Tara Sivec: Passion and Ponies

Hey there, loose labia. Wanna carpool in to work tomorrow? I’ll let you give me a blow job in the parking lot.

Satisfied that my news will thaw a little of the ice in her veins, I toss my phone back on my dresser and head upstairs to look for a good copy of my birth certificate.

Yes, I live in the basement of my parents’ home. I get twenty-eight cable channels, access to all the porn my dad still has on VHS and meatloaf every Thursday night. Seriously, why would I leave?

Opening the door at the top of the stairs that leads into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks when I see my dad sitting up on the counter with his feet in the sink and my mom standing next to him shaving his legs.

“Oh, hi, sweetie! Do you need the sink?” my mom asks, smiling brightly as she squirts some extra shaving cream on my dad’s shin.

Alright, maybe there’s at least one reason to move out and get my own place.

“Mom, seriously? I just ate lunch. Do you want me to puke all over the floor?” I ask disgustedly as I avoid looking directly at them.

“Tyler, studies have shown that a man and a woman who share simple, every day experiences like this will have a long and fruitful sex life,” my dad says, looking up from what my mom’s doing and pushing his glasses up higher on his face.

“I shaved your father’s balls for the first time when we were twenty-one and look at us now! We’re still going strong twenty-six years later and our love making is more passionate than ever,” my mom tells me with a smile.

Shaking my head at them, I keep my eyes averted as I head over to the built-in desk on the other side of the kitchen.

“I like the feel of smooth legs. I totally get why women have been doing this for centuries,” my dad adds.

Really, their behavior shouldn’t come as any surprise to me at this point. My parents, Donna and Nick Branson, are sex therapists. There was a time when I attributed my love of sex to their constant discussion of the topic, but now I worry all this “sharing” is going to one day seriously effect my ability to keep it up. Last week when I got home from work, I found them in the living room practicing their climax yells. Fully clothed, sitting on the couch, legs crossed like they were attending church services, screaming each other’s names in different pitches to see which one sounded the best.

Ignoring my parents’ giggles on the other side of the room, I dig through the desk drawers, tossing papers aside as I go. I grow more and more frustrated as I open drawer after drawer, and my parents’ laughter gets more and more intimate. I know if I don’t find what I’m looking for and get the fuck out of here, vegetables from the fridge will soon be added to the mix - and they won’t be used for tonight’s salad.

Where the fuck is it? I swear there was a copy in here.

“Sweetie, what are you looking for?”

Glancing up from the mess I’ve made on the top of the desk, I sigh, slamming the drawer closed. “I need something for my new job.”

“Oh, no! Did you get fired from The Gap? Were you trying on all the clothes naked again? I told you they were going to be angry about that.”

Geez, you have one runway show after hours and everyone loses their shit.

It’s not my fault I didn’t realize they had security cameras in the storage room. And really, they should have used that footage for a commercial. I worked the SHIT out of those boxer briefs and scarves.

“No, this time it wasn’t my fault. They claim my birth certificate is a fake. Can you believe that? As if,” I complain with a roll of my eyes. “I got hired at Seduction and Snacks. I start tomorrow and need to take a non-fake copy in.”

My mom and dad look at each other nervously, sharing some silent communication shit before my dad hefts himself out of the sink.

“I think it’s time, Donna,” my dad tells her, grabbing a towel from the counter and wiping the shaving cream off of his legs.

“You’re right. It’s time for me to make dinner. Who wants meatloaf?” she asks with fake enthusiasm.

My dad grabs her arm before she can make it to the fridge, turning her to face him. I watch in confusion as he whispers a few words to her before they both turn to face me.

“Tyler, I think you should sit down,” my dad begins.

“Dude, this isn’t the end of the world,” Gavin tells me as I continue splashing cold water on my face in his bathroom.

I showed up at his and Charlotte’s apartment twenty minutes ago and have been in the bathroom the entire time trying to calm the fuck down.

“Not the end of the world? NOT THE END OF THE WORLD? I don’t know who I am! I don’t know where I came from. I’VE LOST MY IDENTITY!” I scream, shutting off the water and reaching blindly for a towel.

My hand brushes up against one and I quickly bring it to my face, wiping off the water that drips down my lips and chin.

“Oh shit, I wouldn’t use that towel if I were you,” Gavin mumbles.

I ignore him, scrubbing every inch of my face, hoping that maybe I can rub away the memory of the words my mother spoke to me.

“Tyler, your father isn’t really your father. I, um… I don’t actually know who your real dad is,” my mom admitted. “I really wanted a baby and I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time, so I went to a sperm bank. Also, when I say I wasn’t seeing anyone, I mean I wasn’t serious with anyone. I was still having lots of sex.”

“Son, what your mother is trying to say is that she was sexually adventurous in her twenties,” my dad added with a smile.

“If we’re going to be honest with him, we might as well do it right,” my mom cut in. “Tyler, I was a slut. Like, a really big one. I was young, though, and that’s what you’re supposed to do – sow your wild oats. I also went through a short lesbian phase, but that’s beside the point.”

I sank down into one of the chairs at the kitchen tabled and stared at them. “How in the hell did this happen?”

“Well, I picked out the sperm I wanted and then the doctor had me get on the table with my feet in the stirrups. Then he took a thing that looked like a turkey baster and shoved it up my-”

“NO! JESUS CHRIST, NO! Not that part! How the hell don’t you know who my father is if you used a sperm bank? Don’t they keep a record of that shit?” I asked in confusion.

“Well, normally that would be helpful, but I also had a foursome that same week. I’m pretty sure one of them was a woman I met in the food court of the mall, but the other two guys – no clue. I always made my partners bag it up, but something must have leaked because I found a little jizz in my-”

“MOM!” I screamed at her, shaking my head in disgust.

“Sorry, sweetie. Since sperm can live in a woman’s vagina for up to five days, I can’t be certain if it was donor sperm or…” my mom trailed off before glancing over at my dad with love in her eyes.

“Anyway, I met your father when you were a couple of months old and he adopted you. Sort of. We actually never filed the paperwork, but we made a very convincing copy of a birth certificate for you in Photoshop.”

My dad walks over to me and pats me on the back. “I think the best thing for us to do right now would be to sit down and talk about what we’re feeling. I’ll start. I’m feeling relieved that this is all finally out in the open.”

“I’m feeling like I want to puke all over this fucking floor!” I shouted.

My mom walked over to me and put her arm around my shoulder. “That’s it. Let it all out, sweetie.”