Free The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception by Brother Dash

know a brother is nice with the hands," Tanaka says as he starts shadow boxing.
    Chase remains petrified with the exception of a trembling hand.
    “Chase. Chase. Bro, what does it say? Let me see.”
    Chase swallows a lump in his throat. He looks down at the note again, hoping the letters on the paper would magically disappear, but they are as clear and never changing as the ink from a black Sharpie.
    “Dude what does it say?” Tanaka says.
    Chase reads the letters over and over; not because the words are many, but because there are so few. They appear as if cut from a magazine headline and glued onto a blank sheet. The note says:
     
     
    We. Found. You.
     
    “Come on you’re scaring me man. What does it say?”
    Chase swallows a pocket of air before responding. He crumples the note, stares into the cloudless sky, and replies:
    “It—it says I have a problem.”
     
    
     
    HUH, PAT PAT…HUH, PAT PAT…HUH, PAT PAT…SHWOOOP. He sucks in the South Street Seaport air through cavernous nostrils. He blows out through puffed cheeks and funneled lips. His night time jaunts have crept into the day. His arms and legs churn like cogs and wheels. The sweat above his brow drizzles down to his chin; it sparkles like glitter. As he approaches the pedestrian crosswalk under the FDR drive overpass, he slows and jogs in place. The rubber soles of his sneakers strike hard against the muddy asphalt. Seagulls, box trucks, and taxi horns compete for an ear’s attention. His eyes bounce from lost tourist, to burly construction worker, to baby carriage, to Halloween costume shopper as he waits for the light to change.
    "Buff Puff? Boy is that you?”
    The words drift from the crouched woman peeking from under a soiled bed comforter. In front of her is a fast food soda cup. It rattles with loose change as two strangers, conversing in a foreign tongue, squat and drop two quarters; they brisk towards the seaport mall.
    “Hey, Buff Puff. Look at you with shoulders and arms all swolled up and snorting like a brahma bull. I got something better for you to snort up under this here blanket,” she says, lifting the cover.
    Chase ignores the obscene flirtation but crouches in front of her. Her face softens as she sees her reflection in his glassy eyes.
    “Aww, Buff Puff. Look at them eyes. What’s wrong baby?" she says.
    “Wrong? Miss Pat, what makes you think—“
    “Boy, don’t play with me. I’m old, not stupid.”
    Chase has been running all morning but his mind has been in flux since that day last week in the park. Perhaps an ear…any ear, would help to soothe him. Even an eccentric one.
    “Miss Pat I—"
    “Wait boy. I can’t hear for a goddamn. All this city noise. Noise, noise, noise. Help me up Buff Puff. We can go yonder, by the dock," she says.
    She steadies her hand on Chase’s shoulder. The dirty cover drops to the ground. Chase picks it up and carries it for her. He squints. It stings his eyes and smells like a port-o-potty. The two familiar strangers walk towards the pier; she clutches her cup of change. As they stroll, Chase relates what occurred at Brooklyn Bridge Park. He tells her of Tanaka and the DJ battle. When he gets to the cryptic letter handed to him by the little boy, Miss Pat blurts:
    “A-Ha. I knew there was something all secret-secret about you. I smelled secret all over you. Secret Buff Puff. Secret. Secret. Secret.”
    Chase forces a smile and continues.
    "Miss Pat, I don’t know what to do. I can't have this kind of drama in my life right now. Especially now."
    “Okay, relax. Do you know what this note thing is all about?" she says as she scratches her butt crack.
    “No. I don’t. Well it might be about…never mind it’s nothing.”
    “I been around a long time Buff Puff…mmmhmm…you hiding something .”
    Chase’s gaze drifts to the rocky ripples of the East River. “I just don’t know what to do Miss Pat.”
    “Do? Boy snap out of it. Do? You live your damn life that’s what you