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SAMANTHA75
Miguel and Stephanie looked down at their infant child. A girl, a
healthy baby girl. They looked at each other as if to say, We did it.
“Childbirth is nothing amazingI see it twenty times a day in here,”
Dr. Livinson said. “Most of the time, it’s the result of a tragic
accident.” The parents could not hear him, as he stood behind a
soundproof glass window. A moment passed before he entered the room.
Amidst a sea of incubating children, Dr. Livinson met the proud new
parents at the bedside of a newborn baby girl. The kids all looked
the same to him, but common courtesy dictated a lack of impartiality.
“My, that may be one of the most beautiful little girls we’ve had in
here,” he said. “What a little angel!”
“Thank you,” the father said, oblivious to the doctor’s sarcasm. “We
worked hard on him.” He winked at his wife. She giggled like a
schoolgirl; vomit pressed upward in the doctor’s chest cavity. Just
wait until you haven’t slept for six months. You’ll never feel like
doing it again, Dr. Livinson thought.
The cry of a lonely child shattered the silence. Stephanie looked at
her husband in horror, with a look that said, That could have been
our child—crying! Their daughter, however, was asleep in her incubator.
“Has our application been approved yet?” Stephanie asked the doctor.
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you. There was an error on
the original forms that you filled out,” Dr. Livinson raised a
clipboard to his chest and shuffled a batch of papers like cards,
hypnotizing the couple. “A clerical error…but…Ah-hah! Here it is,
boys and girls.” He handed the page handed over to Miguel, who
glanced it over, turned it over, and turned it over again.
And glanced it over, and glanced it over again. Two more turns, one
more glance.
“Are you serious?” Miguel asked.
“Unfortunately, your first choice of name was not available. We were
able to offer some variations on the theme, so to speak,” the doctor
said.
“’Samantha-Seventy-Five?’” Miguel said. “What kind of sick joke is
this?”
“That’s just one suggestion. I’m sure it’s not the best, but it has a
nice ring to it.”
The parents looked over the list of suggestions: “Samantha_055,”
“Sammantha08, “Sammy145,” etc. At the bottom of the form, printed in
optimistic capital letters, sat the following advertisement: “FOR
MORE NAMES, PLEASE VISIT OUR WEBSITE 24 HOURS A DAY, AT...”
“Why can’t we have Samantha? I don’t see what’s so wrong with that that was Steph’s grandmother’s name,” Miguel said.
“What you’ve got to realize is this is really about
individuality’Samantha-Seventy-Five’ is going to be far more
original and unique than ‘Samantha,’” the doctor said.
Stephanie was exasperated, showing the strain of eighteen hours of
childbirth. “But what about our last name? Doesn’t that count for
something, like set it apart from the rest?” she asked.
Everyone thinks they’re unique and special, and wants to think that
they’re the only Samantha Schweenheimer out there. When you’re
dealing with just twenty-six characters, even a recombinatory
language can feel the stress of a billion native speakers. The doctor
looked at the ground and held his tongue.
Stephanie collapsed onto her daughter’s incubator in tears. Miguel
tried to put his hand on her shoulder to raise her, but was thrown
off. Dr. Livinson nodded at him, and bent down to speak with
Stephanie in the soothing tone of a television doctor or hostage
negotiator.
“Stephanie...” He put her left hand in his palms. “Stephanie,” he
began again, “I know what you’re feeling.” He paused to see if she
would explode on him, but she didn’t. “I have a son, too, and my
first choice wasn’t available, either. But Richard-Sixteen-Eighty-One
loves his nameit’s an identity that no one else out there has,
something that sets him apart in school. And when he goes on to
college one day, it’s going to distinguish him from Richard-Twenty- Five Livinson or
Richard-Underscore-Eleven Livinson. You have to be
strong, be creative. ‘Samantha’ would never be phonetically and
intellectually recognized in any legitimate court of law as your
daughter’s. You need to think about what she would want.”
Stephanie wiped the tears from her face with the sleeve of her
hospital gown. Dr. Livinson helped her to her feet. He let her go,
and she retreated into the arms of her husband. Miguel whispered
something into her ear. Sweet nothings. A declaration of love,
possibly. Her eyes lit up with hope.
“I think we’ve made a decision, Doctor,” Miguel said.
“I’m glad to hear that. Will you be going with ‘Samantha-Seventy- Five’ today? Or can I mark you down for
‘Samantha-Underbar-Zero-One?’”
“I think we’ll go with something of our own, actually,” Stephanie
said. “How does ‘Samantha-One-Three-Hyphen-Seven’ sound?”
The doctor was awestruck by the beauty of the name. Samantha13-7. If
he were ever to be blessed with a daughter, he was sure it would have
been in his top ten for sure. It nearly brought a tear to Dr.
Livinson’s eye, and moved him to break down the barrier between
health care provider and patient and embrace the Schweenheimers in an
uncharacteristic bearhug.
Samantha13-7. It was original. It was catchy. And it was,
unfortunately, already taken.
Andrew Shaffer Andrew Shaffer's speculative short stories have appeared in Mobius, MicroHorror,
Sputnik57, 55 Words, and Tales from the Moonlit Path. He is the recipient of several awards including
1st Runner-Up in Dark Recesses? 2006 Ghost Story contest. Andrew received his B.A. in English from
the University of Iowa. You can visit him online at Web Site.
Email: Andrew Shaffer
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