Wondrous — Chapter 4: Impact, part 2
(An experiment in writing in installments)
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Previous chapters:
Chapter 1: Eliza, in which we meet Eliza and share her vision-impression of Christ handing her a newborn. The introduction also contains background for the overall story.
Chapter 2: Threshold, in which Eliza, somewhat distracted at work, takes the afternoon off, visualizes her future as a mother, and, feeling that she is about to conceive, senses a soul with her.
Chapter 3: Incarnation Part 1 and Part 2, in which Eliza seeks out the conditions under which the soul will descend into its nascent body.
Chapter 4: Impact, part 2
Her thoughts yield to the practical and immediate, upon the changes she and Adel will make to their home, along with the soft pastels of the nursery they’ll decorate and furnish. A nursery that will give way to a toddler’s bedroom and playroom, adorned with colorful animals and colorful toys (but maybe not those noisy ones). A playroom that one day yields to hobbies and studies and popular fancies, posters of favorite bands and athletes and actors or maybe portraits of saints or other noble personages, one way or another expressing this soul’s natural proclivities, and, perhaps, revealing his or her destiny, be it science or sports or art or activism or management or machinery, taking expression through a first job, a vocational or college or workplace education, through relationships, and one day family and growth and change and children and—
“Whoa, Eliza!” she says to herself, shaking her head and opening her eyes. “Come back to reality girl!” She stomps her feet upon the sidewalk, hops a few times, and swings her arms around her.
“Lots of time,” she sighs, “lots of time…get yourself grounded. Focus on the present.”
Through the trees, Eliza catches a glimpse of the library, the stately bricked façade of which extends a friendly invitation. There’s an idea, Beloved. She set off with purposeful stride, and as she hurries her pace, her legs weaken and her feet drag as if slurping through mud. When she slows to a more deliberate and mindful pace, her strength recovers, yet the heaviness returns once more if she relaxes too far into a leisurely saunter. To walk comfortably, gracefully, she finds she must concentrate on holding a fine edge, and in this way she arrives at her destination.
Once in the library’s open atrium, she heads up the central stairway to the non-fiction sections on the second level. She doesn’t think to look in the catalog—amidst the admixture of three hundred thousand titles, Eliza recalls the clarity of those biographies she saw earlier in the bookstore, the lucid signals amongst the worldly static. An aisle midway down the left side suggests itself as her destination. Following that lead, she’s not surprised to find some of the same volumes. Letting her hands run over the spines, she selects a biographical novel of Saint Francis along with a life of one Anandamayi Ma, an Indian mystic.
Now we can look for the parenting books, yes? But she catches herself—No, not even those just yet. we want the ones for expectant parents, for pregnancy. Consulting the catalog computer, she finds the appropriate call numbers. In that section she finds several more promising books, and as she heads downstairs to the checkout, one more hardcover catches her eye on a display of travelogues. It’s a reprint of Charles Dickens’ American Notes, in which, she learns from the cover, contains the famous writer’s diary of his 1842 journey in North America. Eliza figures it will make for some lighter reading alongside the other items in her arms.
Outside again, Eliza notes a twinge in her stomach. Hungry? Perhaps—it’s been a challenging afternoon…no, a gracious one, but demanding in its own way. When she arrives back at Batara Yu’s café, however, the hunger flips over into a mild nausea. In sudden contrast to her previous swoon outside the temple, the pungent odors of the café assault her nostrils as overbearing. How did she not notice during lunch? It’s all too strong—especially that of the greases from the grill and the oils of the deep fryer. So soon? she asks herself. I mean, I know that nausea comes along in the first trimester, but within an hour? She thinks to check some of her borrowed books (which perhaps she’ll leave in a conspicuous place as a way of telling Adel the news) but no, she can do that later.
Maybe she’s not hungry at all—just nervous, unsettled, swimming or only treading in new, uncharted waters, hormonal if not also psychological and emotional. What she needs is some tea or, better yet, a latte—yes, an old comfort, a reliable standby. For her nerves aren’t in a state that’d be aggravated by a stimulant; no, it’s more that there’s a separate stimulus that’s running fast ahead of her, like a child running into traffic for which she needs an immediacy of response. Ack, no! Eliza shakes her head and dismisses the frightful image, but the feeling is yet true: she needs a boost to catch up.
Finding once again a proper stride, Eliza makes her way to the coffee shop and composes herself before stepping in to this favorite domain of familiarity.
Hmm...do they have a new blend? she wonders, as she notices a distinctly unfamiliar scent. There’s nothing new on the chalkboard. Maybe it’s just another effect of the hormones.
“Tall mocha latte, please,” she says to the barista even before she halts at the counter.
“Coming right up, Ma’am,” says the young employee, whose streaks of blue and lime-green hair hang over her face. Eliza taps her phone on the scanner for payment and takes a seat to wait.
Yes, a good choice—Eliza can’t seem to calm herself from the burgeoning anticipation. Whatever this thrill, it’s neither physical nor chemical, but maybe some chemical is just what’s needed in this moment. Odd to think that a good latte here will actually be settling.
“Eliza?” the barista calls out, and Eliza rises to collect her order.
“Thank you very much,” she says, with an unusual depth of sincerity in her gratitude. Well, I’m just happy in my pregnancy, she thinks, and takes a sip.
Phlissht! Eliza can’t hold the liquid in. She spews it all over the counter as the barista jumps aside.
“Eaugh! Pttah!” Eliza gags, wiping her mouth out of reflex. “Ugh!” She meets the gaze of the wide-eyed attendant. “Oh, God, I’m sorry…but—eew!” She smacks her lips, tries to swallow, and grabs a wad of napkins to wipe her tongue and the dripping cup in her splattered hand.
