1.

Vivian, sweaty from her workout but becoming chilled by the autumn air, reached the corner and turned left on to her street where she was immediately swarmed by a buzzing entourage of little people each led by their own Queen Bee.

Startled by the surge of activity she looked at her watch and realized her workout had run a bit longer that day. She was usually very good – actually obsessive – about timing her returns from the Y to avoid ending up on the street at the same time the neighborhood elementary school let out.

Vivian wove her way through the swarm, jostled about by the excited children to whom she was invisible, as they orbited their respective mothers – some clinging to her waist or grasping her hand, others walking backwards ahead of her, and still more scampering up and down the obstacles so considerately provided by neighborhood landscaping – chattering excitedly about their days.

A little boy, still walking and talking, reached into his backpack and rooted around with his hands in search of the construction paper present he’d made for his mom. When his hands seized the prize from within the dark nylon cave of his school bag he withdrew his hand as if he’d just been burned, tearing the gift in his hastiness to bestow it upon his mother. Tears came as only half of his bright red gift, the edges now fringed from the rip, revealed itself and Vivian put both hands to the side of her head and pressed the head phones deeper into her ear canals, not to block out the horrified kindergartner’s cries, but the soothing words from his mother that would make it all better.

The pop music of some trendy bimbo now filling her head, blocking the affectionate chatter of the swarm, Vivian held her head high, looking directly ahead, careful to avoid contact with the Queens, but risking the occasional peek at the faces of the children. She couldn’t help herself. It was a habit she had of searching a crowd of little faces for the one that would most look like her daughter. The one with long, dark brown curls, big green eyes she’d yet to grow into, and a broad smile between apple cheeks. Vivian didn’t see her daughter in the stream of bobbing heads as she made her way past them, which was just as well.

Finally, the bulk of the school kids behind her, Vivian emerged from the swarm and breathed a sigh of relief. She mentally congratulated herself on her strength and wondered when it had become fashionable again to have more than two kids. Almost home, she had turned off her iPod and stuffed the headphones into the pocket of her fleece vest when she saw the pair coming in her direction.

“Must have gotten cut off from the swarm,” Vivian muttered to herself. But two on one she could handle. No need to plug into her music again, Vivian continued moving forward down the sidewalk, remembering that she too had the right to walk down it, even without a child’s hand in her own.

The mother son duo approached her slowly, lost in their own worlds. The mother looked to be about 40. She had dark wild hair that hovered around her head, tan skin, and dark eyes. She wore a thick brown shawl wrapped her shoulders. The little boy, about six, had his mother’s hair though his was shinier, his wavy locks rested on his forehead and curled around his ears. He also had her eyes, big and round and almost black. The boy’s hand disappeared under his mother’s shawl, the lump of their clasped hands occasionally visible beneath the wool of her wrap.

The little boy talked. He was less rambunctious than the peers that walked ahead of him. Speaking slowly and purposefully, considering each of his sentences, as he shared with his mother the details of the visit by a policeman to his school. As he shared his story, he worked the fingers of his free hand, staring at them intently, willing them to produce a snap and his mother looked down at him, smiling and in love. The gaze of utter adoration and amazement the woman cast upon her son was too much for Vivian.

She jumped into the road, making a desperate beeline for the opposite side of the street, screaming when the car that nearly hit her blared its horn. Vivian could feel the stares of the mother and son on her back, but she broke into a run anxious to get back to her home before it began.

“Crazy bitch,” yelled the driver, ensuring that any remaining dignity Vivian may have possessed was annihilated. Normally she would have flipped him off or exchanged a few ugly words with him, but at this moment she just wanted to be safely behind the closed door of her home, which sat at the end of the block, cheering her on as each stride put distance between her and the mother-son pair and nearly being run over by an asshole in his Mercedes SUV, probably on his way to pick up five or six of his own little brats.

Beautiful. That would have been just a beautiful fucking way to die, Vivian, thought. Run over in post-workout, sweaty, with dripping wet pony tail, cat hair-covered yoga pants and a fleece vest. She imagined herself splayed out and mangled in the middle of the street, in her workout clothes, her smashed eye pod ending up in the gutter with some ridiculous Justin Timberlake tune streaming for the still-attached earphones, while the fashionable mothers shielded their eyes from the mess of a childless woman mashed into the pavement.

“That sounds about right,” she said, laughing hysterically as she turned up her driveway and slowed down to a walk, patting herself down for her house key. The vision of her humiliating death buoyed her spirits briefly and then she realized she’d forgotten her house key and would need to break in.

“Jesus Christ!” she growled. “Jesus H. Christ! Idiot! You idiot. Vivian, you stupid fucking idiot. How many times can you do this? How do you not think of bring a key when you leave the house. And her mood darkened significantly. As she squeezed between the shrubbery, hoisting herself up the side of the house to test various windows for an entry, she berated herself further.

“A child. You want a child, Vivian? You can’t even take care of yourself,” she hissed and then louder, to no one and the sky, “And why are all these god damned windows locked? There’s no fucking crime in this god forsaken suburb.”

Rounding the side of the house, Vivian’s pony tail was snagged by a gnarled, wayward branch of an ailing tree that gave her head a yank, but Vivian’s forward momentum, in search of an unlocked rear window, propelled her forward leaving a few strands of long brown hair dangling from the limb, blowing in the wind.

With no entrance to be found at the back of her home, either, and her head smarting from the tug of the half-dead Willow, Vivian’s personal attacks reached a new low. Her own worst enemy couldn’t have been more vicious and it wasn’t long before Vivian ended up on the cold concrete of the back porch with her back against the French doors that came between her and the kitchen, sobbing from a an emotionally lethal combination of self-pity and hatred. And that’s where she remained until the lights came on behind her and Vivian turned to see Derrick standing frozen in the center of the kitchen staring at Vivian’s mascara-stained cheeks and red nose.