Free The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception by Brother Dash Page B

word; They mingle but don’t linger. Not on the day that starts the weekend. The lecture hall’s cathedral windows magnify the magnificence of the blood orange setting sun. The golden rays cast a natural spotlight on Chase Archibald as he finishes answering a question from the young Robbie Jankovic; the young man is now the most attentive student in class. He nods several times as he listens to Chase’s creative writing advice.
    “Now, although it isn’t a work of fiction, Claude Brown’s gritty storytelling will help you to write better. Remember…all good writers are also good readers,” Chase says with a sharp-eyed wink.
    “Thank you professor. I’ll read Manchild in the Promised Land over the break.” Robbie hops up the steps to the exit.
    Chase fumbles inside his leather satchel for the earbuds to his smartphone. Tonight is nineties Hip-Hop Karaoke at Brooklyn Bowl, a converted warehouse that is now a music venue and bowling alley. Tanaka and Chase will team up again as they did a month ago. Chase wants to brush up on the lyrics to What’s The Scenario?, theA Tribe Called Quest classic. Jenae, and her half-sister Shauntelle, owned the crowd last month with their performance of Ladies First by rappers Queen Latifah and Monie Love. That gave them bragging rights over the boys. Tanaka of course, felt that the crowd was gender biased and sided with the women. He also voiced his opinion that Chase’s weak rhyming skills contributed to their defeat. Chase wants karaoke redemption and the opportunity to needle Jenae’s sister, who he has never much cared for. The feeling is mutual.
    Students empty the lecture hall. Just as the heavy metal door is about to shut behind the last coed, a giant meat slab of a hand juts inside. It creaks the door back open.
    “Where are those damn earbuds?” Chase mumbles as he fumbles through the bag.
    Two figures emerge from the doorway and stride across the top step. Their presence looms over a preoccupied Chase.
    “Ahem, ahem.”
    Chase lifts his gaze towards the guttural sound. What he sees, or rather, who he sees…jolts him. Two men. One looks like a Sumo wrestler in a claustrophobic blue suit. Even from this distance Chase can tell he is much taller than even his own six foot three inch frame. Next to the behemoth is a man in a black pinstriped four buttoned suit, laundry clean dress shirt, and a gold tie. Though shorter than his burly companion, he still looks as though he could eyeball Chase. He carries an open tablet computer in his palm; he starts to read aloud.
    “You should absolutely sign up for Professor Archibald’s creative writing class,” he says, mimicking a spunky female freshman’s voice. “Professor Archibald is tough, but he’s fair. He inspired me to start writing my first short story. Plus he’s soooo beefcake hot. O-M-G can I say? Oh well, whateverrrrr I just did. [he returns to his normal voice] Are you kidding me? This chick actually typed, so , with five o’s and whatever with how many? Let me count here…one, two, three, four, five r’s? And she’s not the only happy bunny rabbit you got here. A hundred and fifty reviews and a 4.75 star rating? Well, aren’t you the superstar on the Rate Your Professor website?”
    Chase’s is like a jittering mannequin. His body is frozen in stasis, but his soul clangs and vibrates like a cartoon alarm clock. His lungs gurgle and boil like sacs of molten metal. Fear and shock form a noose around his neck. And this noose is attached to a rope held by an unwelcome blast from the past. Chase’s jaw tightens. He wrings the handle on his briefcase with such force that it sounds as if he is scraping the skin off of his palms. Chase can do nothing but stand next to the podium as the wooly mammoth waddles, and the cool cucumber glides down the steps. The latter plops the smart tablet on the table in front of Chase. The screen reveals Chase’s university employee photo, faculty bio, and the student reviews. Chase