“I’ll say,” comments the barista.
“Sorry, sorry,” Eliza continues as she dabs at the counter. “But—eaaguh—something is wrong with this—it’s disgusting!”
“That’s strange,” notes the barista in an unconvincing manner before she waves Eliza off and produces a spray bottle and cloth from under the counter. “I can’t think that’s ever happened before. Are you sure about it?”
“Quite sure—I mean, I gagged the moment it hit my tongue. I…I just couldn’t help it.”
The second barista tosses Eliza a fresh towel for her hands and says, “No worries, I’ll make you a replacement.”
While Eliza waits, she cleans the remnants of her episode off the signage on the counter’s front facing.
“There you go, Ma’am,” says the second barista, handing her a fresh cup.
Automatically, from a long-practiced habit, Eliza draws the cup toward her mount for another sip, but a teenage boy standing next to her at the counter intercepts the movement.
“Ah, you might wait until you’re outside,” he says.
“Point taken. Thanks.”
Eliza steps out onto the sidewalk, makes sure the firing range is clear, and ventures a taste.
Pffsst!
“Uck! What, going on? How revolting!” Eliza pulls off the lid and sniffs the drink, recoiling as if she just plunged her head into an open sewer. She wishes in that moment that she’d remembered the old rule from her chemistry labs that you never put a sample directly under your nose but rather wave the vapors toward you.
“What the hell? Who’s playing funny business with me?”
Hot indignation flares in her breast, matched immediately with distinct wave of nausea. Fighting down the urge to heave, she storms back into the shop.
“Ms. Hutchinson—Diana!” she calls to the owner, who has come from the back to get a report on the incident.
“Yes, Eliza? What’s wrong?”
“This drink is all wrong!” Eliza snaps. “For the second time—ugh—.” Her stomach clenches and she hunches over, catching herself on the countertop. “Is this a joke or something? I...” Eliza lowers her voice; one scene was enough.
Diana comes around to Eliza, her touch comforting. “I’m not sure what’s happening, my friend, but let’s set it right. Here—” She examines the contents of Eliza’s cup.
“I didn’t even taste it…it smells terrible,” says Eliza.
“Really?” Diana sniffs the liquid. “Seems fine to me, but let’s make a fresh one to be sure, I’ll do it myself, and you can observe. I’ll even open a fresh milk and show you the date.”
Diana proceeds with the task, offering Eliza a cup of the milk for her inspection. Eliza half expects another surge of revulsion, but, on the contrary, the milk is sweet and soothing.
Ms. Hutchison makes a venti portion and gives samples to her staff to test. “All good!” is the consensus, with no dissenters.
Yet once more, Eliza—daring this time only to wave the froth’s steam toward her—backs away reflexively.
“No, ugh, no. I’m so sorry, I don’t understand, but... something’s strange with me, obviously. I apologise for all the trouble. Please, let me pay for everything.”
“No need, Eliza,” says Diana, proffering a cup of cold milk. “Maybe this is enough for now.” Eliza takes a drink and her stomach settles. She takes a few deep breaths, drains the cup, and gathers herself up.
“Better?” asks Diana.
“Yes, thank you so much.” And as Eliza catches Diana’s kind gaze, relief washes through her. She smiles back. “I think I’ll go home and get some rest. Sorry again.”
“Don’t mention it,” says Diana. “These things happen among family. I know you’ll be back, so put the whole thing out of your mind. Are you OK getting to your car? Should I send Jasmine with you?”
“Yes, no, I mean, I’m fine now, thanks. I’ll see you again soon.”
Rest, yes, she thinks as she walks back to her office and into the parking garage. It’s been quite the afternoon...time to get home.
The Friday traffic seems eager to get an early start on the weekend, challenging Eliza’s patience. As she works her way through the backups and the ill-timed stoplights intermixed with the occasional smooth cruise, nausea rises and falls in waves, at times billowing almost like a volcanic eruption, at other times subsiding into a comfortable, even non-existent quiescence. She tries to mitigate the anxiety with a few of her favorite playlists, but most of the music grates her ears. All she can tolerate is the simple, repetitive melody of a meditative soundscape.
Along the way, she decides to make one stop at a department store for a memento of this day. Keeping herself focused by humming the gentle melody of the soundscape, she heads to the baby department and selects a white christening blanket, almost cloud-like in its soft purity.
She’ll leave it, and not the pregnancy books, where Adel can see it.
Chapter notes and comment prompts:
I called this chapter “Impact.” What are your thoughts on the kind of impact that Eliza might encounter? What do you think of the scene in the coffee shop?
As with previous chapters, most of the story is Eliza’s inner perception and thought process with only an occasional thought that’s clearly verbalized (and italicized). How does this work for you, or not?
Now that we’re four chapters in, how is the story holding together for you since Chapter 1? Are there any aspects that you think should be threaded through more strongly?
(I’ll repeat this last question in every chapter.) Based on this chapter (along with the title and the one hint about what the story is about), what questions do you have that you hope the story will answer in future installments?
Please also report any typos or passages that you find unclear or problematic.
(If you like this post, selecting the ❤️ to bless the Algorithm Angels.)
What do you think of the scene in the coffee shop?
I wasn't sure what to make of it so I'm anticipating it being a little bit like a movie where you don't understand what's happening but that it will come clear as the story progresses.
Now that we’re four chapters in, how is the story holding together for you since Chapter 1?
I've done what I can to keep up with the reading, but it's not like reading a book where you can choose the pace at which you read, so I expect it'll told together once it's complete and readers can read with less time in between chapters.
Based on this chapter (along with the title and the one hint about what the story is about), what questions do you have that you hope the story will answer in future installments?
Who is this mother and child that are reminiscent of a special mother and child from 2,000 years ago