Child

Leaning forward in her chair, she closed her eyes. The sunlight felt delicious- winter was at last a memory. Several bees buzzed nearby. She opened her eyes and exhaled. “Charlie was a chemist but Charlie is no more. What Charlie thought was H2O was H2SO4.”

“A classic!”

With a few squirts of lemon into her iced tea, she said, “What did you come up with?” He handed her her sugar packets, and she began to rip each one open. She was continually amazed at the variety of sweeteners available in restaurants today. Pink packets, white and blue striped packets, yellow packets…

“Adam told God that he was lonely-”

“Is this joke going to disparage me in some way?”

“Wait and see,” Barry said. “Adam asked God to give him someone who would love him. God gave him a dog. Later, Adam asked God to give him someone to teach him humility. God gave him a cat. God was relieved. Adam felt much better. The dog wagged his tail. And the cat didn’t give a damn.”

If there is one thing that can be blamed for bringing Barry and Alicia together, if there is one thing that's kept them together throughout, it’s Tom Snyder. Legendary news anchorman, legendary sarcastic wit, legendary hair. His live, late-night, talk show always began the same: “Sit back, have a colortini, and relax. Thanks for catching our pictures as we fly ‘em through the air.” The show always ended with some joke Tom heard or found on the Internet. She and Barry were competing to see how many they remembered.

The waitress brought their food to the table then. Barry told her the “real” story of how the angel came to its place atop the Christmas tree.

Chuckling, Alicia said, “I’m glad you waited until after we got our food to do that.”

Across the street, a woman was pushing a caravan-like baby carriage. One of those two or three seaters- good for a couple of kids, the average ten pound diaper bag, purse, umbrella, et-cetra. An infant, a girl with a very round face and dark hair, kept lunging forward in the carriage. Her chubby arms strained to reach the child in the front compartment.

“Gracia!” the young woman said sharply.

Alicia looked at Barry. He was studying them too. His eyes wrinkled at the corners and his mouth stiffened.

“What about when Tom ended with, ‘always remember that the Ark was made by amateurs and the Titanic by professionals.’”

Barry softly said, “She waitresses at John’s restaurant on the highway.”

“Which?”

“That girl…oh, John’s restaurant is the one right after the turnpike on-ramp. You always shoot too far beyond it and have to turn around in the pet store parking lot.”

“Ah.”

Barry continued watching her and Alicia watched him.

The young woman shaded her eyes and sat down on one of the many benches that lined the other side of the street, this area, the center square. The infant Gracia continued to swing at the child in front of her.

“You see, you see?” Barry said excitedly. “The town tries to revitalize downtown here, tries to do something uplifting with it, and everybody gets upset. ‘Why not turn it into a parking lot?’ you and your friends at the hospital complained. No. I vote with the good guys to put a few bushes, trees, and hedges in, keep half the square for parking, add a few benches for people to sit on. Everybody tells us we are throwing out tax dollars the borough should be using for other things. What things? Should it all be a parking lot? Should we develop more local industry? How about building even more housing developments where there's no room? When businesses and people start knocking down the township limits, you and your friends at the hospital will be the ones complaining about continual tax increases, pollution, and crime. We at the borough, we're on good terms with life, you know? We just try to make it nice for the people who are living here now. Give mothers and children a place to sit and relax.”

“Richland Park is two blocks away.”

Across the street, Gracia managed to get her leg over one side of the carriage. The young woman erupted in a stream of foreign curses. Smacking Gracia’s leg and dropping it back into the carriage, the woman picked up the child in the front compartment. She held the baby somewhat awkwardly. Very small, just enough to fill one arm. With her free hand, she stroked his fuzzy blond head. The baby wriggled a bit and continued crying, his cries coming out like strained gasps. She enveloped the baby in both arms now. Swaying on the sidewalk, standing beside the carriage and little Gracia, she shifted her weight from the heel of one foot to the heel of the other foot.

Alicia smiled thinly. “Sometimes, I think it’s not the rocking that matters. It’s the heartbeat that finally calms the baby. Did you see how when she held him in both arms, to her chest, he started to get quiet?”

“Both actions matter equally. The rocking and the heartbeat each bear significantly on the baby’s psychological mind-set, which is just now beginning to form.” Barry nodded. “I’m sure she works at John’s restaurant.”

