Jennifer Schneider

Her Name Would be Blessing

I was afraid to talk. Also afraid not to. Bennie always said talking is what I do best. Except for when his shows were on. Or when he needed sleep. Then my constant chatter would irritate him like nothing else.
Though I bet my time in the cell came a close second.
The silence in the cell felt stifling. My legs ached. Real bad. They wouldn’t stop shaking, either. I wanted to sit, but didn’t know where was okay. Had no good idea of what was allowed. And what wasn’t. I knew the basic rules. The ones I heard them say, anyway. But what about the others? I know they exist. I watch TV. According to Bennie, too much TV.
I was spooked. Absolutely terrified. Didn’t know how I ended up there. Didn’t know how to get out.
The night had been going so well. Surprisingly. The baby went down without any fuss. Bennie and I hadn’t fought over the remote. The game was on. Both of us were content with Channel 10. The sofa cushions cradled my aching back. My mind wandered. Should I tell Bennie about the bleeding, I thought. Then, I got hungry.
“Hey, Babe,” I asked Bennie. “Are you hungry? Want something?” Ugh. He was snoring. Loudly. Maybe too loudly. The kids were already asleep.
My legs felt heavy, but I managed to grab a box of Cheerios from the pantry, opened the fridge door, and take out the milk. The carton was tucked behind Bennie’s beer and the baby’s bottles. Both cooling for later. Spoiled. Either my sense of smell was on high alert those days or the milk soured before the date printed on the carton. I couldn’t take a chance.
Then I started thinking about the next morning. Bennie’s day would be thrown. He loved his routines. Coffee with milk. Creamed oats in his red bowl. The one with the chip on the rim.
I hate it when he’s grumpy. Benny without his coffee is never fun. I debated. Bennie’s belly continued to rise and fall. Half-time television talk streamed through the speakers.
I decided to make the most of a commercial break to run to the market.
Only two blocks over. Exercise would be good for me. Plus, I wanted some snacks for the second half. And I needed a box of pads. I hadn’t told Bennie that I had spotted earlier today. No need to worry him. At least not yet. We had just settled on her name. Blessing.
I thought I could make it. Now I know I thought wrong.
Leaves of varying colors crunched underfoot as I ran. My black boots flexed as my legs pumped, clocking time out loud. I passed a neighbor and flicked my wrist, sharing a quick hello. Despite the dark skies, the gray-haired man was on his knees, poking, prodding, and pulling at weeds hidden beneath the layer of leaves. His nightly routine. After walking home from school along this same route, my boy had mentioned the bald patches of Earth many afternoons,.
I made it to the shop in record time. The door swung open and the chimes rang. A sweet sound that reminded me of the baby’s mobile and our own nightly routine. Two board books. Three butterfly kisses. Wind the mobile twice. Tip-toe out the door. Whisper blessings and sweet dreams.
The store clerk turned his head and smiled. I nodded a brisk greeting back. No time for chatter. I was on the clock.
I grabbed a plastic basket and headed straight to the back. I knew just where to find what I needed. No dawdling. Three aisles to the left.
Cross the middle aisle. Those alluring end-caps weren’t going to grab any precious second. A teen was busy stocking shelves in aisle three. A red underwear band peeked out, above his denim. I lost focus for a minute. Earlier that day I had quarreled with Bennie about his jeans.
Dropping too low, I thought. He disagreed.
Back to business. I gathered what I needed. Soon, my basket was full. Milk. Pads. A bag of Tortillas and a jar of cheese dip.
I paid at the back register, grabbed my plastic bag full of personal items and change. No more than four minutes. Tops. My nose was still red from the run over. Worried the baby would wake, I hurried to the front of the store. As I neared the exit, my eyes noticed the cigarettes lining the shelves near the revolving door. For reasons I cannot explain, my gloved hand grabbed two packs and my legs kept moving.
Through the door. On the street. Towards home.
A block later I was detained. Charged with shoplifting. I must have dropped my receipt. Couldn’t even prove the pads were paid for. The milk splattered all over the block.
I had left my phone at home. Standing in the street, holding a bag of pads, chips, and dip in one hand and cigarettes in the other, I was arrested. They confiscated everything.
Booked. My denim lodged in a locker. Suddenly dressed in faded orange cotton dusting the cell’s cold concrete floor. What could I say to Bennie?
I tried phoning him from the station. No answer. His cell went right to voicemail. He was probably watching the game. Probably assumed I went to sleep.
I would have given anything for sleep and to be back on the sofa listening to Bennie snore. With my babies. When I first started spotting, I thought my monthly might have been a blessing. Wasn’t sure we could manage another. Now, I want nothing more than to get out of here and have the baby. Another blessing. Damn. Why did I grab those cigarettes? An impulse. On my way out the front door. Didn’t want Bennie to know I was still smoking. I wasn’t. Not really. Just one every now and then. I think I was afraid he’d see it on the receipt.
--
I glanced at the clock on the wall across from the cell. The hour hand blended with the minute hand. Thick tears welled in my eyes. One cellmate was speaking Spanish. In what must have been an English-only unit. Her eyes flickered and her hand kept moving. No one answered.
On the other side of the bars, dirty hands pushed a mop. Up and down the linoleum tiled hallway. Water sloshed in a green pail and my stomach growled for food.
Then, I sneezed. Uncontrollably. A loud, sloshy, entirely unexpected sneeze. In a cell with no tissues. Only bodies. About ten. A single bench.
One toilet. A clock whose minute hand clicked methodically above pairs of pacing feet.
When I sneezed I felt more blood. Spotting at 4 months can’t be good. I need my vitamins. And the pads.
“Bless you.” I looked up. And over.
“Thank you.”
“Bless us all,” she said. “We’re going to need it.”
“Why are you here?” she continued.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Me either,” she replied.
--
Silence. Again. Then keys turned in the cell door. Heads turned as the bars rotated out. A small cart, lined with milk and cereal, rolled in. Either a late dinner or an early breakfast in a place where time seems to stop. Each body received a box of corn flakes, a single serve carton of milk, and a spork. No bowls.
Had I known, I could have skipped my run to the market. The food would quiet my growling stomach, but not my nerves. My plastic spork snapped. Then dropped.
Gonna need all the blessings I can get.