Merchandise

Clara didn’t really need the job. She was a substitute teacher in her off time, but becoming a retail merchandiser wasn’t a bad thing. Far from it, in fact, because it earned her a decent income for someone who has student loans to pay off.

This supermarket was a recent addition to the Chicago area. Alongside a chain barbershop and a gas station, it made a name for itself in only the first six months of 2010 for decent prices when compared to the other stores.

As far as Clara was concerned, this was a step above working in warehouses for most of her twenties. She thought that she was getting too old for the back-breaking labor. She wanted something more, something that actually held importance when faced with the common question she would get when meeting new people: What do you do?

As Clara stood in the coffee aisle, surveying her recent inventory order, she couldn’t decide—really decide—whether she could picture doing this for the rest of her life after writing a short story in the early hours of the morning. She hated having to depend on the job, but wasn’t a day-job part of the writing experience before (and even sometimes after) getting a literary agent to look at a writer’s work? She was impatient, but her Creative Writing degree had to go somewhere in the future, right?

The blizzard outside wasn’t getting any better. Clara had heard the weatherman say that it was supposed to clear up by the late afternoon. She hoped that it would, mostly because she still had to get to the nearest ATM before her mother woke up.

She walked out of the coffee aisle while looking down at the stapled three sheets of paper from which she organized her morning. She looked up and turned left to the left-hand side of the cash register area. Hopefully, she’d be able to clock out sooner rather than later.

Something gurgled. It wasn’t the kind of sound one heard in a store like this. In fact, for the first time since she had gotten here, Clara noticed that there were no other sounds that would be heard in a store like this. No scanner beeps, no slapping closed a cash register, nothing. Clara was a recent hire, so this creeped her out.

But this gurgling sounded as if it were coming from—no, that’s just dumb. It’s four in the morning. No one is here except for her, Allen, and Joyce until at least five.

An unmistakable screech, increasing in volume and blasting my ear drums, emits from a baby in the cash register area. Clara had stopped dead center in the area, between registers five and six. The screeching was coming from her left, so she jogged past two registers before seeing a baby stroller next to register two. Clara glanced to her left and to her right. She then approached the still crying baby as if she were deciding how to detain a bomb threat.

The baby had a lime green blanket covering most of its body. Upon closer inspection, a waft of backside stench came from the little creature. Clara could tell that this baby was barely over a year old just by the largeness of its hands. Who left it here? Who was even in the store for the time it would take to leave it?

Clara never knew what to do with children, but this case was obvious. The baby needed a new diaper. Joyce was a middle-aged mother, unlike Clara, who hasn’t even had a steady boyfriend for over a year, so Clara decided to walk with the stroller to the dairy section to see if Joyce can get clearance for a diaper.

Just as she made a one-eighty with the stroller, she was met with Joyce’s cold, brown eyes staring dead at the entirety of Clara with the stroller. She was a stocky woman with her umber hair in a back-length ponytail who stood a few inches shorter than Clara, so Joyce stared up at the young woman.

“What are you doing?” Joyce asked.

“Good, you’re here. Do you have clearance to the register? I need to get this baby changed into a clean diaper?” Clara had said these sentences so fast that Joyce was left blinking.

“Where did the baby come from, Clara?”

“I don’t know. I was just about to-”

“If you don’t know, then why are you wheeling it?”

Clara sighed and clenched the handle of the stroller. “It needs a clean diaper, Joyce. I need clearance. Can you do that for me? Pretty please?”

“How do you know the mother won’t be back in a minute?”

Clara snapped her hands from the stroller and waved them outward, yelling, “We’re the only ones here besides Allen. Can you just do this for me?”

Joyce shook her head. “How do I know you won’t buy yourself something too? Do it yourself for once. I’ve showed you how on multiple occasions.”

With that, Joyce walked away from the baby and Clara. The baby continued to cry in defiance of Clara’s nerves. Clara fumed and pulled out her phone to check the time. Perfect, she thought, no one else will be here for at least another twenty minutes and she was stuck with a stinking diaper. Sure, the little Caucasian baby was cute when she got a closer look at it, but how was she going to get that register open before someone, anyone, arrived to help her find the parents?

The only option now, Clara assumed, was to call the police and settle the issue of an absent parent.

“Clara, are you okay? I heard from Joyce that you found a baby.” Just a few feet away, Allen, a tall, dirty-blonde-haired man peeked around the corner.

“Yeah, I need some hel-”

Allen, bless his heart, stepped from around the baby food aisle and approached Clara and the baby. He stood with a diaper and a package of baby wipes cradled in his arms.

“Figured you need these.” He said.

“Good. Come with me to the maternity bathroom.” Clara didn’t mean to make that sound like an order, but she was running out of patience.

The two of them walked the stroller to the back of the store to the maternity restroom. They didn’t speak as they walked there since the baby grew a little more quiet. They both worried over whether the baby was dying, but Clara dismissed the thought when Allen brought it up.

“Better in here than in the back of some idiot’s car.” Allen said.

Clara only nodded. When they reached the bathroom, she picked up the baby from the stroller. The screeching began again, but Clara took her time as she lifted the poor thing. Its diaper was sagging very low beneath it.

“How long do you think she’s been here?” Allen asked as he handed Clara the wipes and a diaper from the pack.

Clara looked up at him and stared. “How do you know this is a she?” she said.

“The little outfit looks girly, I guess.” Clara looked the baby up and down. He was right, she guessed. The baby was wearing a pastel pink shirt paired with a little black skirt.

Clara sped away from Allen and into the open bathroom and began to rest the baby onto the diaper-changing station. Clara hadn’t change a diaper in years, but previous experiences changing her younger brother had taught her that neglect and rashes were telltale signs of something more than she could guess. Much to her surprise, there were no scars or rashes developing on the baby’s wiping regions. The baby girl must have just been left here.

Clara was so accustomed to silence at that point that the baby’s lack of sound was almost welcomed. Still, and she hated to admit it, but silence spoke volumes. Was she hungry? Was she sick? Who could possibly leave her here?

“Clara, will you come out for a moment?”

Clara cringed upon hearing Joyce’s shrill voice. With the baby resting on her left shoulder, Clara walked out of the bathroom and nearly headbutted a woman police officer.

“What happened?” Clara had the immediacy to ask as the officer carefully pulled the baby away from her.

“Ma’am, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Janet Lee’s child.” As the officer began to list off the Miranda Rights while handcuffing Clara, Clara’s head spun.

“Wait, no! This is a mistake, I just found the baby.” Clara looked to her left and right. Where were Allen and Joyce?

“Ma’am, this child was claimed by Mrs. Janet Lee several minutes ago. We have video evidence of you taking the stroller from her and running into the store.”

Clara looked up and saw the plain Jane face of a lady grimacing at her. She almost looked triumphant as she now held the baby girl in her arms.

“Don’t bother lying!” The lady said through gritted teeth.

Clara searched around for somebody, anybody who could bear witness. She found no one. She didn’t remember anything before arriving here. She must’ve blacked out again.

As she walked with the officer, handcuffed and silent, she remembered that she had forgotten to take her medication today.