11. My egg

The others have been quiet lately.

"Real life is happening," they said. "Don't bother us. Writing doesn't earn us any money and we all have to grow up sometime. You should too."

Did they just allude that I, the Great Blue Suede Shoes, am immature? Grow up? I'm like Peter Pan. I am forever young and immeasurably mature, just as I am as handsome as the majestic mountains upon which I tread. There's no need for me to grow up.

What nonsense are they spouting?

Because of that, I don't see any point in informing any of those goody-goody wordy pigs that I am going to post a chapter without informing them. Let them scratch at the walls in frustration. They haven't even changed the password after all this time. Let this teach them a lesson.

Bwahahaha!

...

... ...

Though that'll only work if they still care enough to check back here anymore. They might not.

Fine.

I'm a loner. I'm a fierce loner and proud of it. I can handle them forgetting about forgetting and abandoning me all the time. They say I'm too out there. I'm not that weird. I'm not. I'm really not...

Am I?

Ahem.

Let us cast aside those measly thoughts. You saw nothing. Read nothing. Know nothing. These Blue Suede Shoes didn't doubt himself. No, no. These Blue Suede Shoes are very confident. Always confident. Depressive thoughts can't get me down that easily.

What I actually wanted to write about was my egg.

I found this egg out in the chicken coop the other day, you see. It was cute. It was white. It was smooth and perfectly rounded in a perfect egg shape without any excess lumps or bumps on it. It fit in my palm so snugly and was nice and warm. It was so cute that I thought that perhaps I would incubate it and hatch a cute little baby chicken.

Seeing as I had never incubated an egg before and I was sure that me sitting on it would result in a smashed egg and dirty trousers, I asked my Ma. My Ma is the most beautiful and the smartest person in the world. She knows everything. She would know what to do.

"Ma," I said. "I found this egg the rooster laid. I want to hatch it. How do I hatch the egg?"

"Darling," Ma said from beneath the washing line where she was hanging up the laundry, "you're such a good boy. Did you help me pick up the eggs?"

"I only found this white one," I showed her the smooth, white egg in my hand. "Do you think the rooster will miss it?"

"Darling, we don't have a rooster," Ma rolled her eyes at me. "In any case, roosters don't lay eggs. Only hens do. Here, help me hang up the washing."

I dropped the egg into my pocket and threw a bed sheet over the line. Helping Ma hold the sheet down so that it didn't fly away in the wind while she pegged it in place, I scratched my head.

"I always thought that roosters laid eggs and that our chickens were all roosters," I said with some confusion.

"Our chickens are all hens and only hens lay eggs," Ma corrected me.

"So if I keep this egg warm, will it hatch into a baby chick?" I asked with great eagerness. I wanted my cute little white egg to give birth to a cute little yellow chick.

"No dear," Ma looked at me as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "What did you learn in high school? You're so big and you don't know the life cycle of a chicken? We don't have any roosters."

"I know. You just told me. We only have hens. What does that have to do with hatching eggs?" I asked, taking the bunch of socks she passed to me to peg onto one of those merry-go-round, dangly, ding-a-ling, laundry peg things.

"You need a rooster to get a fertilised egg, dear," Ma's smile was somewhat frozen and fake but I couldn't understand why she might be starting to become impatient with me. She really wasn't making any sense.

"Then how do the hens lay their eggs if they need a rooster to lay eggs?" I persisted and was answered with the swat of a heavy, wet sweater. It smarted and made me jump out of Ma's reach. That swat reminded me that Ma is far stronger than she looks, even if I can never quite understand what she's thinking.

"Sometimes, I don't know what goes on in that brain of yours," Ma shook her head and picked up the empty basket, leading me into the house. "Put the egg on the bench and come with me. Let me teach you what it seems you missed out on in school."

I placed my cute white egg on the kitchen bench and followed her to the study table where she took out a sheet of paper.

"All right, kiddo. Pay attention now," Ma said, drawing a chicken.

"That's a bird!" I pointed at her drawing.

"That's a chicken. A hen," Ma gave me a strange look and drew another chicken with bigger red things under the beak and above the beak, as well as a bigger tail. "This is a rooster."

