Carriage
KJ Hannah Greenberg






Arnold wouldn’t stop hollering. He yelled at the traffic lights. He yelled at the pedestrians. He yelled at the cars in front of us and at the cars trying to pass us on the side. However, when he nearly hit the infant, it was me who started to shout.

I had told him not to try that maneuver, that the parking space was too small for our car and that the angle wouldn’t work.

In answer, Arnold had screamed at me to shut my yap.

I obliged…that is, until he nearly flattened the stroller loaded with the small passenger. After he finished forcing our car into the space, I made him hand me the keys and insisted that he find a bus to get to work.

I, too, left the car, not trusting myself to drive another centimeter. After closing the windows, locking the doors, and remembering to take my gym bag with me, I noticed that the pram had gone missing. No blood. No viscera. No baby.

That upset notwithstanding, I arrived at my interview with a few minutes to spare. Human Resources liked me. The project leader liked me. The company’s owner liked me.

On my way out of that building, I saw an empty pushchair parked near the executive offices. It appeared to be the same one as the tiny vehicle that Arnold had almost crushed.

Casually, I asked the receptionist if children were allowed at the workplace. 

She shook her head and said that the head of marketing’s usual sitter was sick, so an exception had been made.

Three things happened that night. I was offered the job. Arnold refused to make an appointment for counseling. I researched divorce lawyers.

First published: February 2018
© All rights reserved by the writer
Comments to the writer:
doorknobsandbodypaint@gmail.com