So, I finally make my way to the back of the store where they got condoms next to diapers and pregnancy tests next to drug tests. Huh. The aisle is empty, thank God. I feel like some kind of pervert, like I’ve done something wrong to be here. I feel like I did that time back in high school when James thought Darla was knocked up and she made him go buy a pregnancy test. She said not to tell anyone, so what did he do? He dragged me along. I remember standing there, my hands shoved in my pockets, looking like I had been the irresponsible jerk who felt like their life was about to end.
Why is he my best friend again?
Oh, that’s right. He’s not.
His obnoxious little sister is.
My wife.
And we’re back to present day and I’m standing here and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. Some of these tests say they’ve got digital readings on them. Some of them give you a plus or negative sign. Some of them have the word “pregnant” appear and some of them, I just don’t even know what the hell they do. So I look through them and decide on the one that spells out the word “pregnant” or “not pregnant” because damn if that ain’t clear.
“Thirty-five dollars!,” I shout. The entire drug store silences and heads poke around the corners of the sex aisle and gape at me. I rub the back of my neck and look around. “Damn,” I say, trying to look innocent, “some people got no respect. Why do they have to be so loud?” I continue to look around as innocently as possible and soon enough the nosey birds are no longer interested in the idiot down aisle sex with sticker shock.
Thirty-five dollars seems a little ridiculous to me. I want to call James or Darla or hell, even Ma, and ask them what’s considered a reasonable price; but nobody else knows that we’re trying to have a baby, except Dan, and I’m thinking the wife wouldn’t like me just blurting it out to the world. And if I tell Ma, I’m telling the world. You see, despite Colleen’s opinion of me, I do think things through before I do them. But much like the wife herself, I go ahead and do it, bad idea or not. I won’t tell her that, though. I also know how to keep from starting a fight; but I kind of like fighting with her. She’s never more passionate than when she’s angry, and she seems to thinking putting out will show me. Yeah, she “shows me” real good when she’s pissed. Needless to say, Mac is partial to an angry Colleen.
I poke around the aisle and continue to gripe about price gouging because damn it, this is ridiculous. I’m half tempted to drive across town to Walmart and hope their prices are considerably cheaper, when my favorite misguided youth walks down the aisle.
Joe McCarthy is a GED recipient who works down at the butcher shop around the corner. I first met him while volunteering as a big brother at the Southie location of the Boys & Girls Club. I was his mentor; so when I picked him up on a “drunk in public” charge last year, I felt like I had failed him. Despite his sometimes reckless behavior, he’s a decent kid just doing the best he can. I remember cuffing him and he broke down crying. He had just found out his girlfriend was pregnant and he didn’t know what to do. Joe was just sixteen at the time.
“Joe,” his head snaps my way and his eyes widen before he smiles at me.
“Patrick!” he says enthusiastically. “What you doin’ in my ‘hood, bro?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. I may not be on duty or in my work clothes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to command respect. If anything, this kid needs someone to show him how to be in the world.
“Uh,” he coughs, “Officer Patrick, Sir,” he stutters.
“What are you doing here, kid?” I ask.
“I got to pick up some formula,” he points to the display before him. “Maya isn’t breastfeeding, and this shit is expensive.” I lean over and look at formula prices. Oh, fuck that. Colleen’s just going to have to play dairy cow until the kid can eat adult food.
“That’s not cheap, kid,” I say, trying to hide my fright at the possibility of having to pay those costs. And here I thought thirty-five bucks for a test was bad. That formula would put me in the poor house.
“Don’t I know it. What’re you doing down here?” he asks again and I realize that I ignored his question the first time he asked it.
“Just picking something up for my wife,” I say. Joe leans over and looks at the couple hundred pregnancy tests that I’m standing in front of.
“You go and knock up your girl, Officer Responsible?” he asks. I throw my head back and laugh.
“My wife,” I correct. “You know, it’s this little thing adults do. They get married and then they knock up their girl.” I nod my head and Joe looks away briefly before righting himself and sticking his chest out.