"That's a rooster? I thought that was a peacock," I said. "You know, the birds that can open those big blue and green tail feathers to show off."

"Dylan, are you doing this on purpose?" Ma scowled at me while I blinked at her innocently.

"No. What do you mean? What am I doing on purpose?"

Ma looked up pictures of roosters and hens for me to see on her phone and then showed me a picture of a peacock.

"See? My drawing isn't that bad," she said. "Can you see the difference now?"

"Ma, you're so awesome," I gushed looking between her drawings and the pictures on the internet. "You can draw chickens so well!"

"Of course," Ma grumbled with a proud look. "I was an artist before I married your father. Anyway, look here. A hen needs to mate with a rooster in order to get a fertilised egg that after incubation can hatch into a little chick that will grow up into a chicken." Ma drew the life cycle of a chicken for me. "In the case that there's no rooster, the hen can still lay eggs but those eggs aren't fertilised. They won't ever hatch no matter how much you incubate them. Those are the eggs we eat."

"How does the hen keep laying eggs then?" I asked, feeling like she had explained things more clearly than my science teachers ever had. At least, as far as I remembered. I didn't remember paying much attention in science classes and high school was so long ago now.

"It's the hen having her period every day. The egg she lays is the result of her getting her period. Just about every female has mentrual periods. You know that."

"They do?" I stared at Ma with wide eyed shock. "Ma, do you lay eggs every day too?"

Ma broke down in laughter and had to bend over to stop herself from splitting apart. I didn't understand what was so funny or why she was laughing. It was a genuinely curious question on my part.

"Dylan, women generally have their period once a month," she said when she caught her breath and put her hands on my shoulders so that I looked straight into her eyes. She had an impish smile that told me I was on the verge of having a pranked pulled on me but I couldn't figure out what she might be pranking me with. "Son, do you know how children are born? Do you know where babies come from?"

"The cabbage patch," I answered automatically. "It's the cabbage patch, right? Dad said it was. We don't have a cabbage patch anymore. That's why I don't have a younger brother or sister, right?"

"How old were you when he said that?" asked Ma with amusement.

"Uh... Seven or eight," I replied.

"That's an answer adults give their kids before they're old enough to know the truth and you should have learnt the truth in high school or at least in uni by now. I don't understand how your education has been so neglected. Son, who gave birth to you?" Ma had a scary glint in her eye.

"Uh... you?"

"What, you're not sure who your own mother is now?" Ma poked me in the forehead.

"Ow! I do! I definitely do! You are my all powerful, all knowing mother who is beautiful beyond compare. You gave birth to this unworthy and slightly stupid son who knows nothing but music," I praised her to stop her from poking at me so hard.

"Oh. So you do know something," Ma nodded in appreciation. "Then do you know where you were before you were born? Who carried you in their womb?"

"You. It was you, oh mighty warrior queen. It was Your Majesty," I protected my forehead with my hands. "You carried me in your tummy and gave birth to this lowly commoner."

"Then where does the cabbage patch come into things?" Ma questioned me.

"Huh," I paused to think. She was right. Where did the cabbage patch come into things? "Did you give birth to me in a cabbage patch?"

"What have I done to get a son who lacks common sense?" Ma asked the heavens. "Can anyone tell me?" She brought her forehead to meet mine. I flinched, having the distinct impression she actually really wanted to headbutt me. "Dylan, I gave birth to you in the hospital. You already know this!"

"Oh. Oh yeah. That's right. You have mentioned it before," I agreed, stepping away where it would hopefully be safer. She had that look on her face that she used to get when she caught me in the process of doing something wrong and was about to wallop my behind to drill a lesson into my brain. "But what does this have to do with chickens?" I asked. I really wanted to know the answer to my questions. I couldn't help it if my knowledge was lacking in some areas. I lived and breathed music. I wasn't some science nerd.

"Your father's sperm fertilised my egg which gave birth to you," Ma said in a blunt and exasperated tone. "That's how a baby comes about. When my eggs aren't fertilised-"

"You lay them like a rooster?" I interrupted.

