A Short Story

~1,300 words

I love writing fiction, but I haven’t posted any before. Thought I’d try something new. Please let me know what you think, and share if you enjoy!

SOUND EQUIPMENT

Two cardioid condenser microphones. Portable 4-track recorder. Copper-plated XLR cables. The sound equipment keeps piling up in the guest room. I’ve never had a “thing” before – not really, not like this. In my twenties, I tried to get into photography, but I never had a big enough apartment to do it right with film and a darkroom. Then I had this great idea for a graphic novel, and I wrote a whole outline, but I never found a good illustrator to partner with. Looking back, it all seems silly. I don’t even read that many graphic novels. But I’ve got a podcast on whenever I’m at my desk, or in the car, or doing chores around the house. Every time I hit play, I get this flutter, like, that could be my voice.

I know it’s a crowded space. I know it’s a little crazy with the baby coming. But I want this kid to know his father did something in the world other than add performance metrics to his boss’s Keynote presentations.

It’s not even that hard. I’ve been watching tutorials when I have a moment at work – audio editing, promotion, community management. Originally, it was going to be about 90s console video games – Super Nintendo and Sega Genesis, that era I loved so much as a kid. But if this thing takes off, I’ll be spending a lot of time producing the episodes and responding to comments, which could get tricky when the baby comes. So now I’m thinking something more practical, career-focused, like the intersection of advertising and AI. I even made the logo already.

Shawna hasn’t asked me to move the sound gear yet, although I’ve seen her trip over it when she goes into the guest room, cursing under her breath. Just to be safe, I stack everything in the corner out of the way. She’s been getting vertigo lately, so I don’t want to risk it. At the 20-week appointment, our OB says vertigo is a common symptom. Dr. Ng hands us a twelve-page printout of things to do before the delivery. Shawna acts cool, but I can tell she’s freaking out. I squeeze her hand like we’ve got this, though I can already feel the next five months buckling under a dozen sheets of paper.

“Maybe I could make it about parenting? A father’s perspective from day one,” I say as we walk to the car.

Shawna looks up from the packet. “Huh? Sorry, I was reading. Did we order sleep sacks yet?”

I order the sleep sacks. And then I plow through a podcasting MasterClass while I assemble the crib. If I stay on it, I can still get the first episode out before the due date. I turn 40, and Shawna has a whole plan for my birthday. All I ask for is the afternoon off to record. Alone in the corner of the guest room, I completely let loose: all my fears about fatherhood, about getting older, about finding my calling late – but never too late. It’s raw, vulnerable, funny, everything I’ve been hoping for. It’s full of flubs that I’ll have to edit out, but that’s to be expected for my first time. When I listen back – it’s weird – my voice sounds so flimsy. Like it’s evaporating off the speakers before it reaches my ears. Which is fine since this is basically just a test recording. I add vocal mixing and gravitas to my practice list.

Shawna notices the specks of blood in her underwear on a Sunday afternoon. By the time she finds me, it’s thick red globs. “Would you take those fucking headphones off?!” Everything gets quiet when I see the blood. We don’t talk on the drive to the hospital. Shawna keeps touching the crotch of her pants to see if more has come out. I squeeze her hand to stop her. The emergency department nurse can’t find a heartbeat with the ultrasound. She doesn’t say anything, and we’re too scared to ask. The moments of silence pile up around us until we can’t breathe. Dr. Ng rushes in and shoos out the nurse. After a few seconds, she finds the baby. The heartbeat thumps from the speakers like the little guy’s knocking to be let in. Shawna and I gasp with relief. I watch the sound wave roll up and down on the monitor. I’ve seen a hundred audio editing tutorials. I’ve never seen a waveform contour life itself.

Dr. Ng shows us the pebble-sized clot in Shawna’s uterus on the ultrasound, the source of the blood and tissue. Mother and Baby are totally fine, she assures us, but there is a danger that the jagged edge of the clot could puncture the amniotic sac before Baby is ready. She puts Shawna on bed rest just to be safe. I spend every second I’m not at work by Shawna’s side. Our world shrinks to the size of our bedroom. The podcast goes on hold. A father’s perspective from day one doesn’t have to start until day one, right? Plus, this will all be great material.

Four weeks later, we welcome Jonah, our slimy, wriggly, meconium-smeared miracle. The delivery nurse chuckles as Jonah claws his way up Shawna’s belly for his first sip of milk. “Now there’s a boy that goes after what he wants!” she says. I cry. Shawna cries. Jonah won’t stop crying – but in a healthy newborn way. When we get home, I keep kicking myself: I got so caught up that I completely forgot about the portable recorder I tucked into our go-bag.

The sound equipment moves to the closet when Shawna’s mom comes to stay with us. And when she leaves, it’s already time to move Jonah in there. The guest room becomes a nursery. The microphones and stands get stacked in the back of the closet next to an ancient 35mm SLR camera, and slowly buried under hand-me-down books and Duplo sets. When I finally dig them out, years later, the stuff is caked in dust. There’s a dent in the wire head of one of the microphones. I spend an hour fighting with different adapters, but I can’t get my test recording off the old SD card. It there’s still a piece of me in there, it’s lost.

“When are we eating?” Jonah says from the doorway, eyes never leaving the retro Mario game on his tablet.

“Soon. I just…” Good reminder – I have to get dinner started. Then reply to a few work emails.

Jonah glances up from his game. “Did you ever use that stuff?”

I drape an XLR cable over one of the mic stands. Shove everything back in the closet with all the outgrown toys. “Not really.”

“Then can you like move it to the garage? It’s taking up my whole closet.”

“Sure, bud. Sorry.” I hear the dower music sting of Mario plummeting to his death. Jonah curses under his breath. Then looks up, guilty, to see if I caught him. I ignore it, just glad to have his attention.

“Wanna watch a movie tonight or something?” I ask.

“I’m going to Luke’s after dinner, remember?” Right, right – I’m supposed to drive him. Mario regenerates, and Jonah disappears back into his game.

I wander toward the kitchen. Rigatoni with yellow squash tonight. You know, the garage is actually not a half-bad idea. If I clear out our old bikes, I can make a little studio. Get a couch. A desk against the back wall. I’d only need to buy a few things to get a really professional setup. Maybe I could do one about aging. About finding purpose mid-life. Shawna and Jonah could be my first guests. A melody for the theme song pops into my head, and suddenly I’m grinning and humming along, so caught up I almost miss the pasta boiling over.