by Tasha Jones
One glance at the pink wall clock hanging on the wall over her head told her that they were already five minutes late getting started on their day. “No, seriously, Laila. We're really out of time here,” she pressed, lifting the quilt away from her.
Laila stirred again, “No!” she yelled, shooting up, before falling back down onto the bed. “I'm sick, I don't want to go!” she cried before crawling back into her impossible ball.
“I can’t do this with you right now!” Jackie breathed with an exasperated voice. She pressed her hand against Laila's forehead. “Babe, you don't even have a fever. Let's go.” She reached underneath her shoulders to pick her up, but Laila pressed herself that much farther into the mattress.
“No. You’re not supposed to take my temperature with your hand, Momma!” she screamed.
Jackie raised an eyebrow, not sure whether to be annoyed with the fact that Laila was still carrying on a lie that was obviously not true and making them later with every passing minute, or proud of the fact that she not only knew what 'temperature' was, and how to pronounce it, but that she also was able to apply the concept correctly. “Baby, I can tell just from your voice that you are just fine. Now if you get up now, I'll let you have a tiny little sip of my coffee,” she replied, knowing that would be enough to coax her daughter away from the sheets.
Like magic, she shot up, her eyes wide with excitement. “Really? You will?” she exclaimed, her caramel skin flushing red as she jumped out of bed.
Jackie couldn't help but to laugh. She envied how her daughter could go from literally too tired to even open her eyes, to jumping up and down with excitement in mere moments. “Yes. But you have to shower in ten minutes,” she replied, conveniently leaving out the fact that she would brew a special, caffeine-free brew just for this purpose. Jackie liked to think of herself as a “cool mom,” but she was nowhere near cool enough to risk stunting Laila's growth. The doctors all said she was going to grow up to be at least 5'10, and Jackie was making it her personal mission to see that she claimed every single one of those inches.
“Okay!” Laila replied as she ran down s to the bathroom that the two of them shared.
Jackie took that time to set some music up for the rest of the morning. She sifted through the records she had placed in the box, painted just to match her daughter's room, to find the one that fit her mood exactly. People always thought she was strange for still listening to records, but she always said they reminded her of a simpler time. A smile tugged at her lips as she laid her hands on the Alicia Keys collectible she had picked up at a colleague's garage sale a couple of years back, and she set it up on the record player.
Once their entire loft was filled with the voice of Keys, she quickly made Laila’s bed, and then faced her closet. Before she could even begin to put together an outfit for Laila, she had to pick up the remnants of clothing the child had strewn all over the floor and re-hang them. She could already see Laila starting to have her own fashion sense. Soon enough, she was going to start insisting that she pick out her own clothes. Then Jackie would start having all those conversations she used to have with her parents in elementary school about what to wear.
By the time she had worked through all those hypothetical arguments, she had decided on a yellow dress with red roses on it. She held it up to the light, frowning at the way the sun filtered through the colors. Something about it wasn't quite right. She couldn't believe she had even bought it in the first place. The cogs in her head were turning as she struggled to figure out what exactly was wrong with it, but a quick glance at the clock told her that she really just did not have enough time to put together a state of the art outfit for her daughter's day of kindergarten. So she just settled on the dress.
Laila climbed up the stairs, her hair dripping and her face flushed from her hot shower. Her eyes went wide when she saw the dress. “Oh! This is my favorite!” she exclaimed as she stormed the bed, her voice lifting above the sound of the music.
Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Great! Now go put it on,” she replied as she ran back down the stairs and into the already steaming bathroom.
Once she had taken a hasty shower and cleaned both her and her daughter's hair out of the drain, she grabbed the first outfit she laid hands on, a white oxford shirt with dark overalls that had been stained with paint. It wasn't the nicest thing she owned, but it was good enough to get her to her daughter's elementary school and more than good enough for her to work in once she got back. As soon as she had gotten dressed, she went back to the kitchen. “Laila! Let's go!” she called as she pulled two granola bars out of the cabinet and poured her caffeinated coffee in her own mug and the decaf coffee in Laila's special mug. By the time she was done, Laila was emerging from her room, looking like a miniature model. At 5 years old, she already knew how to make her own ponytail and she worked that knowledge with every chance that she got.
“Okay. I'm ready,” she replied as she approached Jackie and slipped her tumbler out of her hand.
“This too,” Jackie replied, forcing the granola bar into her hand.
Laila scoffed. “Okay, fine, Mommy,” she replied as she unwrapped it and took her first bite.
Satisfied with that, Jackie took her free hand, leading her out of the apartment, down the stairs and onto the pavement, which was already saturated with children and workers marching to their respective prisons. Jackie slipped her bus pass out of her bag as soon as they got to the stop, dragging Laila onto the bus with her and refusing to let go of her hand until they had finally reached the corner where her school stood, short but somehow still imposing.
