Twins
by Nathan Willis



I haven’t always done this.  I used to have a job where I sat in a cubicle, answering the phone, sending emails and telling people things they already knew, but I lost that job.  Between you and me, I’m sure I had something to do with it.  I’m not exactly sure what; it could have been a lot of things. 

After that I ran into trouble.  I couldn’t figure out what I was going to do next and ended up watching a lot of TV.  It got to where I felt like something was missing if I didn’t have a TV on nearby.  I stopped going out unless I absolutely had to and when I did I couldn’t get back home fast enough.  That screen is what kept me connected.  It got to be a problem I couldn’t ignore.      

Then I saw a commercial I had probably seen a thousand times before.  It was for the Sampson-Kline Institute, where they say you can be successful at any number of things in a matter of sixteen weeks.  All I had to do was call.  That was about six months ago.
 
I wanted to take the Private Investigator course but there was a waiting list.  It’s their most popular program.  Apparently, this place is crawling with PI’s.  It’s just as well because I ended up enrolling in their Ultrasound Technician program.  If it sounds complicated that’s because it is.  Most of the people I started with didn’t make it all the way through.  But still, during the course I started to get the rest of my life together.  I kept my place clean and started going out again, even when there was no place to go and no money to spend.  Restaurants were the best.  I would get a table for two, or on really bad days, four.  I figured out pretty quickly that the larger the hypothetical party, the longer they let you wait.  I’d sit and drink water, and watch the other people eat and talk.  Every ten minutes or so I’d check with the waiter, or glance at my watch like I was getting nervous my party wasn’t going to show up until eventually a manager or someone would come over and ask me to leave. 

That’s when I started to see how everything worked.
 
No, there’s no room for advancement.  But it’s like the Institute says, “Advancement would be an insult.  If there’s room for advancement that’s like saying what we do isn’t good enough.”  That’s how I knew I was in the right place.

In the first class our professor told us to look up at the ceiling.  “Not glass, is it?” he said.  “It’s solid and visible and that’s something you should always remember.  You’ll learn more about that once we get out in the field.  First you need to be trained.” 

He had us start on these realistic rubber dummies with fake insides.  After that we practiced on each other.  The professor had this hat full of folded paper strips with different conditions we might encounter written on them.  He had us pair off and we each had to pick a paper out of the hat, perform an ultrasound and not disclose to our partners what we found.  As the patient partner, our job was to get emotional and badger our partner for answers.

My partner was some girl who, as soon as the wand touched my stomach, whispered in my ear that I was stillborn.  She laughed like it was a joke.  I took it well and did my best to act like I didn’t know so she wouldn’t get in trouble.

Not long after that we had our first hands-on experience.  We gave discounted ultrasounds to uninsured volunteers.  I don’t know if it was the discount or what but none of the patients were very enthusiastic. 

Then there were the field trips to out-of-town clinics and hospitals to observe real ultrasound techs.  We’d crowd around these pregnant women and watch their reflections looking back at us in the monitor.  I didn’t see anything except their worried faces.
 
At the time I didn’t understand why she did that, told me what was wrong with me right off the bat.  It’s part of our job to not say anything.  All we’re supposed to do is save out a handful of clear, focused images and report what we find to the doctor.  He glances them over and regurgitates it back to the patient.  That’s the process.  It’s padding.  If the patient thinks their images are being sent up a chain of command and the doctor delivers the news himself, they have more faith in it.  Just like restaurants.  The more people in a reservation the more faith the staff has that they’ll show up, right?  I know how it works.

But then I actually got out in the field.  It’s harder to do than it sounds.  The things people want to know are a lot different than you’d think.  I tell just about everyone who asks what I see as long as they agree to still act surprised or heartbroken when they meet with the doctor. 
 
Mostly it’s pregnant women, but not always.  And it’s not always women.  I’ve only been doing this for two months and the stories I could tell you.  On my first day, this lady came in and she was in her third trimester.  She had been to four other doctors, had four other ultrasounds, and they all came back good.  But she was convinced something was wrong.  She could feel it inside and it was something serious, she just needed someone to find it.  I told her she was in the right place and explained about the Institute; how I was a specialist and that I was one of the best in the county. 

I scrutinized every frame.  Everything looked great.  I told her that unfortunately her baby appeared perfectly healthy.  She got so mad she called me a bunch of names and stormed out without waiting to see the doctor.  I got in trouble for that one.         
 
