By Angie Chatman
Every morning, after dropping Tyler off at school for his half-day kindergarten class, Carmen took her power walk. For this pregnancy she’d read a variety baby books; all of them stated that healthy exercise could induce labor. They also warned not to start an exercise regimen before consulting a doctor. At nine months, Carmen was dying to start labor, and her doctor had encouraged short strolls for her mental and physical health. When she’d been pregnant with Tyler, she’d been so busy learning to be an army wife, moving with Gabe to their first post in Missouri and satisfying her cravings for pickles and orange juice. Now, that they were back home in North Carolina, Carmen was a lot less stressed. Still, she felt as if she had swallowed the moon, sometimes light and warm; other times it was as if a jumble of rocks had collected in her belly and pressed on her legs and feet.
She drove to her favorite section of town where a small, well-tended park was circled with well-kept houses built in the late ‘50s. After swinging her bulk out of the car Carmen took a deep breath, and tried to clear her mind of worry and instead focus her attention on specific sights and sounds. As she walked, she spotted two hummingbirds flitting around the birdbath. A car slowed down for the speed bump then thumped twice, and an airplane from the nearby military base roared in the sky. Beyond a white picket fence, white petals from a rose bush collected in the grass; Carmen breathed in the scent.
Her mind wandered to her husband. She checked her phone to see what time it was there knowing that wherever he was in Afghanistan, Gabe wouldn’t be able to sleep, especially at night. The baby shifted, and Carmen paused until the mound adjusted, then took a deep breath and continued her journey.
She completed the ½ mile circle twice, then sat on the park bench in front of an old oak tree to cool down in the light breeze. Its branches swayed as if beckoning her to explore its skin. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she was high in those branches, rocking in a cradle of soft leaves. A gray pigeon flew overhead; its blue neck plumage shimmered like a jewel in the sun, and it cooed a soft lullaby. She reached for the bird. It flew to a higher branch, then began its song again. Carmen slept.
When she woke, she was seated on that bench; only moments had passed. Instead of running errands for the two hours that remained before she had to pick up Tyler, she drove home to take a real nap.
A black Chevy Malibu was parked in front of her house. It had government plates.