Hmmm...I guess this the first time Fabulous F**king Fiction has dealt with something that could be construed as controversial.

A very long time ago, I wrote a story called 'The Kirby Baby'. Probably 1993 or 1994. But many computers and moves later I no longer had a copy of the story, either in electronic or physical form. So, I decided to rewrite it for FFF. But I didn't want to cheat so the setting and circumstances are completely different, with the general premise remaining.

From what I recall, this version is a fair bit more cynical than the original.

---

The Kirby Baby

Dane sits in the chair, fidgeting. It's a metal-framed chair with faded cloth upholstery, most likely from the eighties. He digs his cell phone from out of his backpack to check the time. Twenty minutes he's been waiting. He starts to stand up, sits down again.

The receptionist behind the counter doesn't spare him a glance. Too focused on her book of crossword puzzles.

Dane looks around at the six other people also sitting in the reception area; most are thumbing through magazines. One teenager is texting at a machine gun pace.

He stands up and walks over to the customer service counter. The receptionist scribbles a couple more words into her puzzle before acknowledging Dane.

"Hi," she says.

"Um. Hi," he responds, "Do you have any idea how much longer I'll be waiting?"

"Nope. But your name will be called when they're ready to see you."

"It's just that I'm not even sure why I'm here."

The receptionist stares at him without responding. Dane opens his bag, pulls out the registered letter he received a few days before and holds it up.

"They sent me this letter. It said I was to call this number," he points to the spot on the page, "and make an appointment."

The receptionist glances at her open crossword puzzle.

"So I called the number and they told me to be here today at ten in the morning."

"Your name will be called when they're ready to see you."

"But it's ten-fourty-five. And I don't even know why I was supposed to come down here. My girlfriend said it's probably about my taxes but-"

"We're not the Revenue Agency."

"Which department are you then? All the sign outside said was 'Government of Canada'."

She sighs. "We're a branch of Human Resources."

"But what do you do?"

"Listen, I'm just receptionist here. I can tell you what time your appointment was for, and I can tell you our fax number. For anything else, you're going to have to talk to one of the counsellors."

"Counsellors? Why does a counsellor-"

But he's cut off by someone calling his name.

---

The nurse stares into an empty corner of the room while she pumps the blood pressure testing machine. Dane tried smiling at her at first, and since then she's refused to make eye contact with him. The rubber armband contracts until there's a beep; then she looks at the display and notes the numbers down.

"I don't think we'll bother doing a blood test, but I'll need a urine sample."

She'd already weighed him, measured his height, taken his pulse and asked a list of questions similar to the ones they ask when you donate blood.

"Blood test? Why would you need to do a blood test?"

"We don't. I just told you that. But I'll need urine. You can take home the jar and then mail it in later."

"But why was a blood test an option in the first place?"

"It's standard, but optional."

"But I don't understand what's going on."

The nurse takes a deep breath, sighs and says to him, "You've never had a check up before?"

"I have, yeah, but why am I getting a checkup?"

"Standard procedure," she says, and then walks out of the room. Dane jump when the door bangs shut.

The room he's in doesn't look like a doctor's office. It doesn't have that vinyl bench they make you lie down on. It just looks like a generic office: metal desk, office chair, older-looking computer. There are a few posters on the wall; pictures of young, smiling, multi-racial people and "Government of Canada" in a round, cheerful font. There are piles of paper and manilla folders stacked on the desk, but nothing to personalize it. No photographs of children, figurines or even a Dilbert desk calendar.

Dane sits, trying to build up the courage to look through some of the files until someone opens the door. He turns around to see a man dressed in khakis and a polo shirt enter the room. He's a bit on the pudgy side and very middle-aged.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, "It's been a bit of a crazy day."

"Um. No worries."

He walks around and takes a seat on the other side of the desk, puts a file folder down on the desk and holds out his hand.

"I'm Steve," he says, as they shake. "Well I guess we better get started, Dan."

"Dane."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Dane, not Dan."

Steve opens the file and lifts a page closer to his face.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't see that E there."

