By Natalie Edmond
The Trader Joe’s was surprisingly crowded, bustling with eager shoppers. Lucia hated crowds. Though not as much as she hated Amora’s incessant cries echoing through the produce aisle. Swearing under her breath, she snatches her daughter from the seat of the shopping cart and rocks her with purpose. Along with Amora’s cries growing with more urgency, Lucia’s annoyance follows behind just as quickly. Luckily after several minutes, her daughter calms down. Yet Lucia is the one to remain shaking. Agitated. Lucia moves with sharp speed into another aisle as a way to distract herself.
While choosing between spaghetti noodles, she notices a shiny dime in the aisle. The dime has a fresh luster to it, as it shines against the slightly dirty floor. Though she disregards the dime, she begins to grow increasingly aware of its presence. Even though she’s in a new aisle, Amora is mumbling gibberish to herself, and Lucia on the surface is deciding which brand of spaghetti noodles to buy; the negative emotions still haven’t vacated her body. The urge hits her, her thoughts linking itself back to the dime. She dismisses it with an almost hostile disgust. Yet the urge comes back again, stronger, like a sharp odor. Lucia finds herself looking around the aisle to see who else is lingering. Towards her right, further down, an old woman with a hunch in her back is staring at a bag of rice with deep focus. Lucia takes this moment to snatch the dime off the floor, catching specks of dust under her fingernails, and pops the dime into her mouth. The dime, cold and metallic, melts onto her tastebuds. As she swallows the flat coin down her throat, her thoughts dim and her breaths slow. Lucia feels as calm as the sunny day radiating outside the store. She glances at her daughter. Amora is still mumbling to herself, except she’s added a sing-song jingle to it. Lucia exhales a relieved breath, grabs one of the brands of spaghetti off the rack and continues with her shopping.
The glow of the half moon contrasts with the night sky as Lucia gazes outside her window leisurely. Aside from the mild stomach ache, she feels at peace. Like a calm current. Suds of soap all over her hands as she washes the dishes from dinner. Lucia, lost in the oceanic pull of her thoughts, doesn’t notice the warm hands that wrap around her waist. Her husband, Regere, kisses the side of her forehead tenderly. She leans into his touch with equal tenderness. His hands begin exploring her curves, and her breath hitches. Not out of eroticism, but out of alarm. Noticing the change in her body, he stops, his hands hesitating briefly before letting go. She mumbles an apology with a soft laugh, but he just gives a half smile and leaves the kitchen. She recalls the amount of times she’s refused his touch. It’s been like this for months. Though she loves him, loves his touch, she has yet to admit to him, to herself, that something is missing.
Later into the night, Lucia found herself still replaying the moment she had with Regere as she brushes her hair in their bathroom mirror. Why is she acting like this? Why does it feel like something is missing? Lucia drowns in these thoughts as she detangles her hair more aggressively. Instantly, she yelps in pain as she stops brushing her hair. Sighing in frustration, she slams the brush onto the marble counter.
Suddenly her gaze lands on the leftover strands on her hairbrush. She picks it up and inspects the brush in curiosity. Pulls the strands between her fingers with tenderness. Licks her lips. All at once, she pulls the strands into her mouth. The stringy strands stick to her tongue like honey. Her body tries to reject the sensations of the strands, but her mind welcomes it. Goosebumps decorate the skin of her arms. Warmth invading her belly. Excitement too. That excitement blooms a deep desire that sends a tingle between her legs. With a fire she can feel in her belly, she leaves the bathroom.
She finds Regere on their bed watching an action movie. The brightness of the screen illuminates his features. She compares his glow to the moon she gazed upon earlier. Without a word, she rests herself on top of him, gazing into his eyes seductively. He notices the change in her demeanor, his eyes pools of shock, confusion, and desire. Still, his hands smooth over her curves as he leans into her for a kiss. Their kisses grow more urgent. Messy. Yet he stops her. She gazes into his questioning bourbon eyes. Sees him searching for her truth. And somewhere inside her, she’s terrified that he’ll find it. So she buries that fear and reassures him through another kiss. He accepts her answer and they continue to lose themselves in each other.
***
The early rays cast a luminescent glow as Lucia opens her eyes. Lucia stretches her arms wide, welcoming the beauty that the day promises. Suddenly, her body contorts in pain. Although she’s dealt with this before, somewhere inside her, she knows this time the pain is different. She slips off the bed and hits her arm on the nightstand. The coolness of the floor against her cheek. She tries to breathe through the pain, but the pain shows no mercy. She holds her stomach like a promise as she withers on the bedroom floor.
Questions and fear growing at a fast rate within her head. She doesn’t wait for the next tide to pass. With as much strength as she can muster, she pulls herself to a half stand, and reaches for her phone. Yet the night stand is empty. She groans loudly as the tide rolls over her once again. The crippling pain causes her to crouch onto the floor. She forces herself to find her phone. Instantly she spots her phone under the bed. As she reaches towards it, the sharp pain in her abdomen stops her efforts. The sight of the phone gets blurry, as tears swell in her eyes. Sweat beading through the back of her nightgown. Her strangled cries contrast with the playful dance of the curtains against the morning breeze. Almost like they’re laughing at her. Then darkness embraces her completely.
***
The sharp scent of disinfectant and latex hits her nose, causing her to gasp. Somewhere nearby, she hears the steady beats of a monitor. Her eyes sting under the artificial hospital lights. Guilt, frustration, and fear knot inside her as she lays in the stiff hospital bed. Yet fear reigns supreme within the confines of her head. Fear of what the doctors would say. What Regere would say. Would think. The inner emptiness she’s been feeling before was excruciating and wrong. But not as wrong as this. She’d scream if her throat wasn’t so dry.
A tall grey haired man enters the room.
“Lucia, we need to talk about what we’ve found in your stomach. We’ve also called a doctor from the psychiatric department to have a talk with you.”
His eyes are warm but they reek of pity and cautiousness. In that same moment, Regere enters the room, eyes zeroed in on her. But something’s different in the way her husband is looking at her. Like he’s seeing her for the first time. And he doesn’t like what he sees.
“Lucia, we’re going to get you prepped before we perform the Upper GI Endoscopy. It appears that the dimes, pennies, and hair clumps you ate are stuck in your intestinal tract” the doctor says.
“Jesus…” Regere gruffs out.
“We have to get the hairs and dimes out of her stomach as soon as possible. I can assure you, we’ll get—”
“Why would you do this to yourself? Is this why you’ve been acting strange for months? What is wrong with you?” Regere yells in anguish.
“Mr. Thompson, I need you to calm down. Lucia’s body is already in a distressed state. She can’t handle more stress right now,” the doctor said in an urgent tone.
Regere shoves his hands into his hair and backs away. In one breath he slams his hand against the wall in frustration and storms out of the room.
Lucia, wordless, looks at the deep lines of her hands in silent defeat.
“I can assure you, we’ll get these objects out before the obstruction gets worse,” the doctor says, his smile both sad and warm. The doctor, sensing the shame radiating from her, puts his hand to her shoulder briefly before leaving the room.
Lucia sinks into the hospital bed and rolls to her side. Her stomach mildly biting in protest as the tears she’s been holding back slide down her face and into the flat pillow. She can’t feel anything except shame. Embarrassment. And progressing fear. Though she worries for her marriage, the loss of treasures she consumed for herself alone leaves her feeling powerless.
Natalie Edmond is a creative writing major at La Guardia Community College whose work explores identity, healing, and the inner lives of Black girls becoming. She writes to honor softness, fire, and the spaces between survival and self-definition.
Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com
