“Okay, thank you, Mrs. Stevenson. I will see you tomorrow at eight. Uh-huh thanks, buh-bye.”
Claire pushed the red ‘end’ button on her smart phone and stuffed it hastily into her back pocket. She shifted her weight heavily onto her left hip and readjusted her grip on Bryan, her two year old son. Her phone rang again.
“Hello, this is Mrs. Walker.”
Claire listened to the voice on the other line for a few moments before telling the caller that she wasn’t in the office and would return her call by the end of the week. She set Bryan down and set off to finish cleaning the house. It had been a rough week so far. Toys, dirty clothes, bibs and the like littered the floor, creating a sort of domestic obstacle course. Wednesdays are always full to bursting with chores and errands; it was the one day that Claire had off. Except it wasn’t really a day off, it was the day in which she was forced to clean, shop, cook, and arrange all of the affairs that she had put off at the start of the week.
It had been a year since Bryan’s father left and Claire was still playing catch up. She spent her days as paralegal, swimming in endless piles of paper, but her nights, her nights, she spent swimming in diapers, formula, and onesies. Claire tried to apply herself to being a mom the same way she applied herself to her career, but somehow the results weren’t the same. Bryan was a wonderful child but he cried more often than she could stand, she had yet to hear him utter a coherent sound. Claire buried herself into work, now more than ever. She felt she had unearthed the truth about motherhood, it was a violent river with a monster of a current and she was swimming upstream.
“Ssshh, it’s okay Bryan, I’ll get you in just one minute.” Claire cooed more to herself than to the crying toddler. She snatched up all of the clothes from the floor, tossed them in the bin, and moved on to pick up all of the baby toys lying about. Her phone rang once more, she quickly hit the ‘ignore’ button and tossed it on the couch.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming, mommy’s coming.” Bryan’s wailing had now reached catastrophic levels. He was two and still the only sounds that he could form were incoherent screams. No matter how many times Claire read to him or spoke the word “mommy” to him he still couldn’t create a single sound.
Claire rushed over and removed him from his playpen, bouncing him rhythmically from side to side, slowly assuaging his hysteria. Once the last of his cries were gone she rotated him to her left hip and continued to quickly clean. The time was passing swiftly,l ike water down a drain, one moment it’s there the other it’s gone. Claire checked the time on the microwave, 4:30; she needed to get to the store before dinner time. She hesitated a moment before squatting slowly; she slid Bryan back into his playpen and tiptoed to the entryway to gather her purse and keys. Like clockwork Bryan began screaming and hiccupping dramatically; Claire knew she only had a minute to gather her things before Bryans hiccupping morphed into a fully-formed fit. She returned quickly,scooped Bryan up and trudged out of the house.
A moment later Claire had settled Bryan into his car seat, slid into the drivers’ seat and began driving toward Ralph’s. The list of things that the two of them had gone through was unbelievable; bread, milk, eggs, water, and cereal all in just over a week. When they arrived Claire removed Bryan from his car seat and sat him in the cart. A silly smiled played on the little boys face as he was pushed from one aisle to another. Claire moved swiftly from the dairy aisle to the freezer section tossing items unceremoniously in her cart all the while. Her phone continued to ring incessantly. Claire was becoming frustrated, feeling certain that the day would end before she had finished all that she needed to. She wanted to answer her phone but she knew that she would never complete her motherly duties once she picked up.
Almost solemnly Claire maneuvered her half-empty cart in and out of the aisles. Grabbing and item here, a bag there. Too many times she almost ran down a fellow shopper who got in her way. Distractedly she pushed her cart down the produce aisle, catching the turned-out toe of a thuggish-looking young man. He cursed loudly and threw up his hands in disgust, waiting for an apology. Claire kept her eyes down and turned away from the foul-mouthed kid. She had no time for his brooding, Bryan had begun to curl out his bottom lip in the way that told her he was about to explode. She strengthened her grip on the cool metal cart and continued down the aisle. She could feel the accosted man’s eyes drilling holes into her back. Her cheeks involuntarily flushed a deep crimson.
When her cart was almost entirely full Claire pushed it toward the entrance and began unloading the items onto the check stand. The check stand woman, an older lady, greeted her with a warm smile. The work phone in Claire’s pocket rang another time. She took it out and checked the screen, Mr. Dean, another one of her clients. Bryan had quieted down quickly after her hit and run, so quiet in fact Claire hardly noticed him as she loaded the conveyer with her items. Something about being in the cart always lulled him into silence. A rough voice whispered over her shoulder, “nice driving, lady.” Claire whipped around and recognized the young man whose foot she mowed over. Her cheeks, now beet red, burned with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, okay? Just in a rush.” She turned forward and stared expectantly at the checker.
Her phone finally stopped ringing. The total 56.48 flashed in bright green on the screen. Claire reached into the cart for her purse, found her debit card, and paid the balance. Once the groceries were packed she took them, sliding three of the plastic handles onto both of her arms, keeping her eyes forward and hoping to avoid another run in with a disgruntled shopper. Her phone rang once more. She pushed her cart against the adjacent wall and hurried for the doors.
Her phones shrill ring cut into the silence of the parking lot. Mr. Garcia, her boss, this one she didn’t dare ignore.
“Mr. Garcia, hi, how are you? Yes I know, I am sending over the copies of those contracts as we speak. Uh- huh, yes I know they’re late. Yes sir, of course.” Claire left the store and headed to her car. The afternoon traffic was going to be gruesome. Once seated, Claire sped home, thinking only of the stacks of manila folders on her desk. She had planned on faxing over the copies earlier that morning but the day had slipped away from her. She pulled into the drive way, put the car in park and jogged into the house, her mind on the papers. Mr. Garcia had insisted on staying on the phone until she got them sent over. He took this time to remind her that she was slipping and that her job was severely in jeopardy.