He thumbs through the pages in the file and then looks up at Dane.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Questions? I don't even know why I'm here."

Steve blinks a couple of times and then says, "Excuse me?"

"I got a registered letter saying to show up here today and so I did. My girlfriend thought it had something to do with my taxes."

Steve closes his eyes, massages his temples with his thumbs for a few seconds, and then says, "Your parents didn't talk to you? Explain the situation?"

"Look. Just tell me what's going on. I'm missing classes for this."

"No one told you that you're a Kirby Baby?"

"What did you say?"

"Oh, right. That's not the politically correct term any longer. No one told you that you were a Schedule Seventeen Infant?" He makes air quotes as he says that.

"A what?"

The name Kirby sort of rung a bell for Dane. A very distance bell. What springs to mind is recess at his elementary school. Kids knocking each other down and calling each other names.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and chews on his lower lip.

"This really is the sort of thing we expect parents to go through with their kids," he exhales loudly. "But you turned eighteen yesterday so we've go to finish the paperwork."

"How about you tell me what a Kirby Baby is."

"Well, let me preface it by saying it was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time. They cancelled the program after a year, but parents who had already applied for the program were grandfathered."

---

Dane sits there, dizzy. He feels vaguely drunk, but without the self-confidence boost.

"So," Dane pauses. They've been through it a few times already but he can't help asking again, "My parents wanted to get an abortion? To abort me?"

"According to the case file they were both young. Probably still in university."

Dane nods absently, "My grandmother used to look after me everyday, while they finished their degrees. They married after. And abortion was illegal back then?"

"Well, strictly speaking, no. They were granted in some instances. But the Premier of Manitoba at the time, Martin Kirby tried to come up with a compromise on the issue."

Dane's hands are clasped in his lap, and shaking a bit. "So I have to decide, today-" he stops.

Steve finishes for him, "If you think the government should have allowed the abortion. The idea at the time was that the parents get input in the matter, sure, but what about the foetus? Err, the baby? The Kirby Plan was meant to acknowledge the unborn child as a stakeholder and give you a say. We have a questionnaire to help you evaluate things."

Steve removes a thick bundle of stapled pages from the folder and slides them across the desk.

"Sorry about all the paperwork. They were going to make the questionnaire available online, but since the Schedule Seventeen Program isn't ongoing, it was deemed low priority."

Dane thumbs through the booklet, skimming some of the questions.

He looks at Steve and says, "I have a steady girlfriend."

"Well that's good. That's very positive."

---

Dane massages his writing arm, feeling like he's just completed a final exam. It took him nearly an hour to answer all of the questions in the Schedule Seventeen Abortion Candidate Questionnaire (form 4987A). There were medical questions about both Dane and his parents. A long section called 'Economic Evaluation' regarding his employment and education histories. Dane had felt a certain amount of guilt over the fact that he was a psychology major but had a reasonable chance of failing his Research Methods course this semester. Steve had helpfully provided some data on psych grad employment rates and average starting salaries. He'd done no volunteer work, except for one Saturday of tree planting in grade nine. He'd written brief descriptions of his past romantic experiences. Dane had, to this point in his life, only had three real girlfriends and felt the questionnaire had been mocking him with its printed notice that he could request additional pages for this section, if needed.

"So that's it then? I'm all done?"

Steve, who was dozing in his chair, startles awake and says, "Hmm? Oh, just one more form to fill out."

He hands a single sheet of paper to Dane. It's an estimate of the total amount of money his parents spent raising him, factoring in not just expenses but lost income. $97,345.81 per year times 21 works out to $2,044,262.01. The amount Dane's parents will receive in compensation, should he decide that they should have been granted their abortion request eighteen years ago.

"Has anyone ever said yes?"

"We can't really discuss other cases, of course," Steve responds. He then lowers his voice slightly and leans toward Dane. "Off the record, there have been two that I know of. One of them had been suffering from late stage leukemia, but I can't remember the circumstances of the other."

"So if I check off yes, I'll be," Dane pauses to wrap his mind around the word, "euthanized?"