Ma's face blackened to the point she might burst and she chased me about the house, whacking me with a dishtowel until I remembered. "Ow! Ma! I'm sorry! Ow! I remember - ow - now! Roosters - ow - don't lay eggs!"

Ma glared at me, panting and bracing her hands upon her thighs.

"When a girl's eggs aren't fertilised, they come out during her menstrual period - WITHOUT a shell," she jabbed a finger at me before I could ask the question that had been on the tip of my tongue.

"Oh," I edged out of her reach, astonished at this revelation, which led to the inevitable question. "How are eggs fertilised?"

"Are you playing games with me or are you for real?" Ma raised her dishtowel. "How can you not know what sex is?"

"What?!" I screeched at the dishtowel that had somehow whipped my buttocks again, sending me running around the house once again, chased by an angry dishtowel. I hadn't known that sex was when eggs were fertilised. No wonder people were always telling me to treat the girls well and not to have sex before marriage. Sex could make a girl pregnant. If that wasn't horrifying, I didn't know what was.

Wait. Scratch that. Someone playing Chopsticks at a concert was infinitely more horrifying.

At that moment, my phone rang. My mate wanted me to go over and jam with his band for fun.

"Ma, thatwasmyfriend. I'mgoingouttojamwithhisbandinhisgarage. BYE!"

And I raced out the front door, only daring to come home late in the evening after dinner when Ma had hopefully calmed her rage. I still wasn't entirely sure how I had triggered the tempest, but it was better for me to tread carefully, just to be on the safe side.

After talking to my friends, I realised I really ought to have paid more attention in class during high school. It seemed what Ma had told me today was general knowledge.

Huh.

After I crept in the door, I snuck into the kitchen for a snack. Finding a bowl of boiled eggs, I chucked one into my mouth and munched on it. Seeing these eggs, I was reminded of my cute, white egg that I was going to hatch.

"You're home," Ma smiled at me, entering the kitchen. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"Yeah. We had fish fingers and custard, tacos and alfalfa," I counted on my fingers, "oh, and chilli fried chicken with spiders."

At Ma's quizzical expression, I explained that the spiders I was talking about were fizzy drinks poured over ice cream and not the eight legged, eight eyed aliens in chitin exoskeletal armour.

I'm not entirely sure what I said but Ma laughed until she couldn't breath.

"You don't know the life cycle of a chicken but you know that spiders have exoskeletons that are made of chitin?" she laughed in disbelief.

"Yeah. Everyone knows that," I rolled my eyes. "It was in a movie. Ma, where's the cute little white egg I was gonna hatch? I remember putting it on the kitchen bench here," I asked her, looking around the kitchen.

Ma coughed, laughed and then coughed again.

"Son, you're eating it," she pointed out.

"WHAT?!" I sprayed the egg in my mouth across the kitchen. Needless to say, Ma wasn't too pleased at the mess, but that didn't detract any from my panic when I remembered what she had told me earlier today.

My cute little white egg was gone. I wouldn't be able to incubate it anymore. I was eating the menstrual period of a chicken and there was no way for me to put the shattered egg back together again. Most of it was already in my stomach.

Maybe the rooster would lay another egg for me to keep next month?

"Right, Ma. There's this question that I've been asking people all evening but nobody would answer me. They all thought I was joking. Supposedly it's something I ought to already know."

"Spit it out," Ma rubbed her forehead with a helpless expression that told me she was wondering whether I was really her son or not.

"What exactly is sex?"

"That's it," Ma face palmed and reached for the phone. "I'm making an appointment for me to take you to see the doctor tomorrow."

"Eh? But I'm not sick."

"And then we're going to a farm. If no one has been able to fill in these holes in your brain, I had better do it before you make a mistake that someone might kill you for. You won't even know how you died."

"But Ma, what does this have to do with chickens? Do you think the roosters will lay another cute white egg for me to hatch tomorrow?"

"Dylan!"

Can someone please tell me why Ma thinks I'm sick and have to see the doctor? I'm only grieving over the loss of my cute white egg because I ate it. There's nothing else wrong with me. Someone, quick, reply! Urgent and waiting for the answer online.