Going where there is room
Written by Emma McCoy
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Hi everyone! As some of you may remember, I did a series last Easter that consisted of short stories from the perspective of a little boy from Jesus’ time. This little boy witnessed the events of Easter and struggled to make sense of them.
For Advent this year, I want to do something similar. But rather than take us back to Jesus’ time for his birth, I’m going to situate us in modern day. Follow along these short stories as I take us through a familiar story in an unfamiliar way. Can you identify all the parts of the Advent story? Here’s a hint: the narrator is an outsider, watching everything from ‘outside’ the story.
Advent: Week 3
Going where there is room
I woke up, though there was no sound. I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. Had there been a dream? Did something fall off my nightstand? I sat up, and in the dim light of my room I could see nothing wrong. It was 2:12am.
I laid back down, but almost immediately knew there was no hope of going back to sleep. I was awake, for better or worse. Usually, when I was home, I would read for a while, or make a snack, or walk around the city, weaving in and out of bodegas until I was tired enough to go back to bed. I turned on the lamp and opened my book, but just as quickly closed it. It was too alone in this room, in this crowded inn. My room seemed too big for me.
I put some pants on and grabbed my wallet and keys. Downstairs, only the lamps were on, casting the lobby in a weird low light. Outside, the trees were bent under a heavy wind and the windows shook a little. I thought about the man I’d seen earlier, and the very young pregnant girl with him. I hoped they were out of the wind.
As I stood in the empty lobby, the ache came back again, worse than before. What had prompted me to take a week off work and come to Maine on a whim, prompted me again. I needed to move, see another person, anything. Anything to push aside the longing for something I couldn’t name. Was it loneliness? Was it sadness? Maybe I was finally submitting to the middle-aged working bachelor cliche, but if I was going to confront it, I might as well have a Coke Zero and pastry to go with it.
There was a gas station a mile down the road. I considered walking, but when I used my keycard to leave the inn, the wind nearly pushed me back in. It whipped my hair and forced itself down my thin pajama shirt. I didn’t want to go back for a coat, so I hopped in my car and started to drive, the streetlights flick flick flicking by.
I parked, and waited a moment. The convenience store was open, as promised, even at this time of night. In the empty parking lot surrounded by fluorescent light, it was like my loneliness reached out to the stillness of the store. There would be no one there except some poor worker stuck with the night shift. It usually didn’t make me feel better, wandering through all-night stores on the few nights I couldn’t sleep, but it was better than waiting at home. I tapped the steering wheel. What was I doing?
Getting a Coke. Right.
There was no one behind the counter when I went inside. Most things were familiar: the humming of the overhead lights, the turning of a hot dog warmer, and the clinking ice machine. I opened a Coke and took a sip. I selected a plastic-wrapped pastry.
“You an EMT?” A large, bearded man came around the corner, his voice gruff.
“Uh, no,” I replied. I set the drink on the counter.
“Cop?”
“Definitely not.”
“Alright then,” he said. He stepped behind the counter. “Just this, then?”
“Yeah.” I thought for a moment. Usually in late-night stores you didn’t make eye contact with people, much less asked them questions. But I was doing lots of unusual things. “Everything okay?”
The clerk looked me up and down carefully, and I almost regretted saying anything. But the clerk shifted, and I seemed to pass some unsaid inspection. His face changed, becoming more animated.
“There’s a girl who gave birth in the storeroom back there.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So you do need a doctor?”
“No, her man said no ambulances or anything. Can’t blame ‘em, they looked scared out of their minds.”
“Is the girl pretty young?”
“Yeah, they both are.”
I rubbed my neck. “I saw a young couple earlier today. Maybe it’s them? There wasn’t a room for them at the place I’m staying at.”
“No surprises there. They came late afternoon, or about then. She looked about two seconds away from popping.”
“Does anyone else know they’re here?” I asked, looking toward the back.
“No, and it’s going to stay that way,” the clerk said, eyes narrowing at me. I ducked my chin. “I’m pulling a double, so it’s going to be quiet. You’re the first person walked in here since.”
“Since?”
“The baby. Now either get on about your night, or come and be quiet.”
I followed the man to the storeroom. Inside, it was warm and dark. It smelled animal, though I wouldn’t be able to describe how. There were two people on the ground. The girl sat on a pile of blankets, a bloody basin of water next to her. On her other side was the man, murmuring softly in a language I didn’t know. They were both looking at the swaddled baby in her arms. The baby slept, its face wrinkled and blotchy.
The girl looked up, and her eyes went wide at me. The young man with her turned, arm out to shield her, but I raised my hands and held out the pastry, then jerked my head to the side. I left.
After a moment, the clerk returned. He leaned on the counter, glancing back toward the storeroom occasionally.
“That’s…something,” I finally managed. It was a complete understatement. I’d never seen anything like it. I felt disquieted.
“Isn’t it?” the clerk replied. “Craziest thing.” He gave me a long, searching look. “Card or cash?”
I couldn’t respond right away. The image of that girl holding her baby was branded in my brain and there was no shaking it loose. Before I could answer, the store’s front door burst open, the sound of the chime ringing abruptly.
image composite made with a real image and use of AI by Jessie Bloss
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About the author
Spring Church member, Emma McCoy (M.A.), has two poetry books: This Voice Has an Echo (2024) and In Case I Live Forever (2022). She’s been published in places like Across the Margin, Stirring Literary, and Thimble Mag. She reads for Chestnut Review and Whale Road Review. She’s probably working on her novel right now. Catch her on Substack: https://poetrybyemma.substack.com/