Better Bleach
“If I have to say it again, I’m going to spank you,” Arielle seethed at her daughter between clenched teeth. The sentence was hardly an idle threat but a promise with guillotine consequences if not taken seriously. Elise placed the strawberry Baby Bottle Pop next to the M&Ms and then held her gaze to the dingy white shoelaces draped sloppily atop her boots. That was the third store Arielle’d dragged her into to redeem coupon clippings she’d spent the morning detaching from circulars. After two rejections, Elise felt certain she’d finally get a reward for being so good in the stores. Arielle was unrelenting, however. Too much candy would rot the girl’s teeth, and Arielle would not be responsible for a broken smile. Elise disapprovingly squeezed the pudgy, soft flesh that was her left arm and finally looked back up at Arielle whose eyes met hers. Elise tore to see her mother grinning down at her.
When they finally made their way outside, Arielle’s head split at the rate of a pushed pimple. She grabbed for where her temples should’ve been but instead felt only endless knives forcing themselves against her cushioned brain. Elise knew to call Daddy when the head problems began, but Daddy had been gone for days now, so she didn’t know who to call. Instead, she froze in horror watching her mother squirm and murmur uncomfortably in the snow. “Ma’am, you need some help?” A red-faced, chubby White security guard held the sides of her mother’s arms.
Arielle barely heard the question between the sirens blaring in her head. She’d gone a month without the migraines, and now they’d returned, more than likely triggered by Richard’s absence. He’d left with a suitcase a few days prior. “I’m going to be with her,” he’d said, “while we’re still young enough to enjoy each other.” She congratulated him and promised to find the least traumatizing way to tell Elise. Still, she hadn’t formulated a delicate enough passing of the message in her mind. Prolonging it made her anxiety grow with each hour’s passing, but she refused responsibility for a broken smile.
Elise soiled her pants outside of the Shopper’s Value as her mom was escorted inside by the security guard. A woodland, elderly scent wound its way up her cerise, snot-filled nose. The owner of the musk placed a suede-gloved hand on the girl’s frail shoulder. “Whatever is wrong with that woman?” she asked haughtily.
“My mama gets bad headaches,” Elise answered.
“I had a daughter that had bad headaches,” the older woman replied, warming with the ache of memory.
“Is her head better now?”
“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spoken in quite a while.”
“Why not?”
“I can be critical sometimes, I guess.” The woman removed her hand from Elise’s dingy, white coat and scowled. “It’s all good intended,” said the woman. “It’s always good intended.”
The old woman and Arielle crossed paths in their respective departure and entrance into the grocery. “You need to use better bleach for your clothes,” the woman stated matter-of-factly. Arielle clutched her purse as if to defend the coupons buried inside. Rarely were the good brands affordable, but she didn’t argue. On their way to the car, Elise asked what “critical” meant, and Arielle told her to stop being annoying. Rarely did her mom answer her questions, and while Elise didn’t argue, she didn’t smile once during the drive.
Andrea Jefferson is a creative residing in Southern Louisiana. Her chapbook Stray Curls and Dirty Laundry was released digitally in 2018.
