Bovine Crisis

Trista Langley watched as the last of the bubbles swirled down the bathtub drain. Luckily, they continued to disappear without hesitation, perhaps proof that this time at least, the hair clippings from her newly shaven legs hadn’t been as thick as usual.

She had been out earlier in the morning to milk Bessie and do the farm chores. She and Lillian weren’t taking any chances. They raised their own commodities.

The catastrophic event that had happened eighteen years ago had been apocalyptic. No one talked in terms of years or centuries anymore. It was either Pre BC or Post BC. Trista had been born during the Bovine Crisis, which in itself, was a miracle.

The large and greedy corporate farming industry, in cooperation with pharmaceutical giants in the United States had been to blame. The newly mass-produced hormone additive in beef and dairy products had first rendered the vast majority of the male population sterile, and as the toxic hormone slowly settled into their nervous system, it led to extreme delirium and death within months. It wasn’t only the United States that had been affected, it was a global emergency.

Vegan men who had been spared the malady were drafted by the United States Military to provide semen, lest the population would have dwindled to near nothing. Many refused, citing religious, ethical, or moral objections and thus furthering the Bovine Crisis.

Trista hadn’t met her biological parents. All she knew was the information that she had been provided by Lillian. She had been told that her real mother had been a microbiologist working with geneticists to mitigate the crisis. Her father, as were many at the time, was unknown. Her mother, having feared that her labor and delivery could have complications, had chosen a foster mother for Trista, which proved to have been wise. Her real mother had died during childbirth.

It wasn’t a horrible time to be alive, Trista mused as she wrapped a towel around herself and made her way to her bedroom. Sure, there were times when she wished for a brother or sister or perhaps a neighbor her age to hang out with, but she had her animal friends. She had read stories about how disconnected and antisocial society had become Pre BC with all of their technological gadgets. Trista’s highlight of her day was receiving letters in the mail from distant pen pals. Today she might even receive a birthday card.

She ambled her way across the floor to her closet with Cletus following at her heels. His tail wagged happily as he watched her thumb through the few prized dresses that hung from makeshift wooden hangers which she had fashioned from branches gathered in their vineyard. The sharp decline in population meant fewer factory workers and truck drivers, which translated into a long wait for products to be stocked on store shelves. Many people had learned to live without.

Trista pulled a simple cotton dress over her head and stuck her long arms through the two holes and let the dress cascade to her knees. She slipped on the wooden shoes that Lillian had carved from a nearby walnut tree. Trista was thankful that her real mother had chosen a skilled and knowledgeable person such as Lillian to be her foster mother. Women like Lillian were a premium, especially Post BC.

She bent down and gave Cletus’s fur a quick perusal. Grabbing a flea between her thumb and forefinger, she brought it to her nose and sniffed. Yes, Cletus needed a bath as well.

The creaking sound of the screen door announced Lillian’s arrival home. In her arms she carried not only a few letters from the post office, but also a box the size of a homemade loaf of bread.

“Happy Birthday Trista! Nice to see you awake,” Lillian beamed as she strode towards Trista with outstretched arms.

Trista leaned into her embrace and returned her enthusiastic hug, then pulled away.

“I was awake early. I heard you leave but I was out milking Bessie. She gave us three gallons this morning. I’ve also fed the calf and chickens and gathered eggs. I believe we will have a bountiful crop of grapes this year.”

“That’s wonderful, Honey. Great news.”

Lillian’s face then turned slightly somber.

“Trista. I think we need to sit down. I have a package for you. I knew this day was coming. I suppose your real mother wanted it to arrive on your eighteenth birthday. The postage would indicate that it originated in the lab where she worked.”

The room fell silent and bristles of dark hair on Trista’s arms stood at attention.

With clumsy fingers of trepidation, Trista pulled at the tape and slowly opened the box.

Pen scribbles, written on yellow lined notebook paper met Trista’s gaze. It was the first time she had seen colored paper. She wasn’t sure if she was more fascinated with the paper or what the letter said.

My lovely daughter.

I know this gift may come as a bit of a shock, but Honey, please remember that science developed the technological advances in the rare chance that something of this catastrophic nature might some day occur, and it did. It doesn’t make you any different. It makes you special.

I simply wanted you to meet your biological mother and your donor father.

Happy 18th birthday! I pray you see your 60th!

Love,

Momma.

Trista dug through Styrofoam packaging peanuts, another rare oddity, until her fingers located a small, cold metallic item which she withdrew from the box.

She turned the beautiful, golden heart-shaped locket a few times in her hand, admiring its intricate etchings.

Lillian had remained quiet, but could no longer contain her excitement and curiosity.

“Go ahead, Honey. Open it!”

Trembling fingertips clicked the button which sprung the two halves apart.

Her mother’s radiant smile and dark raven hair was immediately discarded by Trista's gaze. Her focus flew to the other photo. The one of her father, a gorilla.