“Okay, they are sending now.” She grunted, thinking only of the dinner she now had to make for Bryan and herself. Wait, Bryan!
“Oh my God!” Claire screamed into the phone before sprinting for the door. The image of her two year old son seated in a shopping cart now a wallpaper against her eyelids.
She pelted to her car, ripped open the door, and shifted into drive. Claire sped down the street, crying uncontrollably at her own carelessness. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she screamed at the windshield. She didn’t let herself consider the possibility that he may not be there when she returned. She began shaking, her screams became whispers, prayers. She prayed to God that Bryan was still there. She pleaded hysterically, trying to convince herself that she would be better, that she would quit her job and that she would devote the rest of her life being the perfect mother if Bryan was okay. Her minivan covered the pavement slowly, and the traffic from school being let out still hadn’t subsided. Claire screamed at passing cars, screamed at herself, and clutched the steering wheel until her fingers ached, hoping that somehow her earnestness would propel the car further faster.
Claire pulled into the parking lot, honked at several passersby, and screeched to a halt in front of the entrance. She kicked her car door open, left the keys in the ignition and pelted flatfooted toward the door. Only to stop, shocked. The shopping cart that carried her son was there, parked just in front of a bench beside Ralph’s entrance, accompanied by a familiar young man. He wore a telling smirk, one that could only be described as disgust. If she felt shame before it was nothing compared to the horror she felt at this moment, standing before her son and a twenty-something-year-old kid with baggy pants. The revulsion she felt at the almost loss of her son now felt like a crater in the pit of her stomach. She had no words for this man who saved her.
“Wow,” was all he said before getting to his feet and walking away without so much as a backward glance. Claire felt herself being propelled forward, her feet moving like cement in water. She reached the bench, one hand on Bryan, the other sprawled across her face to hide the tears she could no longer refuse.
When her cart was almost entirely full Claire pushed it toward the entrance and began unloading the items onto the check stand. The check stand woman, an older lady, greeted her with a warm smile. The work phone in Claire’s pocket rang another time. She took it out and checked the screen, Mr. Dean, another one of her clients. Bryan had quieted down quickly after her hit and run, so quiet in fact Claire hardly noticed him as she loaded the conveyer with her items. Something about being in the cart always lulled him into silence. A rough voice whispered over her shoulder, “nice driving, lady.” Claire whipped around and recognized the young man whose foot she mowed over. Her cheeks, now beet red, burned with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, okay? Just in a rush.” She turned forward and stared expectantly at the checker.
Her phone finally stopped ringing. The total 56.48 flashed in bright green on the screen. Claire reached into the cart for her purse, found her debit card, and paid the balance. Once the groceries were packed she took them, sliding three of the plastic handles onto both of her arms, keeping her eyes forward and hoping to avoid another run in with a disgruntled shopper. Her phone rang once more. She pushed her cart against the adjacent wall and hurried for the doors.
Her phones shrill ring cut into the silence of the parking lot. Mr. Garcia, her boss, this one she didn’t dare ignore.
“Mr. Garcia, hi, how are you? Yes I know, I am sending over the copies of those contracts as we speak. Uh- huh, yes I know they’re late. Yes sir, of course.” Claire left the store and headed to her car. The afternoon traffic was going to be gruesome. Once seated, Claire sped home, thinking only of the stacks of manila folders on her desk. She had planned on faxing over the copies earlier that morning but the day had slipped away from her. She pulled into the drive way, put the car in park and jogged into the house, her mind on the papers. Mr. Garcia had insisted on staying on the phone until she got them sent over. He took this time to remind her that she was slipping and that her job was severely in jeopardy.
“Okay, they are sending now.” She grunted, thinking only of the dinner she now had to make for Bryan and herself. Wait, Bryan!
“Oh my God!” Claire screamed into the phone before sprinting for the door. The image of her two year old son seated in a shopping cart now a wallpaper against her eyelids.
She pelted to her car, ripped open the door, and shifted into drive. Claire sped down the street, crying uncontrollably at her own carelessness. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she screamed at the windshield. She didn’t let herself consider the possibility that he may not be there when she returned. She began shaking, her screams became whispers, prayers. She prayed to God that Bryan was still there. She pleaded hysterically, trying to convince herself that she would be better, that she would quit her job and that she would devote the rest of her life being the perfect mother if Bryan was okay. Her minivan covered the pavement slowly, and the traffic from school being let out still hadn’t subsided. Claire screamed at passing cars, screamed at herself, and clutched the steering wheel until her fingers ached, hoping that somehow her earnestness would propel the car further faster.
Claire pulled into the parking lot, honked at several passersby, and screeched to a halt in front of the entrance. She kicked her car door open, left the keys in the ignition and pelted flatfooted toward the door. Only to stop, shocked. The shopping cart that carried her son was there, parked just in front of a bench beside Ralph’s entrance, accompanied by a familiar young man. He wore a telling smirk, one that could only be described as disgust. If she felt shame before it was nothing compared to the horror she felt at this moment, standing before her son and a twenty-something-year-old kid with baggy pants. The revulsion she felt at the almost loss of her son now felt like a crater in the pit of her stomach. She had no words for this man who saved her.
“Wow,” was all he said before getting to his feet and walking away without so much as a backward glance. Claire felt herself being propelled forward, her feet moving like cement in water. She reached the bench, one hand on Bryan, the other sprawled across her face to hide the tears she could no longer refuse.