Doodling

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in September. I was in my favorite place to be on a Saturday, the local Wal-Mart.

(Yes, I'm being sarcastic.)

I was bent over, putting a large bottle of baby shampoo into the buggy when I heard a loud squeaking. The kind of squeaking that just stabs into your brain. Why Wal-Mart doesn't just take some 3 in 1 oil or WD-40 and spray down the wheels on their carts is beyond me. God knows, they have the money.

I use baby shampoo; if the chemicals you put into your body can affect you, it just stands to reason that the chemicals you put onto you can also affect you.

The squeaking stopped right behind me. I pulled my cart forward, preparing to get behind it and push it out of that aisle.

"Damn it; why they always put it, he mister? You get that box down for me?" a woman's voice asked me.

And when I turned, I was face to face with Sandra King. She had slimmed down some since high school. Her big blue eyes were just as pretty as always, but there was something in them that had not been there before. Her hair was longer, even though she had it done up in a ponytail, I could see it was longer. Those boobs were just as big, maybe even bigger. Her jeans showed she still had some nice hips, a nice waist.

Sandra's pretty mouth opened in an 'O' as she recognized me. She stood, just staring at me.

Then I noticed a baby carrier in the back of the buggy. Inside the plastic car seat/carrier was a blonde girl, in a cute pink one piece outfit.

"That, that's a, you're a mommy?" I stammered, looking at the infant.

"Bertie?" Sandra asked, as if she couldn't believe it was me.

"Hi! Hi pretty girl, hi, what's your name?" I cooed to the sleeping infant.

"Say 'I'm Joyce,'" Sandra smiled, coming around to stand next to me at the front of her buggy.

"Joyce?" I asked, staring at Sandra.

"Yeah, don't ask me where it comes from; just kind of liked it," Sandra said. "Joyce Theresa King."

"Joyce was my mother's name," I said, looking at the beautiful little girl.

"No shit! Bet that's where I heard it from," Sandra said. "So, how's your mom doing?"

"She uh, she died. February," I admitted.

"Oh God! Oh Bertie, I, I didn't, how'd it happen?" Sandra gasped.

I got the box of formula down for her. As we pushed our buggies through the store, we talked. At some point, I threatened her with bodily harm if she didn't ditch the squeaking cart and she put baby and formula and diapers into my cart.

Sandra told me she'd worked at Sonic, right up until giving birth to her baby. Right now, she was working from home, doing collection calls. She hated it; many of the people she called were very abusive, some even threatening. But it allowed her to work from home, work odd hours because babies don't follow any set schedule.

"What about the daddy?" I asked, nosing up to the long line for the check-out.

"Find out who he is," Sandra admitted.

"Scott?" I hazarded a guess.

Sandra shook her head, smiling tightly. At first, she'd been sure he had been Joyce's father. But Scott's step-father had insisted on an In Utero DNA test. Scott was not the daddy. And the moment he found out he was in the clear, Scott dropped Sandra like a bad disease and high tailed it.

Looking at Sandra, her pale face and long blonde hair, her soft smile, I had a horrifying vision. I could see a dribble of semen trickling down over Sandra's pink pussy lips. I could see her anus flower open and a fine spray of semen, then a second dribble of semen trickling down over her pussy lips.

"I uh, I'm doing a basil salad, you know, with spaghetti squash and some chicken breasts," I said. "For supper; want come on over?"

"You still in that trailer?" Sandra asked. "I'll see if my Aunt Connie will baby sit."

"Bring her. Joyce, I mean," I said. "Not your Aunt Connie."

Hank laughed at me, but promised he'd make himself scarce. As I hurried through making the dinner, and trying to clean an already quite clean trailer, he made comments and suggestions. And I ignored his comments and suggestions.

Joyce was awake when Sandra showed up. Joyce wasn't talking or walking, or crawling just yet. But her hands were quite grabby as I held her.

As I worked, assembling our two plates, I explained to Joyce what I was doing and why. Sandra laughed, a genuine, happy laugh, and took her daughter out of my hands so I could handle the hot chicken.

"You act like she can understand you," Sandra said.

"Bet she can," I smiled.

"Mr. Bertie's being silly," Sandra cooed to her daughter. "Isn't he? Mr. Bertie's being silly."

"Uh huh, let's eat," I said.

After our dinner, Sandra and I sat on the couch and talked. She filled me in on the gossip of our peers. Addison and Dylan were married and living in Atlanta, Georgia. Babette and Nick Verdot had married and were already in the process of getting a divorce. Madeline and Jonah and Percy had formed a group called The Medusa Dance. They played a mix of Symphonic and Thrash Metal. They had recorded a CD in Jonah's father's backyard work shed, but no record label had picked them up.

