Car Seat
by Justyn Harkin
Little Boy 'round forty pounds sits stuffed inside old infant car seat. Car seat's perched there in the purse section of the grocery cart. Check Out Girl just stares. Momma pays the bill. She writes a check and Little Boy reclines. His feet dangle over and touch the handle where you push. He wears Blue's Clues shoes with laces. Little Boy is mostly stuck. Car seat's got a five-point harness. Not much room. Little Boy crosses his hands over his chest in an X like he might do someday when he's big enough to ride the twisty slide himself. Little Boy needs more space. Little Boy is not safe. Not in there, no he's not. Break his neck in there he could. Whiplash. Nerve pinch. Hemorrhage. Infant seats are up to a year and twenty pounds tops. Little Boy is twice that easy. I should say something, yes I should. I'll be gentle. I'll be nice. Momma looks tired, though. She caps her pen and pockets her pocketbook. Momma's done this before. Old pro. Chicken and milk and carrots and greens before the big kids get home from school. Check Out Girl works those bags. Wrap the chicken in plastic just in case. Use the ones with handlesMomma's got stairs to climb when she gets home. I scroll through the menus on my phone. Make myself busy. Momma won't want to hear a word about it, no she won't. Not from us. Not from me. I'm going to keep my mouth shut and Check Out Girl will, too. We're going to let this slide. We'll look the other way this once. Momma takes her bags. Inspects her receipt. No mistakes. Time to go. Little Boy kicks and smiles. Waves bye-bye. Me and Check Out Girl, we watch. We wave bye-bye, too. Take it easy, Little Boy. You be good now.
Copyright © 2009 Justyn Harkin. Published on Monday, 20 July 2009. The permanent link for this story is http://angler.donavanhall.net/03/?n=5.
Justyn Harkin lives in Chicago with his wife and daughter. His work has appeared in Word Riot and Thieves Jargon.
