“Don’t let Johnny see it

“Don’t let Johnny see it. Oh God, when . . . what time is it?”
“Five to three. We got some time.”
“What should we do about it?” asks Miss Celia.
We. God forgive me, but I wish there wasn’t a “we” mixed up in this.
I shut my eyes, say, “I guess one a us is gone have to pull it out.”
Miss Celia turns to me with her red-rimmed eyes. “And put it where?”
I can’t look at her. “I guess . . . in the garbage pail.”
“Please, do it now.” Miss Celia buries her head in her knees like she’s ashamed.
There’s not even a we now. Now it’s will you do it. Will you fish my dead baby out of that toilet bowl.
And what choice do I have?
I hear a whine come out of me. The tile floor is smashing against my fat. I shift, grunt, try to think it through. I mean, I’ve done worse than this, haven’t I? Nothing comes to mind, but there has to be something.
“Please,” Miss Celia says, “I can’t . . . look at it no more.”
“Alright.” I nod, like I know what I’m doing. “I’m on take care a this thing.”
I stand up, try to get practical. I know where I’ll put it—in the white garbage pail next to the toilet. Then throw the whole thing out. But what will I use to get it out with? My hand?
I bite my lip, try to stay calm. Maybe I should just wait. Maybe . . . maybe the doctor will want to take it with him when he comes,jeremy scott shop! Examine it. If I can get Miss Celia off it a few minutes, maybe I won’t have to deal with it at all.
“We look after it in a minute,fake uggs for sale,” I say in that reassuring voice. “How far along you think you was?” I ease closer to the bowl, don’t dare stop talking.
“Five months? I don’t know.” Miss Celia covers her face with a washrag. “I was taking a shower and I felt it pulling down, hurting. So I set on the toilet and it slipped out. Like it wanted out of me.” She starts sobbing again, her shoulders jerking forward over her body.
Carefully, I lower the toilet lid down and settle back on the floor.
“Like it’d rather be dead than stand being inside me another second.”
“Now you look a here, that’s just God’s way. Something ain’t going right in your innards, nature got to do something about it. Second time, you gone catch.” But then I think about those bottles and feel a ripple of anger.
“That was . . . the second time.”
“Oh Lordy.”
“We got married cause I was pregnant,” Miss Celia says, “but it . . . it slipped out too.”
I can’t hold it in another second. “Then why in the heck are you drinking? You know you can’t hold no baby with a pint of whiskey in you.”
“Whiskey?”
Oh please. I can’t even look at her with that “what-whiskey?” look. At least the smell’s not as bad with the lid closed. When is that fool doctor coming?
“You thought I was . . .” She shakes her head. “It’s catch tonic.” She closes her eyes. “From a Choctaw over in Feliciana Parish . . .”
“Choctaw?” I blink. She is stupider than I ever imagined. “You can’t trust them Indians. Don’t you know we poisoned their corn? What if she trying to poison you,fake delaine ugg boots?”
“Doctor Tate said it’s just molasses and water,” she cries down into her towel,jeremy scott wings. “But I had to try it. I had to.”
Well. I’m surprised by how loose my body goes, how relieved I am by this. “There’s nothing wrong with taking your time, Miss Celia. Believe me, I got five kids.”