“I never remember her waiting on us.”

“Thank goodness. She probably could not handle your intricately detailed orders.”

“Is that right?” Alicia told herself the sun was getting to him. In the winter, she blamed it on the cold. “So do you go there often without me?” Picking all the croutons from her salad, she cradled them in her hand, eating slowly, crunching loudly. He hated that. After a moment, she gave up. “I never remember her waiting on us.”

Still looking the other direction, Barry reached forAlicia's hand. When he found it full of croutons, he smiled. Then, he stood and moved his chair around the table, until he was very close to her. He sat down again and ate a mouthful of the crunchy substance from the palm of her hand. The sensation of his tongue on her skin tickled.

On his second mouthful of croutons, he didn’t bother swallowing before saying, “We sit in the smoking section. That girl waits on non-smoking customers.” All the crumbs fell into his lap.

“The Bible according to kids states: ‘Do one to others before they do one to you.’” Alicia looked at the other faces around them, determined to find some way to distract him so their entire conversation would not revolve around that woman. To the left, an elderly man was lecturing a ten-year old boy. The boy stared into his pasta.

Behind them, a couple was breaking up. From what Alicia could overhear, the woman wanted to and it and the man just talked about the weather. He was pretty distraught. She told him he had no ambition, no drive to improve himself and his life. Poor guy.

“She can’t be making much money,” Barry said suddenly. “Do you think she's okay?”

Alicia rolled her eyes. “You and this quest of yours to save the world. Waitresses make a good living. All tips, great tips.”

Barry bounced his leg up and down. He took a forkful of salad and munched on it intently.

“Olives look like Martian eyeballs.”Alicia scrunched her face in distaste.

Across the street, the young woman sat on the bench, still cradling the crying newborn in her arms. She began to breastfeed.

Barry said, “I think her name is Selma. Her attitude is always positive. I remember one night at John’s, some customers began to yell at her. They accused her of stealing something, I don’t know what.”

“Where was I? Was I there? I don’t remember that.”

“You were in the bathroom or something. I recall it all very distinctly because that was the day you received your promotion at work. Tom had James Caan on his show that night and they discussed graveyards and spirits.”

“What happened to Selma?”

Barry glanced across the street. “Wouldn’t that be an injustice if she got fired because of one incident?”

The young woman clasped the baby to her chest. Bundled in his blanket, the baby wriggled like a cocoon from which something struggled to emerge. Selma started to jostle the baby carriage with her foot. She pushed on the front wheel to move the carriage forward just a bit, then back, forward, then back again.

“During that whole confrontation with her customers, did her boss come out? Did any managerial type appear and tell her that she was fired? Did anyone yell at her besides the customers who thought they were ripped off?”

“Maybe I should speak to John about it. You think so?”

“What?”

“Selma.”

“You didn’t get her fired, did you Barry? Did you get some poor woman fired while I was in the bathroom that night?”

“Of course not,” he said. He picked up her salad plate and placed it inside of his.

“You know I can’t sleep at night without you, so don’t tell me your having an affair.”

The waitress arrived then with their food. Before Barry lunged into his eggplant, he said, “What makes you think that?”

“I think you should do it, Barry. Talk to John about Selma. We could certainly even put her name in with some of the other restauranteurs whom we know.”

Across the street, Selma stopped breast-feeding the squirmy little newborn. Now Gracia was whining, sitting fully upright again, her arms outstretched toward her mother.

Selma gazed at Alicia. The eyes were wooden, she was weary. Alicia could see her beauty, but it wasn’t easily seen by the world. No. It took a certain afternoon light, and a far away look, and a specific tilt of the head. But that was the magic time of transformation. Alicia wondered if that was what Barry noticed at the restaurant that night. Then she looked away, guilty as though she had been caught spying.

