Dirty Curve

by Meagan Brandy

At my voice, Meyer freezes, half her body stuck inside the vehicle, as if she forgot I was here, or didn’t realize I got out of the truck when she did. Slowly, the knee on the back seat extends, her left foot planting back on the ground with her right and she comes out of the car, a ball of blanket in her hands. Her eyes flick to mine and she steps from under the carport, back into the light. A small cry fills the air, but then Meyer begins to bounce her arms, and the soft sound fades away. Not a ball of blanket, a baby. “You should go.” Meyer nods, turning toward what must be her apartment, but she pauses, cautiously facing me once more when my feet shuffle a little closer. Meyer keeps her straining eyes on mine as I approach and they stay there when I reach her, but mine fall to the fluffy white blanket. I peek through the small opening near her chest to find a teeny, tiny little thing. A baby girl, if the pink pacifier tucked into her mouth tells me anything. The little one’s eyes are closed and the blanket’s pulled tight, so I can’t see much else, so I step back, looking to her mama. “I’ll see you Sunday?” She stares a long moment, sort of frozen and unsure, but then she gives a small nod. So, I turn, walk back to my truck, and as I climb inside, it all clicks. This is why Meyer runs on fumes most of the time. She’s not out partying or doing whatever the fuck it is most of us here do. The girl’s out working herself to death with assholes like me all afternoon, and at t...