"The procedure is designed to be completely painless," Steve shrugs at Dane's look, "I'm legally obligated to tell you that."

"And my parents will get two million dollars?"

"Less tax, of course."

At the bottom of the sheet of paper is printed: After sober and careful evaluation of your (the Abortion Candidate) life and future prospects, do you feel that the Government of Manitoba should have granted your parents' request for an abortion? There is a checkbox for yes, and a checkbox for no.

"Take all the time you need, Dan. Dane. Sorry."

---

Dane since on the bench at the bus stop down the block from the government office. Three buses have gone past but he hasn't managed to lift himself off up to get onto any of them.

He pulls his cellphone from out of his backpack and dials his parents' number. After seven or eight rings, his mom answers.

"Oh hello, Dane," she says, "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I had an appointment today. With the government."

"I hope this isn't about your taxes because I -"

"Mom! Did you guys maybe forget to mention that I was a Kirby baby?"

"Oh honey, that term is so uncouth. I guess you did turn twenty-one this year, didn't you?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Well, I hope you got it all straightened out. I'm not getting a million dollars, am I?"

"Mom!"

"I'm just kidding. You're always so tense. Listen, dear, I have to get going. I'm hosting book club this evening and I have to finish these empanadas. Why don't you come for dinner this weekend? And bring Kim."

She hangs up.

Another bus pulls up. The bus driver opens the door and waits a few seconds before shouting, "Kid! Are you getting on, or what?"

8 responses to "Week #18 - The Kirby Baby "

Debs wrote: Wednesday, 09 Apr 2008 08:31 I really like this concept! I found the mother at the end very off-putting though, and I don't think altogether realistic. I found a couple of typos: The Kirby Plan was meant to acknowledge the unborn child as a stakeholder and give you a say. We have a questionnaire to HELP (not held) you evaluate things." He turns 18 in the middle of the story and 21 at the end of it.

Karen wrote: Wednesday, 09 Apr 2008 09:41 Whoa! That's an interesting concept, I'm not going to lie. I loved it. I wanted to laugh, actually. (Maybe I'm not awake yet?) But I loved it.

Erinn the Bold wrote: Wednesday, 09 Apr 2008 09:50 Great story, Dana! I was a little confused as to why an 18 year old would be so far into university, but that got cleared up at the end when I realized that you didn't know what you were doing, haha. I really liked the idea though, and I promise I was not offended by it's mildly controversial nature.

Kim wrote: Wednesday, 09 Apr 2008 21:26 I like the initial concept, but I would encourage you to explore other consequences. To decide to die (place value on his own life) and let his parents get money, doesn't quite make sense for me. But I love the question: what value does life have and how do you quantify that. In reference to a previous comment, I thought the mom's response was believable and a good one. It makes sense as a coping strategy to be light about it and it's a nice contrast (and conflict) to Dane's being seriously shaken up about the revelation. The idea has potential and could expand into something larger than a short story. A little linguistic quirk, which may be a Canadian thing, "He pulls his cellphone from out of his backpack..." Why does he have to do it "from out of"? :) It's not a bad thing, only something I noticed. I like it because it shows the flexibility and adapatability of language. My grandma talks like this, and her mother apparently was a canadian indian of sorts.

Dana wrote: Friday, 11 Apr 2008 12:33 Kim, I suspect that might be more of a Dana-quirk than a Canadian thing :P Although I should do a survey of fellow Canadians to be sure. The money was how I imagined a big, convoluted government bureaucracy solving the problem of what should be done if the the abortion request should have been granted.

Ginny! wrote: Saturday, 12 Apr 2008 17:54 Really interesting concept. I think your use of present tense could be more powerful if you're more sparing with it. If you have most of it in past tense and the end (Dane sitting at the bus stop) in present, it could be more meaningful. Deviating from the norm gets to be meaningless when it becomes the norm.

Beast wrote: Saturday, 10 May 2008 11:07 I'm sure I've read this one before....

Astrid wrote: Monday, 09 Jun 2008 12:38 Good story Dana!

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