floating across the water like liquid clouds. Her breasts were hot, buzzing, and so large they hardly seemed to belong to her anymore. Her stomach looked different now too, like a partially deflated balloon.
At the hospital, after they took the baby away, the doctor had offered to give her medicine to help dry her milk up, but she’d declined. She told him she couldn’t swallow pills and then almost laughed because that’s how this happened in the first place. But now as she rose out of the water into the misty air, her boobs felt like bowling balls, heavy and aching, pulling on every muscle in her shoulders and back. She hesitated and then tentatively pinched one of her nipples, watching as three distinct, almost violent streams of milk squirted out, like a mini showerhead. She gasped and pulled her hand away, but it kept on spraying. The doctor had warned her not to do this, not to “stimulate” her nipples; if she just left them alone, the milk would dry up on its own and everything would go back to normal.
Normal . God, she couldn’t remember what normal was anymore. Was normal back when the biggest worries she had were writing her college essay, what to wear to school in the morning, who would take her to the prom? Was normal back when she had only daydreamed about Ty, her best friend Ty—all that awful wishing, wanting, waiting? Or maybe normal was later, when Ty finally loved her back and they walked down the halls at school, his arm slung over her shoulder—the taste of Big Red gum in his mouth when he kissed her. When her whole world felt anything but normal. What she did know was this: There was no going back to that normal. Not now.
Her work shirt was still on the bathroom floor where she’d left it. The wet circles on the chest were dry now, crusty and dark. She’d need to toss it in the laundry before her next shift. She didn’t want her mother to see it either; she didn’t want to see the red shame on her mother’s flushed face.
She’d gotten the job at Walgreens to save money for college. Her parents said they would cover her tuition, but she’d need to pay for her room and board. She kept the job after she got pregnant, because for a while she thought she might keep the baby. She’d gotten the job so she could support herself. Support both of them. But later, after everything fell apart, she kept the job because it was the only thing she had anymore that she could count on. She couldn’t count on Ty; that was for sure. She couldn’t count on her best girlfriend, Lena. And she couldn’t count on her parents, even though they insisted she always could. That was only true now that she’d given the baby up; if she’d kept her, she wasn’t sure she’d even have been able to count on a roof over her head.
The people at work didn’t judge her the way the kids at school did, the way her parents did. They didn’t care that she was pregnant. They didn’t care that normally she’d be training for the state track meet, or that she’d been third in her class until all this happened. They didn’t even know that she was supposed to go off to UVM in the fall, nor would they care that she was starting to think she might not even go to college anymore. They didn’t care about her old dreams or who she was before all this; as long as she showed up on time and her register balanced out at the end of her shift, she was golden.
Crystal liked the way Walgreens smelled: like lemons floating in bleach. She liked how organized it was and that you could pretty much get everything in the world you’d need to live on here, except maybe fresh fruits and vegetables. She liked the electronic doors, the air-conditioning, and the white linoleum floors. She liked that you could go from brunette to blond with stuff from one aisle and then find everything you’d need to kill yourself in another. There was power here. There was possibility.
She had known today was probably going to be a little weird. Last week
At the hospital, after they took the baby away, the doctor had offered to give her medicine to help dry her milk up, but she’d declined. She told him she couldn’t swallow pills and then almost laughed because that’s how this happened in the first place. But now as she rose out of the water into the misty air, her boobs felt like bowling balls, heavy and aching, pulling on every muscle in her shoulders and back. She hesitated and then tentatively pinched one of her nipples, watching as three distinct, almost violent streams of milk squirted out, like a mini showerhead. She gasped and pulled her hand away, but it kept on spraying. The doctor had warned her not to do this, not to “stimulate” her nipples; if she just left them alone, the milk would dry up on its own and everything would go back to normal.
Normal . God, she couldn’t remember what normal was anymore. Was normal back when the biggest worries she had were writing her college essay, what to wear to school in the morning, who would take her to the prom? Was normal back when she had only daydreamed about Ty, her best friend Ty—all that awful wishing, wanting, waiting? Or maybe normal was later, when Ty finally loved her back and they walked down the halls at school, his arm slung over her shoulder—the taste of Big Red gum in his mouth when he kissed her. When her whole world felt anything but normal. What she did know was this: There was no going back to that normal. Not now.
Her work shirt was still on the bathroom floor where she’d left it. The wet circles on the chest were dry now, crusty and dark. She’d need to toss it in the laundry before her next shift. She didn’t want her mother to see it either; she didn’t want to see the red shame on her mother’s flushed face.
She’d gotten the job at Walgreens to save money for college. Her parents said they would cover her tuition, but she’d need to pay for her room and board. She kept the job after she got pregnant, because for a while she thought she might keep the baby. She’d gotten the job so she could support herself. Support both of them. But later, after everything fell apart, she kept the job because it was the only thing she had anymore that she could count on. She couldn’t count on Ty; that was for sure. She couldn’t count on her best girlfriend, Lena. And she couldn’t count on her parents, even though they insisted she always could. That was only true now that she’d given the baby up; if she’d kept her, she wasn’t sure she’d even have been able to count on a roof over her head.
The people at work didn’t judge her the way the kids at school did, the way her parents did. They didn’t care that she was pregnant. They didn’t care that normally she’d be training for the state track meet, or that she’d been third in her class until all this happened. They didn’t even know that she was supposed to go off to UVM in the fall, nor would they care that she was starting to think she might not even go to college anymore. They didn’t care about her old dreams or who she was before all this; as long as she showed up on time and her register balanced out at the end of her shift, she was golden.
Crystal liked the way Walgreens smelled: like lemons floating in bleach. She liked how organized it was and that you could pretty much get everything in the world you’d need to live on here, except maybe fresh fruits and vegetables. She liked the electronic doors, the air-conditioning, and the white linoleum floors. She liked that you could go from brunette to blond with stuff from one aisle and then find everything you’d need to kill yourself in another. There was power here. There was possibility.
She had known today was probably going to be a little weird. Last week
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