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