Willpower

"We close in a coupla minutes, ma'am."

She looked up. She felt small, hunched, embarrassed. She still clutched the twenty dollar bill in her sweaty palm, and suddenly she felt foolish. People with money didn't carry it out in the open, in their hands. Still, she couldn't seem to put it away. She pressed it nervously into the table, her palm a flat parallel, trying to hide it.

"I just- I just wanted…Is it too late for a steak?"

The waitress's eyes flicked from the money to the woman's face.

"Could…could I…" The woman felt exposed, ridiculous, stupid.

It's not my fault. When I'm sick, I have no willpower. That's why I'm sitting here, munching on my second lunch of the day, surrounded by pastel-colored shopping bags, calling Elena for the third time.

"I miss you!"

"I miss you too, dear."

She laughs, that special choked sounding laugh she laughs when she thinks I'm silly but she is nonetheless pleased.

"How is everything over there?"

"It's fine, just fine. Go on, now, enjoy your time off. Don't worry about us."

Of course they'll be fine, I think as I end the call. I am not worried, only filled with a sense of elated loneliness, a profound desire to intertwine myself with someone else's presence.

Elena is at the daycare. We have worked together for the past five years watching two year olds and scraping applesauce off of everything in sight. The children seem indifferent to both.

That's the bad part about working with kids that age. They'll never remember you down the road. Even if you recognize them a year, five years later, they'll be scared of you. They won't know who you are. It's like you've had no effect at all. There's nothing to show for the endless days and weeks. They just take their motor skills and their shape recognition and their potty training for granted and they move on.

I watch the plane fly overhead, leaving a trail of dingy cloud that maybe I could follow. I trace it with my finger. My brain feels like it has been ironed.

The walls are light blue, with white clouds formed out of the children's handprints. The tables are a cheerful yellow, with matching chairs so small they are easier to trip over than sit in. There are shelves for toys, but generally they are on the floor, and that is okay. It is wonderfully okay.

Naptime is one of the best times of day. The lights are all off, except for a tiny little lamp that casts a skewed ovoid of light over the floor of each classroom. The big room is filled with the sounds of tiny snores, and the teachers tiptoe to the baby gates separating the classrooms from one another, and whisper, and play Scattergories, and trade secrets.

"So I'm pregnant."

"What?"

Elena nods emphatically.

"Are you excited?"

Another nod.

"That's great!"

All around, the other women talk of impending weddings, of dresses, of last weekend's conquests, of parties and pills and children and mothers. I am happy to be caught in the swirling tides of emotionally charged exchanges of information. Doubly so, now that Elena is expecting an ardillita, a little squirrel. I am very excited. I cannot imagine anything better than a tiny portable Elena.

"You understand, don't you? I gotta do it. I have to think of the baby."

"It's a real good opportunity. You know it is, Candy."

"My dad's gonna help pay my rent, I can't pass that up. And I hear there's a lot of work out there."

"Candy, talk to me. Candy."

I feel terrible and my whole body aches, but I pull myself out of bed when Raul comes by and asks me if I have any cigarettes. I tell him I only have a few left of my usual brand, but have five packs of those stale, tarry Galaxy Pros they've been pushing down at the corner. He says that's fine with him, and as I hand them over he inexplicably presses a twenty dollar bill into my hand. I try to argue, but he won't take it back. Neighbors do for neighbors, I say. So I'm doing for you, he says. I look at the bill. It is beautifully colorful, one of the new ones. I have a mad urge to spend it on something indulgent.

"Hayley! Get down from there!"

Her tight blonde curls bob in gleeful dismissal.

"Hayley, I mean it!"

"Hayley, listen to Candy!"

I march to the table and pick Hayley up, spinning both of us in a wide, graceful arc around the classroom. She giggles wildly, with the perfect unawareness of self that comes of being two years old. I am struck by the feeling of loving her so, so 's strange, the strong attachments you form to the kids you take care of. Inside of two weeks they're solidly lodged in your affections. I feel as if I could burst, so I hug her instead.

Toni comes to the gate, and I smile at her. She looks unbearably glum as she hands me a small sheet of paper.

"Your attention, please. We regret to inform you that this will be the last day at the Young Hands Childcare Center. The Center is shutting its doors beginning tomorrow. Your final checks will be mailed to you. Parents will be informed when they arrive or by phone. Sorry for any inconvenience, and have a great day!"

A little grey raincloud with a cheerfully multicolored umbrella and a comically sad expression adorns the upper right hand corner. Even in the face of bankruptcy, the administration remains stolidly devoted to their clipart.

Now that Elena is gone I am unsure of what to do with myself. I try to find work, but there is nothing, and every day it gets harder to pull myself from the comfort of my rose-colored bed. I stay awake most nights scaring myself to death with recollections and expectations, as if visited by the Ghosts of Needs Past, Needs Present, and Needs Future.

The waitress took stock of the woman sitting before her. A typical skid row type, probably mental, or on drugs, or mother of eight skinny children who drink their juice out of beer bottles because daddy thinks it's cute, or something like that. Stringy hair in need of a wash. Uneven skin tone that gives her a startlingly real appearance. Plaid men's jacket, slightly large; wrinkled grey T-shirt, patriotic in nature; jeans, acid washed and high-waisted; sandals. No purse. She had seen a million of them in here tonight, and now it was about midnight, and she was ready to go home.

Still, something was making her hesitate. She didn't want to say no to the woman. This was ridiculous. She ran a hand through her blonde curls, entirely disheveled after the long night, and sighed.

The shiny letters of the waitress's nametag glittered in the fluorescent lights. Hayley, it said. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the woman thought the name seemed vaguely familiar. It was probably a coincidence.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Robbie's already shut the grill down. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Her mind was already home, taking her shoes off, calling the boyfriend and telling him all about her day.

The waitress had been expecting some sort of confrontation, perhaps, but the woman just nodded and shuffled awkwardly out of the booth, crumpling the bill into a sweaty, precious bundle. As she went out the door, she heard the waitress laugh at something, a conversation with the cook, perhaps, and the sound was also familiar, but not the same.