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Tuesdays had always been Sarah Manning’s least favorite day. It wasn’t one particular thing about the day that she disliked; they were often just too boring and monotonous. The lull of Sunday had come and gone, and the allure of Friday was too far away. Tuesdays meant doing all the laundry she had forgotten to do that weekend. They meant rushed cold showers after she repeatedly pressed the snooze button.
They also meant the first day of her period.
It had been far too many Tuesdays since her last one, though.
Most girls probably would’ve noticed the obvious lack of blood over the past few weeks, but Sarah had been far too busy trying to find a place to sleep each night, that she couldn’t be bothered to care about the absence of monthly cramps.
That is, she couldn’t be bothered to care until what appeared to be the onset of stomach flu made it impossible to keep down her breakfasts.
But stomach flu didn’t usually last for a month, and didn’t cause cravings for an entire tub of ice cream.
It was the Tuesday four weeks after her first missed period that Sarah found herself staring at her local drug store’s feminine health section. There were far too many different types of pregnancy tests. She didn’t know why they all had to be so different. Some showed lines, others changed colors; one even flashed a smiley face. She skipped right over that one, though. It didn’t seem appropriate for her current situation.
Sarah decided the simple plus or minus test was the easiest to understand and picked one up.
With the test obtained, Sarah wandered the store aimlessly. She couldn’t quite bring herself to go to the register just yet.
A pyramid of bean dip lined the end of one aisle, with a display of antacids close by. The entire store was full of ironies. Shelves were packed full of packaged snacks, stuffed full of sugar and preservatives. Behind the check-out counter stood a sealed case with every form of tobacco currently on the market. When the inevitable digestive pain or lung troubles kicked in, though, one could just head over to aisle twelve and pick up some Pepto and Nicotine gum.
With this stark contradiction, the employees were guaranteed some job security. It was an endless cycle of junk food, cigarettes, and pills. All the legal vices one needed to survive in a city as cold and stagnant as Toronto.
Sarah had been guilty of falling into this cycle on numerous occasions, most before the age of 16. Normally, she would’ve easily filled her basket with some chips and gummy worms. Tonight, though, just thinking about the food made her stomach queasy.
Her basket lay empty, except for the one test staring up at her.
Would one test be enough? She’d heard of other girls on the block getting negative tests and then still ending up pregnant. She often just chalked that up to their boyfriends’ inability to remember condoms.
She’d always laughed at those girls and their stupidity.
Karma’s a bitch.
After two more laps around the store, Sarah found herself back on the women’s health aisle. She quickly snatched up two more pregnancy tests and tossed them in her basket.
The man in front of her in line was balding and missing two of his bottom teeth. He shuffled back and forth between his feet as he perused the cigarette case.
“You got any of them Marlboro, menthols?” he coughed out.
Behind the counter sat a petite woman with caramel skin and deep brown eyes. The dark circles beneath her eyes and heavy eyelids made her exhaustion obvious.
She handed over the pack in question to the dilapidated man before ringing up the condoms and pork rinds from his basket.
“That’ll be 16.72,” the cashier muttered as he fished deep into his pockets for some spare cash.
A look of relief crossed his face as he pulled out two twenty dollar bills. He shoved one across the counter.
“You can have the other twenty if you help me find a use for all these things.”
He wiped at the spit forming at the corners of his mouth.
In an instant, the exhaustion on the cashier’s face was replaced with a mixture of disgust and fear.
“Oi!” Sarah called out to the vile man. “Piss off, will ya?”
The man slowly turned to glare at Sarah. She raised her brow threateningly.
His lips curled in disgust.
“Fucker,” he spat before picking up his purchases and making a hasty exit.
The woman behind the counter softly smiled at Sarah in appreciation. Her smile quickly fell, however, as she scanned each test. It must have been obvious this was more than Sarah could handle.
“$34.63,” the cashier whispered, her eyes flooding with empathy.
Sarah handed over $35. It wasn’t often she had that much cash on her, and she knew it would be awhile before she could make it back, but $35 was a small price to pay for peace of mind.
She locked herself in the bathroom of a rundown 7- Eleven.
The cramped room reeked of Red Bull and piss. Its tiled walls were green with mildew; the floor covered in muddy footprints. She trudged over to the cracked mirror, and saw her reflection for the first time in days.
If only Mrs. S could see her now.
She let out a self-deprecating laugh at the thought. The Irish woman would certainly frown at her stringy hair, now streaked electric blue. The fresh stud in her cartilage still red and raw from the parking lot piercing she got a month ago.
When she finally stripped off her pants and lowered herself to the toilet, she couldn’t seem to find the courage to open up the first package. Perhaps, she should’ve just bought the test with the stupid smiley face, at least then if it was positive she would’ve had something to be angry at, besides herself.
The smiling baby on the box stared up at her.
“Shite,” she sighed.
With an unexpected burst of courage, she tore open the faded box.
The insignificant blue stick rested comfortably in the palm of her hand.
She couldn’t believe she was giving up whiskey for a month just for a flimsy piece of plastic.
At least she hoped it was just a month.
She peed on the stick unceremoniously and then set it on the rim of the sink.
As the timer on her dying flip phone slowly counted down she couldn’t help but picture a future where she would actually be excited to read the tests results.
If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could see a fresh pot of tea and warm flannel pajamas; a husband with an anxious smile, holding her hand. She could see a baby with tiny warm eyes, and wild dark curls. Maybe she even learned to cook, or iron, or whatever shit mothers were supposed to do.
She certainly wouldn’t sleep on a playground, or beg for food out behind the same little Italian restaurant every evening.
The alarm on her phone let out a shrill whistle.
“Jesus,” Sarah groaned.
She eyed the test from across the room.
Maybe if she just threw away the test right now, all of her problems would just disappear. If she just tossed this ridiculous little piece of plastic into the bin, maybe she’d miraculously stop puking and her monthly cramps would just spring back into action.
She picked the test up and held it tentatively, not daring to look at the results. She slumped against the wall behind her.
Placing a hand atop her abdomen, Sarah softly shut her eyes and sighed, “I can’t even keep a bloody cactus alive.”
She took a deep steadying breath.
“Fee and I did manage to keep a tank of sea monkeys alive for a few weeks,” she whispered to the empty bathroom, while rubbing her thumb just above her belly button. “You’re probably not that much bigger than them…just a little monkey too.”
Tears slipped down her gaunt cheeks.
“I’m going to take care of you, okay?” Her bottom lip trembled as she inhaled sharply. “We can take care of each other.”