Once again, it’s Missy Tries to Write Fiction Day , hosted by The Red Dress Club. So if you’re one of those people who hates this day, please feel free to move along. The rest of you, welcome and thanks for reading!

I’m a day late posting. My apologies. The internets have not been kind to me this week and Wonder, Friend has spent more time in crash position than a test dummy. I managed to get some posts out there, but it’s possible nobody read them since the site was mostly out of commission. To those who made repeated attempts to visit Wonder, Friend, I thank you.

So, the writing exercise. This week we were asked to pick four numbers, between one and ten, and those four numbers correlated to what would be our character, location, time and situation. I picked numbers that represent special dates to our family. Here’s what I ended up with:

Character: A new mother
Location: A restaurant
Time: Summer
Situation: Someone has just gone to the doctor

What follows is my attempt at a short piece of fiction that meets the above criteria. You can click on the Red Writing Hood link at the top of this page to read more stories from some talented women. Go visit!

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“Shhh… shhh…,” Sadie tries to quiet the baby while she fumbles with a BPA-free, plastic formula dispenser. She has no idea what BPA is, but every plastic item she received at the baby shower was covered in the words “BPA Free!” It must be a big deal.

She wants to mix a bottle as fast as possible so her wailing daughter doesn’t disturb Mickey’s other patrons, earning her a lot of dirty looks. The word patron doesn’t fit the motley crew eating lunch at sticky, vinyl booths and greasy counter seats. Such a fancy word. Such a sweaty, low class crowd. Sadie once thought she would be the one to make it out of here and go places, places where patron is the perfect word to describe people in the nice restaurants she planned to visit.

Finally, bottle made and inserted into a bawling mouth, Sadie uses her one free hand and a burp cloth to wipe the sweat from her brow. She also dabs at the tears pooling in her eyes. This is so damn hard, she thinks. Why is it like this? Three months. Three long, fucking, sleepless months.

Sadie’s pale blue eyes, once bright, have dark circles under them and she’s skinny, a lot skinnier than she was before getting pregnant even. She can’t seem to feed herself these days, and that’s probably why she couldn’t make enough milk to feed her daughter, April. Breast-feeding is kind of weird anyway, she thinks, and this baby, this baby is always hungry. Bottles seemed like a good idea, but formula sure is expensive. Even the Wal-Mart brand costs more than twenty dollars.

“What’s the deal with the tears, hon?” Marlee throws her notepad on the table, and flops into the seat opposite Sadie and the now quiet April. Marlee’s dark brown hair is up in a swingy pony tail. The 1950’s-style diner waitress get-up hugs her youthful curves in all the right places. Every eye in the place was on Marlee as she walked over to Sadie’s booth.

Sitting down, Marlee is thinking about how she and Sadie have known each other forever. Not technically forever, but long enough that you could call it that, and only an asshole would point out that knowing someone since you were both five does not count as forever, technically. They used to go out almost every night, even school nights, and party. It’s not like they had curfews or anything. You have to have parents who give a damn to have curfews. Sadie and Marlee had mothers, but only technically. There’s that word again. Anyway, that was all before. Before April.

“I’m not crying. I’m just frigging hungry, so instead of quizzing me why don’t you go put my order in,” snaps Sadie. Even as she denies it, the tears roll down her cheeks.

“I already ordered you a BLT, hold the L, fries and a milk shake. So why don’t you remember who you’re talkin’ to and tell me the truth. Why the tears?”

Sadie doesn’t know where to start. She is so exhausted. It is possible that she’s crying because she is hungry. Because she is starving. Every minute of her day is spent feeding, rocking, bouncing, bathing, feeding, and rocking some more. April is perfect, just like the spring day when she was born. It’s July now, though, and perfect as the baby is, her mama feels like she can’t take one more step.

“We just had April’s three-month check up, and…” Sadie trails off.

“Oh God, what’s wrong with her? Is she sick?” Marlee tries not to sound freaked out, but she is. What would 17-year-old Sadie do with a really sick baby?

After so many years, Sadie can read Marlee’s mind. She knows her best friend has jumped to the absolute worst possibility. Sadie almost wants to laugh. For their entire lives it has been her job to talk Marlee off of the ledge. Marlee, the good time girl, always smiling on the outside. Inside, though, that girl is a mess. Sadie has always been an honest to goodness sunshiny girl. In spite of crappy parents and never having enough money, Sadie sees the bright side, no matter how black the situation appears. Until now.

“No, Marlee, God. She’s not sick. She’s perfect. Not one thing wrong with her.”

The tears start again, fat, round tears, rolling over once perfect skin, now sallow and looking 10 years older than it should. Just as Mickey appears from the kitchen with her lunch, Sadie looks up and sweeps her greasy blonde hair off of her forehead. Mickey starts to say something, but one look from Marlee and he hightails it back to the kitchen.

“I’m kinda lost here, hon. I thought we had this all figured out, how you are going to put April in the school’s day care and finish high school and then we have our plan for next year, after graduation,” Marlee is starting to ramble. She can feel herself getting wound up, ready to rehash their plans to help Sadie get her diploma, and then help her create a nice life for April.

“Stop. Just stop, okay? I don’t want to talk about the plan anymore. I can’t do it. I’m crying because April is perfect and I’m a screw up. How the hell am I supposed to take care of her?” Sadie isn’t crying anymore. She is yelling. To hell with all the other losers trying to have a peaceful lunch. Sadie doesn’t have any peace, ever. Why should anyone else?

The baby finishes her bottle starts to get kind of wound up, too. Sadie puts April up on her shoulder, patting the baby’s back until a man-sized belch escapes. Looking over the table at each other, Marlee and Sadie exchange weary smiles.

Marlee gets up, slides into the booth next to Sadie, and takes April, who gives Marlee a gummy grin.

“You can’t do this, Sadie. You’re right about that.”

Sadie is picking at her lunch. She finally has her hands free to eat, only now she has lost her appetite. Dropping a piece of limp bacon, Sadie glares at Marlee, “Excuse me?

Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I damn well will figure this out and you’re going to shut up and help me. No more pep talks like that, please. We stick to the plan, which starts with you gettin’ your butt back to work. I don’t need some dead beat, jobless best friend to take care of, too. Go. Before Mickey fires you for sittin’ on your ass all day.”

Stunned, but pleased, Marlee gives Sadie a mock salute, “Ma’am, Yes, Ma’am,” hands April over to her mama, and goes back to work without another word.

April doles out another one of her trademark gummy grins, this time for Sadie, who is still tired and still a little hungry, but who also feels a lot better. Maybe I need to come in here and yell at Marlee more often, she thinks. She grins back at April, who has a knowing look in her giant blue eyes, like she understands Sadie’s thoughts, and says, “No, baby girl, that’s not it. Yellin’ at Marlee is fun, and I will probably do it again one of these days, but that’s not the secret. The secret is that you are perfect, and I was a screw up, but now we have each other and I promise I will figure this out.”

For the first time in weeks, Sadie cleans her plate and feels full.