I thought about pulling out a "spare" bit of writing and pretending I'd written it but then that felt dishonest so I dragged the notebook and calendar over and this is what I wrote.
Emilia sat on the steps painted lilac and turquoise ready to cry. She had been bathed and lotioned, combed and dressed to within an inch of her life. She was too young to understand why it was so important, but even someone not quite two years old got the message that today was special and she needed to hold still. Mama had put on her best dress too and sprayed herself with something that to Emilia smelled like bad things were happening. "This is your daddy's favorite perfume," Mama said, leaning down to spritz some on Emilia. Once Mama fixed her hair just right, the two of them walked downtown. "Daddy will love you," Mama kept saying as they walked up and down the three blocks of the town center. "He will be proud of how pretty you are," Mama said as they walked through the pink mall without stopping for ice cream. Four times they walked up and down, Mama keeping her eye on the big clock on the post in front of the jewelry store. The sun was hot, Mama's grip on her hand tightened with every passing minute, and Emilia's feet were sore in her new blue sandals. Emilia looked at every man, hoping the next one would be the daddy man, but Mama didn't smile at any of them. Finally Mama sat her down on the lilac step in the shade and went inside the shop to visit Auntie Vita. Maybe Auntie Vita knew where the daddy was. Maybe she would dry Mama's tears.
I enjoyed our writing together last night. Bethlehem, Sherman Warehouse, and Milo Clarkston all have a future, I think.
--Barbara
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