I didn’t mean to, really. It wouldn’t have been so bad had I gotten beer–I meant to get beer. That woman, the shopkeeper, “the gin is on sale,” she said. So, I’ve now hit a baby in the face with a bottle of gin.
It made a dink sound.
“Shit!” I cried, as the baby hit the sidewalk. It could have only been in its first hundred, or perhaps two-hundred steps, ever. I dropped the bag on the ground. It clinked. I bent to help the baby.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.”
The baby’s mother pushed me away. She picked up her baby and looked at me, horrified. The baby wailed against her neck. It was a little chilly outside.
“What is wrong with you!” The mother yelled at me.
“Stop saying shit!” she cried, holding her baby’s ears.
I stepped back, “sh–I mean, I am sorry, it just stumbled at the last second.”
“It’s not an it!”
I nodded, dropping my cigarette behind my back. I nodded again, for good measure. “I’m sorry.”
The mother eyed my bag of groceries, suspicious. I tried to hide it behind my leg, stepping away slowly. Boy, did that baby wail. The mother checked over its head, then kissed it, seeming a bit calmer.
“Is it okay?” I asked, not thinking. Slowly, she turned. She looked at me with all the fury a mother can muster, and trust me–it’d send God running.
And I’m not God, but still–I ran.