Saving Grace

 
 
Author Notes: This is a fictional piece.
 
11/15/04: A very gracious thank you to Voxxylady for my FIRST awardicon!!!
 
12/4/04: Won the Buns in the Oven contest!!! YaY!
 
 
 
 
Isn’t it funny how quickly things happen? How time just zips by? It seems like only yesterday when he held me in his arms and whispered lovingly in my ear. Oh, I was so naïve. I am ashamed to admit how much so.

I suppose I was just greedy for the affection I never had. With parents forever fighting and struggling to pay the rent, I was slighted to no end. Left to fend for myself in the realities world with no guidance, I stumbled through it, coming away with time in jail and bruises from relationships gone awry. Perhaps that is why he seemed like such a blessing.

I sigh heavily and glance up at the ticking clock. It is almost five. My shift is dragging to a halt. I slowly begin to clean up, less enthusiastically than the other workers. By the time I have finished washing my ice cream scoops, they are hurrying out the door, on their way to parties, dates, or home. Home.The word angers me and I feel my heart clench.

I have no home to go to anymore. As soon as she found out about my pregnancy, my own mother called me a whore and promptly disowned me. I had to drop out of school and found myself on the streets with barely enough cash to rent a tiny apartment, paying for it by working here in a local ice cream parlor.

The bells on the door clang as two young children run in. They look like sister and brother and I can tell no difference between their ages. Perhaps they are twins. I shudder slightly. The thought of having one child frightens me enough, let alone two at the same time. The siblings are panting and sweaty from the summer heat, but shout with ebullience all the same. A young couple enter and I can only assume them to be the parents.

The large man with a kind face and broad smile scoops his children up so they can see the different flavors. They have inherited his straight nose and dimples. Soothing back her little boy’s hair, the comely woman smiles at me and I can’t help but notice they both have the same baby blue eyes. It makes me wonder if my unborn daughter will look anything like the man who bolted out of her life as soon as he discovered her existence. I strain to return the gesture, uncertain if it’s out of kindness or pity. The maternity clothes and red pinstriped apron do nothing to mask my swollen belly.

The man starts to order. “Hi. We’ll have a scoop of rocky road and a scoop of vanilla, in cones please. And also two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough, in bowls.” I nod and scurry to appease them, stepping back from the high counter. Noticing eyes on my prominent stomach, I flush and ignore the stares. Even after months of this, I haven’t gotten used to the surprised attention.

As I hand each their dessert, the girl points to my midsection and utters a question. “Baby?” Her cherubic face is so innocent, pink tongue poking out to lap at her cone. There is an awkward silence before I nod slowly, not sure what to say. The father smiles mildly and asks me how far along I am. “About five months.” I mutter, eyes glued on dribbles of ice cream running down the children’s faces. The mother expertly wipes the mess away with a napkin, exclaiming, “Congratulations! You must be excited.”

At my silence, she turns to look at me, gaze softening. My eyes well with tears. I want to tell her how petrified I am, how alone I am and worried how I will ever care for my child. But I don’t have to. I can tell that she somehow understands. It has been so long since somebody has looked upon me with empathy, and not disgust or ridicule. The drops clinging to my lashes finally fall, leaving wet trails down my cheek.

Reaching across the counter, the woman grasps my shoulders in a comforting embrace. She peers into my eyes to be sure she’s captured my full attention and murmurs gently, “It’s worth it. Really, it is. You’ll see.” She strokes my cheek and then releases me, “Be strong. Never, never, never give up.”

I recognize the Churchill quote and through my tears, smile gratefully. The woman, who has touched my life, tips generously before joining her family at the entrance. She looks at me one last time with assertion and walks out of the door. I wipe away the wetness on my face, watching them retreat. My attention is diverted to my stomach, where I can feel persistent movement. It suddenly hits me how miraculous birth really is.

I tug up my shirt to stare at my naked belly in wonder. There is a little person growing in there;a little me. Somebody with a unique personality, voice, and future. My daughter has the potential to become a doctor, scientist, influential writer, or even the first woman president! To think that I considered abortion the moment I was informed was sickening. I would not have the joy of seeing her take her first steps, sorrow over a skinned knee, laughter over the jokes she will invent. The thoughts overwhelm me and I sink into a chair.

Contemplating for a few moments, I realize what I have not yet thought about. I retrieve my purse from the back room and plunge my hand in, searching. I pull out a small book of baby names from the bottom. The quiet humming of the freezers soothes me as I slowly flip through the pages.

Something catches my fancy and I stop, saying the name out loud. “Grace.” It rolls smoothly off my tongue and it tastes like the sweetest honey. Simple and pristine, it appeals to me.

I say it again, louder this time, directed at my unborn child. She kicks, almost in approval, and I grin. Yes. She will be Grace. My Grace. My saving Grace.