Wrong Number, Right Person

The cold weather hit Maya the moment she went outside.

It is the kind of cold that goes through your coat like you didn’t even wear one. She dragged her coat zip up to her chin. It still didn’t help. That is how November feels in Chicago. It does not warn you. It does not ask if you are ready. It just comes and takes over everything.

The small shop was two blocks from her home. She walked fast with her head down. Her shoes made quick, wet sounds on the ground.

The street was quiet. Not the peaceful kind but the empty kind. A car drove past playing music too loud for that time of night.

A bell rang above the door as she pushed it open and went inside.

The shop smelled like cleaning soap, old wood, and something faintly sweet that she had never been able to figure out, even after two years of going there .

She picked up a small basket near the door.

She already knew what she needed. She had gone over everything before she left home, before she even wear her coat. Bread. Peanut butter. Chickpeas in a can, because they were cheap and filling and Eli ate them without complaining when she mashed them soft. And baby formula. The formula was the most important thing. The formula was the whole reason she came.

She walked slowly, basket in her hand. She did not look left or right. She looked only at what she came for. She had made that rule for herself six months ago and she kept it every single time she came here. Do not look at what you cannot buy. It does not help you. It only makes the walk home feel worse.

The bread costs one dollar eighty nine cents. She put it in the basket.

The peanut butter, the plain store brand and not the name brand, costs two dollars forty nine cents. She put that in too.

The chickpea costs ninety nine cents. She picked up two and held them for a moment then she put them in her basket. They felt heavier than something that small should feel. Small things were like that sometimes.

Then she stopped in front of the baby formula.

There were three types on the shelf. There were always three types, like the shop was giving her a real choice when really there was only one. The biggest can the one that lasts the longest was twentysix dollars. She did not even look at the small print. The middle size was twenty two dollars. The smallest one the one the label called “economy” because the shop needed a polite word instead of saying this is the one for people who cannot afford more that one was eighteen dollars and fortynine cents.

She stood there and looked at the shelf.

She took the small can and put it in her basket. Then she did the same math she had already done twice while standing in her kitchen before she left home

Bread, Peanut butter,Two cans of chickpea, and Baby formula.

Twenty four dollars eighty six cents.

She had twenty two dollars thirty cents in her bank account. She had checked before she left the house. She had checked two times.

She put one can of chickpea back on the shelf.

Twenty three dollars eighty seven cents.

Still too much

She stood in the middle of the store and held her basket with both hands,  stared at the shelf without really seeing it. She clenched her teeth . She noticed that and made herself stop. She unclenched her teeth , closed her eyes for one second, and breathed in slowly through her nose. Then out. She did that when Eli was crying at night and she needed to stay calm for him even when she felt anything but calm. She did it now for herself.

She put the peanut butter back on the shelf. and walk to the other end of the store. There was a section with small single serve cups of peanut butter the little plastic ones meant for children’s school lunches. Six cups for one dollar and seventy nine cents.

She put those in the basket instead.

Twenty two dollars and seventeen cents.

She breathed out slowly.

Good enough

At the counter, she put the items down one by one. The bread. The formula. peanut butter cups.and the can of chickpeas. She lined them up.

The cashier was a young boy, maybe nineteen. He had a headphone across his neck and his phone on the the side of the register. He did not look up. He just reached out and scanned each item one by one like the fast, bored movements of someone who has done this job so many times that he doesn’t bother to the things in front of him.

Maya was glad for that. She did not want anyone looking at her tonight.

The total appeared on the small screen in front of her.

Twenty one dollars forty eight cents.

She slid her bank card through the machine. Her thumb pressed hard against the edge of the card while she waited, a small nervous habit she had developed without realising it, something her body started doing on its own during hard months. The machine made its thinking sounds. One second passed. Two. Three.

Approved.

The tight feeling in her chest loosened just a bit .

“Have a good night”, the boy said, eyes still on his phone.

“You too”, Maya said.

And she meant it. Even tonight, she meant it. That was just who she was.

Outside, the cold was still waiting for her. It hit her from the side, She leaned her body into it and kept walking anyway.

She thought about Eli.

He was at Mrs. Garza’s apartment, two floors below hers. He had been there since six o’clock, since before Maya left for her driving shift that evening. The shift had ended at 9:15 because the app stopped sending her rides and there was no point driving around the city burning petrol she could not afford to replace. She had made eleven dollars and sixty cents in three hours of driving.

She did not let herself call it a bad night.

Eleven dollars and sixty cents was eleven sixty more than she had that morning. That was how she made herself think now, in things added, not things lost. She had learned to do that over the last fourteen months. If you started counting everything you had lost, you would never stop counting.

She open the heavy door of her building and took the stairs instead of the elevator . Sometimes the elevator stops between floors, and she does not have time for that tonight. She went up quickly, the bag pressed against her leg with every step

Mrs. Garza answered the door on the second knock, warm air came out first, smelling of cooked food and the lavender polish the old woman use on her furniture every sunday. Mrs. Garza stood by the door, one hand on the door frame

“Mija.” That was what she always called Maya. It means my daughter in Spanish.

“I’m sorry it’s late,” Maya said.

“It is not late,” the old woman said, steps back so Maya could come in. “He fell asleep without trouble. He ate all his rice.”

“The whole bowl?”

“Every bit. And then he looked around for more.” She smiled and nod toward the small sofa in the corner of the room.

Eli was there, lying on his back with both arms stretched out wide, the way children sleep when they have no worries. His small chest went up and then down, up and then down, in the slow and steady rhythm of a child who is sleeping so deeply that nothing in the world could disturb him.

Maya walked over and stood above him and said nothing for a moment.