Then there was this guy with a tumor on his balls.  I was just supposed to check to see if it had gotten bigger or smaller or what.  He was getting some sort of experimental treatment and needed to know if it was working.  He asked more questions about that tumor than the women with babies.  ‘How big is it?  Has it moved?  What does it look like?  What is it shaped like?’  I don’t know why he was asking.  He could see the monitor the whole time.  He even tried to bribe me with a twenty-dollar bill.  Can you believe that?  He acted like I was holding out on him.  He thought there was more to know than there really was.  That one was sad.  They’re all pretty sad.  There’s no joy in seeing what’s inside of people.
 
The best one was this one woman, Miss. Paren.  She lives right around here.  This lady was convinced she was pregnant.  The whole time I was squirting the jelly on her she kept saying she hoped it was going to be a girl this time.  When I told her there was nothing there, that she was empty, she sat up and hugged me so tight I could feel her breath on my neck.  She whispered, “It’s okay.  Everything’s going to be okay.  Don’t worry.”  I got the feeling she didn’t believe me, which was fine.  I didn’t really believe her either.

But you know what?  She came back the next week.  Hands clasped around her stomach, big smile on her face and she was glowing.  It’s true what they say.  That’s real.  She lay down and wanted to know how her little girl was coming along.  I asked the doctor if we could get her out of there so we could take care of the real patients.  I didn’t mean to be cold but come on; I’m a specialist, he’s a doctor, our time is valuable.  The doctor said to go ahead anyhow and he would join me to speed things up.  We watched the monitor and saw the same thing.  The doctor patted her stomach and said she was gestating just fine. 

The week after that she was back again.  That time she told me she was having twins.  Could I see them?
 
After that I started feeling disconnected again so I called my professor for some guidance.  He wasn’t really a professor.  That was just what he told us to call him, like calling a gym teacher ‘Coach’, even though there wasn’t a team.

I told him about Miss. Paren and how I didn’t feel right lying to her.  Maybe she needs some other sort of help, but I don’t think we should be humoring her like this. 

He laughed so hard it took him a minute to catch his breath.  He had gotten this phone call before.  Once he pulled himself together and heard I was still on the line, he told me to suck it up and follow the lie.  The doctor knew best.  He said I worried too much for an ultrasound technician.  Before he hung up I asked, “Did you ever lie to me?”  When my class got certified, he had pulled me aside and told me I was going to be the best ultrasound tech in the county, so I had to know.   

​“Never,” he said, “This county in particular is full of the best ultrasound techs.”
 
So the next time a guy offers me twenty dollars, I’ll tell him his tumor is shaped like the North Star and he should stop worrying and go home.  There are a hundred other men walking around out there who don’t know what their tumors are shaped like, if they even know they have one at all.  Then I’ll take the money and order a pizza or buy lottery tickets or something.  I mean, Jesus Christ, these people know I’m not going to invest in the stock market or anything.  It’s going straight down the toilet, but that’s all it takes.  That’s how things work.  Give people something to waste and you get what you want. 
 
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this up, really.  Sometimes I wonder.  Even though I’m a certified specialist not too much has changed.  I watch a monitor instead of TV.  I don’t think it would be any better if I were a PI.  It might be worse.  I would still be looking for whatever people are scared of finding. 
 
That woman, the one having twins, she has another appointment tomorrow.  She has high hopes for them.  The last time she was in she said that no matter what they end up doing, they’re going to make a difference.  They will be successful and respected. 
Tomorrow, I’ll tell her everything is going well.  The twins are developing at a normal rate and when they are old enough they should call the Institute.  At least consider it.  But if they want to be Private Investigators she should do them a favor and get them on the waiting list early. 
 
I don’t know where they are.  They were supposed to be here an hour ago already.  It’s an informal little class reunion to have dinner and drinks and talk about how good we’re all doing.  There were ten of us in the class.  No…no missed calls.  They’d probably call my house phone anyway.  That’s the number I started giving out once it got turned back on.  Maybe I have the wrong place.  I’d feel bad if I ended up taking up this whole banquet room for myself.  Yes.  Thanks.  I’ll just have another water and if they don’t show up soon I’ll go ahead and go.  It’s not a big deal.  There’s a marathon on Channel 10 that starts pretty soon.