"Well, someone needs her bath and bottle," Sandra finally said, standing.

"Can I see ya'll again?" I asked, dismayed that they were leaving.

Sandra looked at me for a long moment. Her eyes studied mine, then she smiled softly.

"I'd like that," she said.

Her kiss was a soft one. There was nothing sexual in her kiss; it was just a soft, warm kiss. She didn't stuff her tongue down my throat. She didn't try to suck my tongue out of my face. She gently pressed her soft lips to mine and kissed me.

"Call me," she said, then smiled. "I can't call you; you blocked my number, remember?"

I verified her number, then walked her to her car. I helped her buckle Joyce in the car seat and was given another soft kiss.

"Good night," Sandra said.

"Thought you said she was psychotic?" Hank said as Sandra backed out of our trailer park.

"Shit! Where'd you come from?" I jumped.

"Was over at Annie's," Hank admitted. "She thinks she might have caught some of that glaucoma stuff."

"You can't catch glaucoma; it's not contagious. And, yeah, she's psychotic," I said. "But uh, you forget? I'm psychotic too."

"You're psychotic? Thought you were just fucking nuts?" Hank teased. "Now, there any of that veggie crap left? Got the munchies."

"It is not veggie crap; there's chicken in it," I yelled. "Top shelf of the fridge."

He had the munchies all right. There had been enough of the dish to make supper and have some left for lunch the next day. Hank ate the whole thing. Then had a large bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal.

My therapist was happy to hear about my meeting with Sandra. The woman was not as enthusiastic about my dating Sandra though. She cautioned that it might be too soon for me to think about getting into a relationship.

"Even though that might be my daughter?" I asked.

"Even though," she stated.

My classes were going very well. I'd not started up Tees By Bert since arriving home, but a few former classmates from high school were now going to U. L. L. and more than one of them had asked me if I was still doing the shirts.

Again, my therapist threw cold water onto my enthusiasm. She was worried that I would focus too much on Tees By Bert and let my schoolwork suffer. She said she had the same concerns about a relationship with Sandra.

"Okay, so, don't get off the beam," Hank said when I talked to him about what the therapist had said. "Jesus, Bert, man! You going stop living? Huh? You going be afraid try anything?"

He gave me another one of his stupid, annoying one armed hugs. Then he slapped my face. Not hard, but hard enough.

"God damn, okay, so you date Sandra and you go a little overboard. Hell, you go a lot overboard. At least you're out there, living. Okay, so you start back with the tee shirts; man! You were good at that stuff. So you go overboard. So what? So what? It's part of living, Bert. And, man! When you was cooking that veggie crap," Hank said.

"It wasn't veggie crap," I yelled.

"I ain't seen you that happy in forever, man," Hank went on. "Hear? Man! You was happy; you was looking forward to doing something, you was looking forward to being with her, even if she's psychotic and you're fucking nuts. You was happy."

"You're the worst step-father in the world, know that?" I said.

"Yeah? You ain't much of a step-son either, hear?" he smiled. "So, what's first? Call her? Or make some retarded tee shirts? Personally, I'd call her first. Then, she tells you to pound sand, like you deserve? You can make a tee shirt."

"Bite me," I said as I punched Sandra's number.

"Bite yourself. My glaucoma? Can't see nothing that small," Hank said, making himself a tequila and orange soda tequila sunrise.

"Hey," Sandra said quietly. "I uh, thought wasn't going hear from you."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I said. "Got busy but then my stupid dad, my stupid step-father told me I better not be too busy see you and Joyce."

"Dad?" Sandra asked.

"I heard that," Hank called out. "And I'm not stupid."

"Hank. My mother's husband. He's my step-father," I said, waving at Hank to shut his mouth.

"Oh," Sandra said, then waited.

"I uh, Sandra, I love you," I blurted out. "I want see you, I want to see Joyce, when can ya'll come over?"

God. I hated how desperate, how whiney I sounded. But I couldn't help it. I felt my whole world beginning to implode, felt like Sandra was my only lifeline.

"Way to play hard to get there," Hank said, draining his drink.

"Bite me," I yelled at him.

"Told you, bite yourself," Hank said, fixing himself another drink. "Damn it, too much orange in it."

"I uh, well, I, I, I'm working right now," Sandra stammered.

"When you get off? I, uh, wait, what you do with babies? Shit, I don't know, um, know what? I haven't had a pizza in I don't know; want go get a pizza?" I babbled, feeling myself getting overwhelmed.