His mouth was open the tiniest bit. He looked the way he always looked when he was sleeping like a child who had decided that life was good and the world was safe and there was nothing at all to worry about.

Maya crouch down and touch his cheek very gently with two fingers. He did not wake up. He did not even move.

“Good boy,” she said softly.

She picked him up carefully one hand behind his back, one arm under his knees and brought him to her chest, He made a small sound, something between a murmur and a complaint, she held him with one arm and picked up the grocery bag from the floor with her other hand.

“Thank you,” she said to Mrs. Garza at the door. “I really mean that. Thank you.”

The old woman waved her hand like the words were too much, like thanks was unnecessary between them. “Go. Put the baby to bed.”

“I’ll bring your pot back tomorrow”

“Tomorrow,” Mrs. Garza agreed, and closed the door.

Maya’s apartment was on the fifth floor.

She took the stairs again. Eli was on her shoulder, still completely asleep. He was heavier than he used to be. Not in a bad way just in the way children grow when they are being fed and loved, adding a little weight at a time, weight you only notice when you have been carrying them long enough. He was getting bigger. That was a good thing. She reminded herself of that.

She got him into his small bed without waking him.

That was the victory of the night. That one small thing.

She pulled his blanket up and stood beside his bed watching him breathe. Up and down. Up and down. It was something she had noticed about herself watching him breathe always made her own breathing slow down and match his. Like her body took its signal from his without being asked.

She stood there longer than she needed to.

Then she went to the kitchen.

She put everything away. The bread in the cabinet, formula on the shelf next to it, peanut butter cups in the drawer, can of chickpeas beside the two cans already sitting there. when she was done she looked at the shelf for a moment without moving. It was not a full shelf. It was far from full. But it would carry them through the week if she was careful.

She was always careful.

She fill a glass with water and drank it, look out the window above the kitchen sink. The window faced the brick wall of the building next door nothing to see, no real view. But if she move her head to the right angle she could see a thin line of sky sitting between the two rooftops. It was dark now. Dark blue and no stars, the city lights washing everything out.

She put the glass down.

She took out her phone.

It was just habit looking at her messages at the end of the night. Her mother sent voice notes sometimes. Her sister Renee sent funny pictures that were not always funny but were sent with love, which was what mattered. The work apps on her phone sent notifications she had learned to leave alone until morning.

She opened her messages and typed to Renee without thinking too hard about it.

Renee I don’t know how I am going to do this month. Just needed to say it out loud.

She looked at what she had written. Her thumb sat above the send button. She almost deleted it because what would it change? Renee had her own month to get through. Her own numbers to worry about. Maya already knew what her sister would say. She would say it will be okay and you are so strong and both things would be true and neither one would change the number sitting in Maya’s bank account.

But she pressed send anyway. because sometimes you just need to put something heavy down for one moment. even if you have to pick it back up again. she put her phone on the counter and went to the bedroom to change out of her work clothes. she had her sweatshirt halfway over her head when she heard the phone buzz on the counter.

That was quick, she thought. Renee must still be up.

She came back to the kitchen and pick up the phone.

She read the message on the screen. Then she stopped moving completely.

I think you have the wrong number. but I am listening, if you want.

She read it again. Then one more time. She stood completely still in her kitchen sweatshirt on, cold floor under her socks, the shopping bag still sitting where she had left it on the counter and she read those words a third time.

Wrong number.

She had done it again.

The embarrassment came fast, she pressed the phone flat against her chest like she could somehow pull the message back. a few weeks ago she had sent messages to this wrong number by accident, a contact she had saved incorrectly one exhausted afternoon when her phone screen was cracked and her eyes were tired. she had realised the mistake, moved on, and forgotten about it.

And tonight she had done it again. She had sent her most private thought to a complete stranger.

she looked at the message one more time.

i think you have the wrong number. but I’m listening, if you want.

She should say sorry. She should type wrong number, sorry to bother you and close the conversation and find Renee’s real contact. That was the sensible thing. The normal thing that a sensible person would do.

She stood in her kitchen.

The refrigerator made its low constant hum. on the baby monitor sitting on the counter above her, she could hear Eli breathing soft and easy, not a care in the world. the thin strip of sky outside the window was still dark. still going nowhere. she read those last five words one more time.

I’m listening, if you want. her thumb moved before she made a real decision about it.

It’s embarrassing now that I know it’s a stranger, she typed. but I have about twenty two dollars to last the rest of the week and a baby who needs formula and I just needed to say that to someone.

She pressed send. then she put the phone face down on the counter and held on to the edge of the sink with both hands and looked out at that dark strip of sky. she told herself it did not matter. It was a stranger. they would either say nothing, or they would say something that meant nothing. either way she had said the thing out loud to someone, which was all she had needed. it was done. she could go to bed.

The phone buzzed against the counter. she did not grab it straight away. she stayed where she was hands on the sink, eyes on the sky, breathing in and breathing out. then she reached over and picked it up.

You don’t have to be embarrassed. that sounds like a really hard night.

Something in Maya’s shoulders went soft. She had not known how tight they were until just now, when they finally came down.

She read the message again. Just two sentences. Short and plain and simple. no oh my goodness or I am so sorry or any of the words people say when they feel awkward and do not know how to fill the silence. No drama. No pity. Just two quiet sentences that said…. i see that you are having a hard time, and that is real, and you do not need to be ashamed of it.

Which was true. It had been a hard night. It was exactly that and nothing else.

Maya slid slowly down until she was sitting on the kitchen floor. her back against the bottom of the cabinet, the floor was cold beneath her. she held the phone in both hands and sat with those two sentences for a moment.

Then she started to type back.