brandyglows

Warning: not completely safe for work.

I was going through some of my old journals and I ran across this story. I wrote it sometime around 2003. My daughter would have been about two. I’m not sure why I changed my name and I’m not sure why I wrote it in 3rd person. Regardless, it’s all true. Spring 2001,  this is what went down:

Hesitantly, she approached the check out counter, wondering what the cashier would think. She knew she looked young for 19.

“Camel Light Menthols, hard pack, please,” She mumbled.

“ID,” The cashier made a face but said nothing more.

Laci rummaged through her too-full purse, a couple of pens and her wallet fell to the ground. She swept them up clumsily, and with downcast eyes, thrust her ID toward the cashier. The woman grunted and handed Laci her purchase.

There was a problem. She didn’t have to pee. The one time I don’t have to go, she mused.

She sighed. It was easily remedied. She made her way outside and sat down on a bench. Staring out into the parking lot, she twisted open the crisp, cold Diet Coke. The first taste was always the best; that magical flavor found combining carbonation and NutraSweet.

She dug her hand into her pocket and wiggled a bit until she grasped her lighter. It was the same with a cigarette. That first puff: relief, comfort, exactly what she needed.

Any sensible person, she thought to herself, would simply go home and take the test. But her mother was home; she’d certainly sniff and pry until she found it out.

Laci inhaled a big breath of smoke. She held it for a second, like a joint. That would be better, she thought, but she had no place to smoke it. She took her last puff, squeezed and pinched the cigarette until the cherry fell to the ground. She threw the butt in the trash, took a swig of her soda and walked back through the doors of Wal-Mart.

“HOOOUCH!” A tired looking woman in her early 30s exclaimed, doubling over, nursing her foot. A tiny boy, perhaps three, ran spastic circles around her, grabbing this and that.

“I want this! I want this! I WANT THIS!” He sang. Laci stared. The woman swept him up with two hands, one foot on the ground.

“Would you STOP?” She meant it as a command, but it came out like a plea. The boy wriggled his way to the floor and shot off toward the camping equipment. His mom whimpered and limped after him.

What a horrible little boy! That poor woman. Laci realized she hadn’t moved. She stood in place for another minute, gathering herself. Finally, she resumed her stride, wandering aimlessly through the aisles, processing the scene she’d just witnessed.

Suddenly, she felt the urge. She gulped. The moment of truth.

Fear crept over her as she made her way to the bathroom. She pushed open the heavy door; a ghastly smell filled her nostrils. Someone had puked on the floor. She thought she might throw up herself. It also smelled like shit. She found the cleanest stall and grabbed the little test kit from her bag. Pee on a stick for 10 seconds. Easy enough.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

She placed the test on the back of the toilet and stood there holding her breath. It was the longest three minutes of her life. Her mind contemplated the boy, the test, how she hadn’t thought any of it through. Her boyfriend was still at work. She didn’t get along with that awful woman he lived with, so she couldn’t have taken the test there . . . but this place. Damn, she thought, I knew I should have gone to the nice Wal-Mart.

She looked at her watch, two minutes and 36 seconds. That would do.

She knew the answer before she looked, but that little pink line shocked her all the same. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she grabbed her belongings and ran from that wretched bathroom. She didn’t stop running until she reached her car. It took a while to get the key in the lock. Her hands shook so badly it scared her. She sank into her bucket seat and lit another cigarette.

Well, she thought, I’ll have to switch to ultra lights.

This story has a happy ending. My sweet little sprite is nine years old. I’m crazy thankful for her. Truly, she’s amazeballs.

I’m turning my journey into a book! And sharing little pieces on my blog along the way. If you liked this, you might also like reading the night I spent in jail. I hope these stories inspire us both to think deeply, love wildly and create beauty. So much so that I wrote a Manifesto!