Across the street, Gracia exploded into tears. She began to bounce up and down in the carriage. It sudddenly reminded Alicia of her brother, for some odd reason, and the baby he chose to call Alfred. Alfred was the most laid-back child imaginable. Were it not for his name, such an attitude had him destined for a career as a surfer. When Al cried, it was because he was hungry, or needed a diaper change. Those instances were momentary, and then he grew quiet again, gone back to contemplating the wonders of the environment around him. One couldn't even say that Al cried because he shed no visible tears. It was a simple call, and as soon as someone entered the room, he got quiet, faithful that his needs were soon to be satisfied. Al didn’t even like to be held for very long. After the diaper changes or feedings, when he was put down again to rest in his crib, he always looked relieved. It seemed so strange to imagine a baby feeling an emotion like relief.

Gracia continued wailing, her arms raised in a needing salute to her mother.

By now, the break-up drama at the table behind them finally drew to a close. The woman sipped her drink uneasily, and Alicia heard her say to the man, “I don’t want to hurt you, but there’s no reason to continue this relationship. I know that it isn’t going anywhere.” She was tall, dressed in a pale pink business suit.

The man put his elbows on the table and moved so his nose was nearly touching hers. “Why is everything measured in progress?” He said this loudly enough that several people turned their heads.

“You’re not making sense. Listen, I didn’t say I don’t care about you. I want you to get well. You need to go someplace where they treat these depressive disorders. I can’t handle you in my life right now.”

He began to sputter nervous curses at her.

She shook her head, got up, and wandered off down the street.

Alicia cringed for the poor guy, even though witnessing the scene made her uneasy. You're lucky you found out now, Alicia wanted to say. Better now than a few years into a dead-end marriage, two miserable kids, an incontinent dog— the requisite happy family, trapped in a suburb of Somewhere, behind a mud-spattered picket fence.

The whimpering man stood up. He pulled several green bills from his wallet and dropped them into half a plate of spaghetti. Then, he walked off slowly, disappearing in the direction his girlfriend had gone.

“We’re different,” Alicia said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“We love each other, but there’s something more to it. It sets us apart." She had almost forgotten how many different colors masqueraded in the seeming blue of Barry's eye. “We’re allies.”

“I think John may have fired Selma. I haven't seen her at the restaurant since that night I told you about.”

“Talk to him, call him tonight.” She shoveled her chicken across her plate with the fork, trying to quiet her thoughts.

Gazing down the street, Barry fingered the scalloped edge of the tablecloth. "I'm sorry," Barry softly said.

Alicia pushed the plate of chicken away. After a moment, he picked it up and placed it inside of his. Then, he moved them to the far side of the table.

Across the street, Selma picked Gracia up and the girl immediately stopped crying. A moment or so later, a woman in a white dress walked toward her. The woman smiled and sat down on the bench beside Selma. The two talked as if they were acquainted.

Shortly, after taking several deep breaths, Gracia hopped down from Selma’s lap and rested her head on her knee. She sucked her thumb and mumbled gibberish as if to be included in the two women’s conversation.

“Where’s the blond child?” Barry asked suddenly.

Gracia had toddled to the other side of the carriage, unnoticed by her mother and companion.
She began to kick the baby carriage.

Alicia didn’t answer him at first she didn’t look up. Finally: “Maybe he ran away.”

At that moment, the street light changed. More Sunday traffic rolled by.

Across the street, the little girl kicked more forcefully now because her mother made no effort to stop her. Suddenly, the carriage started rolling down an incline.

The woman in the white dress leapt up to intercept the carriage.

Barry was on his feet, still tangled in the chair legs.

A car revved its engine. Some teen who'd gotten his hands on his parents’ keys.

Screaming at her daughter in Spanish, Selma crouched and lurched toward the girl as if to pick her up and shake her. Scared, Gracia stepped backward and fell off the sidewalk into the street. In her confusion, after a second, she ran further into the street.

She looked at Alicia. Her legs wobbled like a fawn. Then, she screamed and fell.
Just like that.

The car made every effort to stop—that was what the police recorded in their final report, based on interviews with eye-witnesses. The driver was a distraught young man, already predisposed to fits of nervousness.

“He shouldn’t have been behind the wheel,” Barry would say later, over and over again. Sometimes, in his sleep he said it.

One day, several weeks after the accident, Alicia told him, “Go and see Selma. Make sure she’s okay.” The little girl Gracia had sounded just like her mother when she screamed that final time. The memory of it haunted her.

Barry's eyes were searching.

Alicia continued, “I just know she's okay. She will be, right?"