Michael Hood: Where did the DNA go?

It felt glorious, the culmination of months of imagined scenarios, and dreams of successes and failures.

It had been an unmitigated success.

I rode in the no. 3 position on the motorcycle as we sped back through the late afternoon sun and long shadows, over ruts and rivulets, leaning forward on the uphill, back on the downs.

My backpack bounced on my back with its precious contents of 2 sealed envelopes with those carefully-scraped squamous epithelial cells from the chubby cheeks of the baby and my own self.

I was brimming with comfort and joy.

Behind us, on another moto, rode the doctor, who’d been enti$ed into traveling the distance to administer the DNA test to my maybe baby.

The encounter had been warm reunion with Dani and her family.

I afterglowed in the goozy sweetness of it all. It had been thick with precious moments with all the cheek-chucking, and goo-gooing grandmas kill for. The placid and healthy baby watched the unfolding with a steady eye.


We pulled into the Kai Kuk village center, and I paid everyone off. I leaked a pile of 100 gde notes and $20 bills into the local economy. I felt pretty great about that too.

Then, just makin’ sure, I plunged my hand into the zipped pocket of my pack just to touch those hard fought envelopes.

I came up with nothin.’

I ransacked the bag again and again. No envelopes, no DNA.

Nothing… SHITFIRE! I cried.

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