Don't Drink Bees

When I was a freshman in my first semester of college, I was homesick, and mail was important to me - important enough to run down to my mailbox during the brief pause between my 9:30 and my 11:00 classes. I tore open the envelopes and read as I walked to my Human Freedom in Society seminar.

One day, I received a letter from my mother. "I hope you are sitting down," it read. I didn't think there was anything that my mother could write to me that I would need to sit down for. I continued walking and read the next line. "I'm pregnant." I stopped walking. I grabbed a friend. "What does this say?" I asked, holding the letter before her face. I was in shock. I grabbed another friend and asked her the same question. It was true. My mother was pregnant.

Our family was perfect: a mom, a dad, a boy, a girl. I was the oldest. My brother, Jeff, was two years four months younger. I was in college. Jeff was in high school. My mother was at Agway, her first job since she had kids. My father was going to retire at 55. My mother was pregnant.

"I want you to be a part of the process," my mother told me over the phone. "Help me name the baby. Your father's no help. What do you think about the name Jamie if it's a boy?" I was being replaced. Ship one off to college, have another to move into the empty room. Move in the baby stuff. Wait! Where are they going to put my stuff?

I went home for spring break and couldn't get into my room. A playpen blocked the doorway, my doorway, my room. My stuff was still in there, but I couldn't get to it. I was dramatically depressed. Once the blockade was removed, I spent the week, lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, sighing. First they banish me to North Carolina, now they get a new kid. I felt very sorry for myself.

My brother Jeff stepped into my bedroom doorway one day. "If it's a boy, I think we should call him Zebulon," he said. "We live close enough to Woodstock. We could get away with it."

I took a moment out of my depression to laugh. "And his middle name could be Orion. Zebulon Orion. I like it."

"I never said anything about Orion," Jeff said and frowned at me. He turned and walked away.

I went back to staring at the ceiling. Zebulon Orion. Mom liked the name too. The baby had a name, something to call him or her by.

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