazine, and Alternative Truths. He teaches in Houston, TX, where he lives with his spouse and two children. Twitter: @mrlipto.
The Centifictionist 
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