As Jackie walked her to the front steps, she couldn't deny that feeling that seeped into the pit of her stomach every single time she went to drop her daughter off. It was that premonition that even though it was highly unlikely that anything bad would ever happen, there was still that slight possibility that it all could. Jackie never really did get over that motherly fear being separated from her daughter always brought on.
Just as Laila reached the top steps, she turned for one last wave.
Jackie pasted a bright smile onto her face and wagged her hand at her. “Have a good day!” she yelled.
Laila nodded, turned, and then disappeared into the sea of other students all making their way to their classes.
Jackie waited a few moments, then turned and walked back down the street. However, instead of taking the bus back home, she decided to walk the long way, taking a few moments to absorb the moment. Brooklyn had such a pensive, quiet quality about it in the interim between when the children went to school and the adults came back home. Jackie wondered what it would be like to have a normal nine to five job; she would be taking a train into the city right about then; packing her lunch along with her daughter's. By the time she got back to Brooklyn, Laila would be getting out of school. The two of them would make their way back to the loft, with the full understanding of being able to spend the entire evening together.
There was something incredibly appealing about not having to pay a babysitter for the evenings while Jackie slaved away at a steakhouse on the Upper East Side; something exciting about not subjecting Laila to a cold dinner; about hearing about her day right after it happened and not right before she was about to have another one. Jackie could probably still get a nine to five. Her degree, hastily done in college after her parents' prompting, was enough for her to get a job, even if her degree was in fine arts. But that was how it all started: she'd get her day job and then painting would become a night job, to be devoted to only in the wee hours of the night; then it would become a weekend hobby, and soon enough, that studio gallery would be nothing but a memory of a dream. Besides, how could she expect to obtain her goals if she only spent a fraction of her effort on them?
Soon enough, Jackie reached her loft. She unlocked her door, listening to the echo of it slamming throughout her empty apartment. Since it was an exceptionally warm morning, she decided she might utilize that roof space that was simply
too ugly to use for friendly gatherings.
With that decided, she picked through all of her colors and brushes, grabbed a stack of cups for dirty water, a pail for waste, and a fresh canvas.
Jackie only had to stare at the medium for a short moment or two before ideas began to flood into her head. As she struck the canvas with stroke after stroke, her motherly anxiety began to melt away in the late morning sun. A smile played at her lips as she could think of nothing more exciting than starting a brand new project.
Chapter Three
After a full morning of working and a hasty lunch, Jackie was starting to get tired, not to mention the fact that the sun was definitely growing much too hot. Knowing that the radiation would be awful for her work of art, she decided to move it down into the loft. After setting it to dry in a closet filled with so many of her other works, she pulled out her laptop and proceeded to get sidetracked looking through her emails. Two different studios had turned down her offers to be featured in their upcoming shows and the gallery she had applied to work in almost a month before still hadn't gotten back to her.
With a frown, Jackie closed her laptop. She stalked back into her room to grab some of her things for her uniform. After examining her skin and finding that she was almost covered in paint splotches, she realized it would probably make sense to take another shower before work. She hopped into her bathtub, cleansed herself as quickly as possible, and then took a blow dryer to her hair. She frowned at the sight of her voluminous, yet incredibly dry hair flying around her face. Ever since before she could remember, her hair was the most time-consuming thing about herself. In fact, as a high schooler, she would spend an hour every night just conditioning and flat-ironing it. She turned off the dryer and huffed out a breath, completely exasperated at the mass of hair she was going to be expected to tame before picking up her daughter from school. With a sigh, she clicked her flat iron on and returned to her bedroom to lay out her uniform: a form-fitting, black skirt and sheer, black shirt. Her manager most definitely knew what he was doing when he set her dress code to something that would flatter her curvy form. Sometimes, Jackie didn't know whether to be angry at the blatant objectification, or grateful for the obvious increase in tips as a result of it.
Once she returned to her bathroom, she straightened her hair, section by section, until she had two feet of shiny locks flowing down her back. With that accomplished, she covered her face in a light layer of foundation and shadowed her eyes to make herself look somewhere between a model and an escort. An hour later, she was Upper-East-Side ready and it was time to pick her daughter up from school. She slipped on a t-shirt and jeans, planning on changing as soon as she got home, and grabbed a couple of Girl Scout cookies from the supply in their cabinet.
The sun beamed down with significantly more unbearable heat the second time she was making that walk, so much so that she decided to take the bus in order to avoid sweating out her hair and makeup. Once it arrived, she showed her unlimited pass, and then chose a seat near the front. She crossed her legs, setting a frown on her face to exude the clear message that she was not to be messed with. She had noticed over the years that having a daughter with her made her look older, taken, troubled, which wasn't so much insulting as it was helpful in diverting male attention. In fact, it had been years since she had dated anyone in anything resembling a serious relationship and still longer since she had been in love with anyone. When she thought about it, those statistics were depressing in and of themselves, but, then again, she only ever noticed the fact that that she hadn't had sex in almost a year when Victoria talked to her about her own extensive sex life. Otherwise, Jackie felt everything but lonely.
