It didn't make any sense that I was the only one that heard the whole story over the radio. We were riding in a dusty pickup truck, not too fast but fast. The garbage in the load was swirling around like a man made storm.
"What Happened?"
I reiterated the story as simply as possible while flying over one of Ontario's mini hills:
"A woman went into pregnancy, things got complicated, they brought a chopper to take her to hospital: a pilot and a co-pilot. She gave birth in flight, the co-pilot delivered it. Then something went wrong with the chopper. They crashed into the forrest. The two pilots, the mother and the baby died. Everyone.
My brother in shotgun muttered: "Pushed out and pushed right back in"
I giggled: an unfortunate chuck of chuckle.
But he put it so right.
I loved the exactitude of his memorial.
I apologized immediately.
Not to him or anyone in the pick-up.
It was possibly the sadist story I'v'ever heard:
A crash of fatalism.
Pushed out and pushed right back in.
If only he knew what he caused. He didn't.
And maybe he coughed up a chuckle with a clot of blood
And his first thought was WOW.
Most likely his first thought was HOW DO I BREATH!?
and then hopefully, WOW.
There was poise in the pilot.
The mother was breathing in breathes she'd lost screaming.
The co-pilot was in awe: "I've never delivered a baby."
His helmeted head was mis-weighted the same as the baby's.
Everything was gurgling, sputtering, and screaming.
"He we go!" The pilot yelled to the back.
The co-pilot softly: "Are you ready for this little guy?"
cg