Was this what my therapist was warning me about? Becoming almost frantic, becoming overwhelmed in my desire, my need to see Sandra King? Becoming desperate for her approval, her acceptance?

"Pizza's good," Sandra said. "I'm off at, um, forty, seven o'clock, okay? Take me about, we'll be there, 'bout seven thirty. That okay?"

"Hank, you say one word, I swear I'll beat you to death with my Spirograph set," I warned as I put my cell back into my pocket.

"One word," Hank said and drained his glass. "Have fun."

Sandra was a few minutes late. I brushed my teeth again, checked my hair again, and wondered if I should borrow some of Hank's Lagerfeld cologne. I was trying a new natural antiperspirant; you ever read the ingredients in your antiperspirant? Suppose the deodorant quit working? Actually, I didn't think it had ever worked all that well; my armpits were like a swamp most days.

But the packaging said it sometimes took a few days for my body's chemistry to accept the essential oils of the antiperspirant. Jesus Christ, why was I doing this? She was going to hate me anyway, when I brought up the idea of doing a DNA test.

Over and over, I could see Sandra's anus flowering open, see the trickle of my semen oozing down, over her pretty pussy lips. Over and over again, I would develop an erection, seeing that obscene, erotic, shameful, exciting sight. And I felt ashamed of myself, getting turned on by the thought of taking Sandra's sweet, hot, tight ass again.

"This isn't helping," I snarled at my reflection.

"She's here," Hank said. "Go, God, get out; you're driving me crazy."

"Mighty short drive there," I said.

""Seriously, boy, she's probably as nervous as you," Hank said and gave me another stupid one armed hug.

"Get away from me," I demanded.

We went to Alesi's on Johnson. Sandra had brought a bottle for Joyce and told me Joyce was now eating formula and rice cereal. The pediatrician said Sandra should be able to start Joyce on some baby food soon.

"Oh. So, no pizza?" I smiled. "I was going have them put a couple of slices into a blender for her."

"No, not just yet," Sandra smiled.

It was really poor planning on my part. After we ate, there wasn't anything to do. We couldn't very well take Joyce into a bar, to listen to music, to talk. We couldn't go to the mall; it was almost time for them to close. We couldn't go to a movie; Joyce would be sure to get cranky and start crying. We couldn't walk around the park; there'd been a few muggings lately. The police were working on catching the person or persons, but the park at night wasn't safe for a mommy and baby and a guy that hadn't been in a fight since the fifth grade.

"I uh, how we go 'bout doing a DNA test?" I asked as Sandra drove us back to my trailer.

"What?" Sandra asked, startled.

"A test. See if I'm, I might be the daddy," I said.

"What? How? Last time we made, had sex, what? That was way before..." Sandra said as she came to a stop in front of my trailer.

"No, no, our graduation," I said. "Remember? You came up, said we hadn't ever danced. We danced, then we went into some room and did it?"

"Oh God! We did? Oh God! How, I must been drunk," Sandra stammered, blushing hotly.

"Yeah, I uh, you were. But, hey, I was pretty drunk too," I defended.

"You don't drink," Sandra accused.

"The punch. There was a bunch of Everclear in it," I said.

"Yeah, remember that," Sandra slowly agreed. "And we, you sure we, no, no, every time? You always used, you always put on a condom."

"I'd already used up my only condom right before," I said, blushing hotly.

"You sure?" Sandra asked, pretty face screwed up as she tried to remember a night from sixteen months ago.

"So, how we do it?" I asked.

Sandra promised to make the appointment with her obstetrician's office. We kissed, again, a soft, warm kiss. Then Sandra said she'd call and I got out of the car.

It was as simple as getting a swab from the inside of Joyce's cheek and my cheek. I apologized to Joyce as she made a face and tried to swallow. Then I swabbed my own cheek with another swab. The nurse or physician's assistant promised they'd have the results soon.

When we left the office, I hugged Sandra. She returned my hug, looking up into my face. Those beautiful eyes studied me.

"You sure? You really want to know?" Sandra asked.

"You kidding?" I happily asked.

I was too excited to go to class that day. Instead, I drove to Wal-Mart and bought a white one piece outfit for Joyce. Then I carefully did a purple Spirograph design on the front of the garment. That was extremely hard; the stretchy material kept threatening to bunch up.

Oh, while I was there, I also bought a cute other things. Sandra said Joyce wasn't too sure about the baby food, so I bought a few bibs for her. I bought a purple teddy bear; it was actually purple and gold and had L.S.U. on it.

