As a respectable human being, I want to tell you that I was disgusted. I want to say that the very name drove me away. I want to make you believe that I never pursued anything past my initial introduction. But I can’t. It would all be a lie.
The annual musical was in full swing and the NHS kids were dutifully scrounging hours by eating free food in the middle school home ec rooms. Drawn from the stacks of cookies by the laughter of a large group, predominantly AP Biology students, I managed to discern only two words.
“What’s a Fetal Steve?”
“You’ve never heard of Fetal Steve?” The mood change in the group was instantaneous. Looks of shock and disbelief stared back at me accusingly, as if I had just committed a sin. The group beckoned to me as a shook my head, motioning for me to sit down and receive the Story of Steve. My curiosity building, I complied.
His tale, far from revolting me, sparked something deep within. It was a modern-day quest, on par with if not exceeding that of the Holy Grail. The heroics and sacrifice of The Six were not lost on me and I hungered for more. This led me to his website and possibly one of the greatest photographs ever taken: a young girl in her father’s arms screaming in terror at Fetal Steve’s presence. His spell was complete; Steve’s grasp enclosed me.
Upon returning to school, however, I was dismayed to find that my new idol was MIA, traveling in the process of furthering his legend. Dejected, I wallowed in the AP Chemistry classroom, my only beacon of hope gradually slipping away.
Until that one shining day that Fetal Steve returned.
Hardly daring to believe the rumors, I approached Ms. Shea’s room with trepidation, fearing my obsession had been wasted or expectations had been built to high. As I entered the room, all seemed normal. But then, seemingly with a burst of sunlight and a chorus of angels, Steve appeared on the front desk in all his Fetal glory. Sporting a new outfit and brazenly buffing a cigarette, despite the questionable legality of a fetus possessing tobacco, Fetal Steve exemplified perfection, from the bottom of his missing foot to the top of his Mythbusters-autographed head.
My time limited by the bell and Mr. Benway’s threats of dissociation calculations, I had time only to take a quick picture and steal a lingering glance. As I left the room, astoundingly the joy provided by Fetal Steve remained, a rejuvenating force in the bleakness of the school year. He has and forever remain as such, and for that I am in his debt. Thank you, Ms Shea. Thank you, The Six. And most importantly, thank you, Steve.
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