Once they got to her stop, she shot out of her seat then hopped off of the bus, her heart leaping at the prospect of seeing her daughter again. Once she got to the elementary school, she stood outside with all of the other parents. There was a woman who looked her age, but had another baby on her hip and a man with a stroller. It was funny how she felt like an outsider around her friends who didn't have children precisely because they didn't know what it was like to be responsible for another human being, but, at the same time, she felt no more accepted around the people she knew who did have children, because it seemed as if they had no future aspirations that were not completely centered around the fact that they were parents. The woman with the baby on her hip looked up at her, her eyebrow hitched up at the sight of Jackie's loud eye make-up and striking hair. It wasn't until then that Jackie realized she must look like she was an escort. After all, it was New York City. She averted her eyes as soon as she noticed the woman staring at her.
As she got off the bus and approached the school much to her relief, she could hear the muffled sound of the bell ringing. She pasted that same, warm, mommy-smile on her face before the doors whooshed open and a swarm of students came pouring out. She couldn't believe a whole 'nother day had passed. In the next moment, she heard her daughter screaming, “Momma! Momma!”
Jackie looked down to find her beautiful Laila staring up at her, her caramel skin darkened by a day of playing and learning, her eyes wide, but tired. “Hey baby!” she cried, kneeling down so that she was on her level. There was something not so smart about pressing her knees into the dirty, Brooklyn streets, but those were old jeans, so she wasn't too worried about what would happen to her pants, or what the other ladies would think of her. “How was your day?” she asked, pressing her hands against either of side of her cheeks.
Laila pressed her little hands on Jackie’s face, mirroring the gesture. “It was okay. Did you bring me something?” she asked, her eyes widening even farther in expectation.
Jackie nodded, pulling the small baggie of cookies out of her small pack. “Here you go, babe,” she replied, handing her the snack.
Laila gasped. “Oh thank you so much!” she cried as she snatched the bag out of Jackie's hands and opened it. Laila was always so dainty until the moment she saw food. She was like her mother that way.
Jackie stood up as she ate, patting the top of her messy ponytail.
“How was your day, Momma?” she asked as Jackie grabbed her hand and led her to the corner. They weren't going to take the bus back because Jackie loved the idea of keeping Laila physically active in any way possible.
Jackie stopped at the corner, snapping her gaze in both directions to make sure the street was empty. She squinted her eyes, struggling to concentrate with so much going on everywhere. Most of the children had been reunited with their parents and were excitedly talking to them, and to each other. They screeched stories, their screams hanging in the warm air.
It wasn't until Laila snatched her hand out of Jackie's, screaming, “Ouch!” that she realized she was holding onto her too tightly.
Jackie looked down to find Laila rubbing her hand. She then turned her attention back to the street. The roads were slowly getting much busier as they were rapidly approaching rush hour. Cars raced by on green lights and barely stopped when they changed. Jackie reached down for Laila's hand as soon as the light changed again. “Laila, come on,” she muttered as the light changed once more and they were able to cross the street.
But Laila had another idea. She shifted her body away from Jackie, shaking her head. “No! I don't want you to hold my hand!”
Jackie rolled her eyes, her skin crawling because she knew all those other judgmental parents were staring at her. “Seriously, Laila. I need to get home, stop messing around.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the warning sign up on the pedestrian signal. They had about 18 seconds to cross the street. She grabbed her hand and turned around to keep walking, but she had only traveled a couple of steps before she felt a sharp tug yanking her back. “Laila! I'm not kidding. Let's go!” she demanded before turning around to walk again.
At twelve seconds, the screeching of faulty brakes sliced through the afternoon air. There was only one car sitting at the light, but Jackie turned just in time to see the car of interest gunning down the str
eet. Jackie glowered at Laila. There was a thick crowd of people trying to get across the busy street to avoid being caught on the corner for an eternity. Instead of trying to force Laila to come with her, likely having to pit their strengths against each other, Jackie glared at her daughter, willing her to just do as she said so she wouldn't keep embarrassing herself.
Six more seconds had passed before Jackie gave up all sense of dignity and took her first step back in the direction of her daughter. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that she was barely going to be able to make it to the other side before the light changed.
It was somewhere in between thinking up the proper punishment and internally kicking herself for letting go of Laila, even for a moment, that the speeding car reared its ugly head. “Laila!” Jackie snapped, doing her best to make it extremely apparent just how annoyed with her she was, as she made her first step.
The collective gasp from every other person on the sidewalk turned Jackie's attention back to the street. The grill of a Toyota Camry rapidly approached Laila.
“Laila!!” Jackie screeched, but her daughter remained unresponsive, her body turned in the direction of the car, but her jaw hanging open as she was frozen with fear.