I also bought a car seat for my car. That way, on days when I wasn't in class but Sandra was working, I could take my daughter to the park, or to the mall, or just over to my trailer so she could spend the day with Daddy.

"Bertie! What did you do?" Sandra asked when I showed up, unannounced at her Aunt Connie's house. "Bertie, what, what is all this stuff?"

Joyce ignored the cute one piece garment. The teddy bear frightened her and she started crying. I insisted that I be the one to hold her and comfort her.

She didn't calm down and after a few minutes, Sandra took her from me.

At home, I read the instructions for the baby seat and strained, sweated, struggled and cursed, but finally had the damned thing in the rear seat of my Saturn. Hank shook his head in amusement but didn't say anything.

Sandra said she was too tired after her work so I didn't get to see her, didn't get to see Joyce that night. I was disappointed, and after a spicy stir fry, I went to bed.

The next day, all through class, I kept glancing up at the clock. Finally, I was done with my day and drove to Sandra's Aunt Connie's house.

"Bertie, come on; I'm working," Sandra complained. "And Joyce is sleeping right now. Damn. I'll call you later, okay?"

I went home. I sat and stared at the living room wall, waiting on Sandra's call. Hank came in from parts unknown and gently suggested that I do my homework for the day. Somehow I managed to get to my feet, stumble into my room, and start on my homework.

Sandra did not call that night. After another meal, I went to bed. I didn't sleep, I just went to bed.

The next day, Sandra did call. I had just come home and was putting my books on my desk, ready to do some serious studying. I had some assignments to catch up on from the day I had skipped.

"Hey!" I said. "So good hear from you. So, what's up?"

"Doctor's office called," Sandra said.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, my excitement mounting.

I couldn't believe how happy I was. I almost laughed; my therapist had been worried about nothing. Being in a relationship with Sandra, with my daughter wasn't a distraction. If anything, it was a focal point.

"You're not the father," Sandra said.

"You, you're lying," I accused.

"Wish I was," Sandra said.

"No. You're not taking this away from me," I snarled. "You can't, I won't let you."

"Bertie, I'm sorry. But the test showed..." Sandra said.

"Jesus Christ! You, that's my daughter! You, oh! Oh, I get it. I see what's happening now," I screamed.

"Bertie, I..." Sandra said.

"You got a boyfriend and he thinks he can just come in and take my daughter away from me," I said.

"What? Bertie, there's no boyfriend," Sandra said.

"Well, too bad, so sad but I'm not giving up Joyce that easy," I screamed. "I'll, I'll sue you, you hear?"

"Bye, Bert," Sandra said.

"God damned lying fucking slut," I screamed, punching her number.

"Bert, Bert, hey, hey, come on, huh?" Hank asked, coming into my room.

"Says test says she's not my daughter," I screamed at Hank.

The call went to Sandra's cheerful voice mail. I screamed into the phone, screamed my rage.

"God damn, what is wrong with you?" Hank yelled, slapping the phone out of my hand. "Jesus, you even hear yourself?"

"She's trying take my daughter away from me," I screamed, enraged.

"Bert, stop! Stop! Think about it, just think about it," Hank pleaded with me. "Jesus, any girl out there would be saying you are the daddy. Just about any girl out there would lie her ass off, say you're the daddy, and need kick up some bucks."

"But she just wants have her all for herself. Well, I got rights," I yelled.

"But you get the one girl says you not the daddy," Hank went on.

"See? She's lying," I said.

"No, no, Bert, man, no. You got the one girl's willing be honest with you," Hank said.

"You, you're in on it. Oh Jesus fucking Christ, you're in on it too, aren't you?" I screamed.

"In on what? Bert, no matter what, man, I'm on your side, man, I'm on your team," Hank said.

It was dark when I came to. I was on my bed, still wearing the clothes I'd worn that morning. Or yesterday morning. My cell was dead, so I couldn't tell what time it was, or what day it was. I needed to pee, so forced myself out of the bed.

After relieving my swollen bladder, I knew I should eat. I needed to eat. I needed to take my medication and it wasn't good to take my medication on an empty stomach. But I didn't want to eat. I wasn't hungry.

"Come on, come on, you need to eat," I begged myself.

Opening the refrigerator, I just couldn't force myself to do anything. I stared at the head of cauliflower, the head of broccoli, the Tupperware of the homemade humus, the carrot sticks.

"Fat lot of good that shit did you," I muttered, wanting to throw all that healthy food away.

I ate a bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal. Even before I finished the bowl, I was getting a sugar high. With some food in me, I was able to take my medication. Even though, I really saw no need for it anymore.