Excerpt: A New Day
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Sometimes, in the evening, with Nadia bathed and tucked in for the night, Carol-Anne would draw her feet up in her old winged-back chair and read. The view from her window only offered the building across the street, but if she craned her neck she could see the sky holding on to the peach and royal-blue colors that always arrived right before nightfall.
Sometimes she’d just sit, no book in her lap, and gaze out the window, enjoying the solitude of being alone. Enjoyed no noise, no children’s questions, demanding adult answers. No need to praise every single scrap of childish artwork as it were a Picasso, no need to tend to a scraped knee or mend a zipper. Sometimes, late at night, Carol-Anne would put on her jazz station and have Loud Thoughts in her quiet time. Loud Thoughts were old friends. Loud Thoughts had started nine years ago when |
she decided that she wanted a child, and wanting a child did not necessarily mean wanting a husband. Wanting a child simply meant: my seed is gonna bear fruit. Wanting a child had meant saying goodbye to her married lover of five years. Wanting a child meant going off the pill and telling her married lover that she was leaving him but not that he was going to be a father.
These were Carol-Anne’s Loud Thoughts. The kind that would pop up at the most inopportune moments. But Carol-Anne had put up with Loud Thoughts and her daughter never knowing her father because she wanted a child more than she wanted anything. Carol-Ann had been thirty and a day when Nadia was born.
There hadn’t been anyone to tell her the flip side of this particular want: financial woes, change of life-style, and those uneasy questions: Who’s my daddy? What’s a period? Why do you have breasts and I don’t? Loss of friends: Can’t you get a baby-sitter? Loss of possible mates: You have a daughter how old? Not being able to just run out and buy a pair of eighty-dollar shoes, Have to pay the baby-sitter this week.
Rubbing pennies: Sorry, baby. Mommy can’t afford that Speak and Spell right now. At the supermarket: Seventy-three dollars? Oh, no. Well, take off that can of ravioli. And that pack of spareribs, too. Rubbing pennies till they turned to gold: Here’s the twenty-five dollars for your school pictures…you like your new winter coat?
Carol-Anne’s fingers almost seemed green from rubbing so many pennies, and it was hard not being able to give Nadia all those things she wanted. It wasn’t any fun eating that can of salmon that had been hidden behind three rows of food four weeks ago and now was the only protein in the house. Carol-Anne would take a trip to International House of Pancakes over pancakes from scratch any day of the week. But just buying a box of Aunt-Jemima when her rent and utilities were due was difficult.
Carol-Anne did not enjoy washing panties and undershirts by hand, night after night, because she didn’t have enough money for the Laundromat. There was no joy in turning the cushions over on her couch because they had holes in them and she couldn’t afford a new sofa right now. Nor did she like finding two pair of matching hose, cutting off the legs with runs and wearing the good ones together. Or getting her next-door neighbor Tina to “touch up” her perm because Carol-Anne didn’t have the extra forty dollars for the beauty parlor.
She did not enjoy having men tiptoe around her place so as to not wake her daughter. Or having to rustle them awake at ungodly hours, such as four-thirty in the morning when they did stay over, before Nadia got up. There was no joy in sleeping on the old pull-out couch because she could only afford one bedroom and that was for Nadia.
The rewards? Hearing Nadia say Momma without ever saying Da-Da. The first tooth. Nadia’s excellent grades and hearing her teachers rave. There were a lot of things Carol-Anne wanted, and possibly needed. But she had gotten wise when it came to needing. And by the grace of God, she was making it. Not in the style she wanted, but it was definitely a style all her own.
Carol-Anne did not believe in love at first sight, the luck of the lottery, or Guardian Angels. Carol-Anne did not believe in fate, destiny, or hope. You would never catch her tossing salt over her shoulder, avoiding the underbelly of a ladder, or fussing at anyone who opened an umbrella in her house.
Carol-Anne McClementine did not believe in miracles, fairy tales, or tall, dark, handsome men who would love her. Yet as she fingered the piece of paper with Max’s number scribbled in haste, she couldn’t help but consider the possibility.
***
These were Carol-Anne’s Loud Thoughts. The kind that would pop up at the most inopportune moments. But Carol-Anne had put up with Loud Thoughts and her daughter never knowing her father because she wanted a child more than she wanted anything. Carol-Ann had been thirty and a day when Nadia was born.
There hadn’t been anyone to tell her the flip side of this particular want: financial woes, change of life-style, and those uneasy questions: Who’s my daddy? What’s a period? Why do you have breasts and I don’t? Loss of friends: Can’t you get a baby-sitter? Loss of possible mates: You have a daughter how old? Not being able to just run out and buy a pair of eighty-dollar shoes, Have to pay the baby-sitter this week.
Rubbing pennies: Sorry, baby. Mommy can’t afford that Speak and Spell right now. At the supermarket: Seventy-three dollars? Oh, no. Well, take off that can of ravioli. And that pack of spareribs, too. Rubbing pennies till they turned to gold: Here’s the twenty-five dollars for your school pictures…you like your new winter coat?
Carol-Anne’s fingers almost seemed green from rubbing so many pennies, and it was hard not being able to give Nadia all those things she wanted. It wasn’t any fun eating that can of salmon that had been hidden behind three rows of food four weeks ago and now was the only protein in the house. Carol-Anne would take a trip to International House of Pancakes over pancakes from scratch any day of the week. But just buying a box of Aunt-Jemima when her rent and utilities were due was difficult.
Carol-Anne did not enjoy washing panties and undershirts by hand, night after night, because she didn’t have enough money for the Laundromat. There was no joy in turning the cushions over on her couch because they had holes in them and she couldn’t afford a new sofa right now. Nor did she like finding two pair of matching hose, cutting off the legs with runs and wearing the good ones together. Or getting her next-door neighbor Tina to “touch up” her perm because Carol-Anne didn’t have the extra forty dollars for the beauty parlor.
She did not enjoy having men tiptoe around her place so as to not wake her daughter. Or having to rustle them awake at ungodly hours, such as four-thirty in the morning when they did stay over, before Nadia got up. There was no joy in sleeping on the old pull-out couch because she could only afford one bedroom and that was for Nadia.
The rewards? Hearing Nadia say Momma without ever saying Da-Da. The first tooth. Nadia’s excellent grades and hearing her teachers rave. There were a lot of things Carol-Anne wanted, and possibly needed. But she had gotten wise when it came to needing. And by the grace of God, she was making it. Not in the style she wanted, but it was definitely a style all her own.
Carol-Anne did not believe in love at first sight, the luck of the lottery, or Guardian Angels. Carol-Anne did not believe in fate, destiny, or hope. You would never catch her tossing salt over her shoulder, avoiding the underbelly of a ladder, or fussing at anyone who opened an umbrella in her house.
Carol-Anne McClementine did not believe in miracles, fairy tales, or tall, dark, handsome men who would love her. Yet as she fingered the piece of paper with Max’s number scribbled in haste, she couldn’t help but consider the possibility.
***
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