The convenience store was small and imperfectly lit. Brenda would have rather gone into one of the big chain stores on the busier streets, but Bill and her were on this one, and they wanted a cola. Actually, Bill wanted one, but he found it difficult to make a direct request, so he always phrased it in terms of Brenda's wants and needs: "You feeling hungry yet, baby?" "You want a cola?"
She knew what he meant. So she steered the cheap stroller with the TV cartoon character on the back, and James sullen and quiet as usual in the seat, up the rough concrete ramp that led to a heavy push door. Bill waited by the store window, seemingly engrossed in a magazine poster, unaware that she could use a little help. That was her Bill. "Get me some smokes while you're in there, 'kay?" he finally offered.
So there was the store. Narrow aisles, cramped, but not looking like it carried a lot. She hadn't seen it before in the neighbourhood, so she wanted to check if it had any deals on disposable diapers and kids' things. It was hard getting around here, so she found it easier to leave James at the potato chip display. This store had at least a lot of potato chips, in plastic foil bags with shiny colours. Mr. Chips was on top of the display in his cardboard glory, and James seemed to like the sparkling packages. He had already grabbed one for himself. Brenda would have to wrest that from him before they left. There wasn't money enough for that and smokes. Maybe she'd get him a five-cent candy on the way out.
"Do you want a lotto six-sixty-six?" the clerk asked with no prompting from her as she paid for her bottle of cola and cigarettes. She guessed they were made to ask that by the manager. She didn't like the looks of this guy, young, but with oily hair like an old-fashioned movie actor, and even a skinny moustache to make him look creepier. This, underneath a red baseball cap worn backwards, and a red apron which might have been some kind of store uniform or something.
Was she forgetting anything? Yeah, James, still dead quiet in his stroller. She reached over, barely having to move away from the counter to do it, and grabbed the handles. Hung the bag with the big bottle of cola on the back, and managed to manuever everything out the door.
Bill took the smokes, "Thanks babe." Started unwrapping them immediately, cellophane falling to the ground. "You got matches?" he asked.
"You can get matches," Brenda said.
He looked puzzled for a moment, as if not actually knowing how to get matches, then disappeared into the store.
She didn't feel like waiting for him. Her shows were coming on at home, and anyways she didn't like walking around this ugly neighbourhood with its graffiti-scarred walls, and cars roaring noisily past. Ugly old men, and people walking by with dogs not under control. With this stroller in the way, it was hard to move aside for them. She noticed that James had managed to keep hold of a bag of potato chips and shoplift it from the store. Well, if the clerk hadn't noticed, then it wasn't her problem. Funny how the stroller was a little harder to control. Not the same amount of weight there. She heard "wait up!" from behind her, and Bill was clumsily trotting after, tryimg to handle matches and his pack of cigarettes as he went.
Getting home was a real priority now for Brenda, because Bill had started in on one of his stories about what he and his friends had done last night while drunk, and she would do anything to avoid listening to that. She pushed the stroller along faster. The wheels were making noise, not getting the same amount of traction. James wasn't complaining. His own green baseball cap seemed perfectly still, and the bag of potato chips stuck out from the side. "Do you mind opening that for him," she asked Bill, mainly to shut him up. She stopped walking so that he could take hold of the bag.
"Hey, that's funny," he said, and laughed.
"What's funny?" Brenda asked, though she thought to herself, "this sounds like trouble."
"No, come around, check this out," insisted Bill.
She turned the stroller towards herself. It was strange, she had to admit. In place of James in the stroller, was a little boy made out of potato chip bags, and wearing his cap. There was one big bag in the middle, which was a body and head. This actually had on it graphic representing a smiling little boy with James's blonde hair and clothes. His arms and legs were four smaller potato chip bags, connected to the main one, which Bill was busy tearing open.
"I don't think we should do that. We'd better bring it back and get James."
"Oh I don't know," said Bill, chip fragments falling from his mouth. "These are good."
She thought that a potato-chip baby might be easier to manage than a real one, and in most respects, she was right. It was quieter and better-behaved than James ever was, lighter to carry, and never got into things. When she got it home, she repaired it with masking tape, and told Bill it was off-limits for snacking. Knowing him, though, she was sure that he would break in once in a while. It was easy to put the baby in front of the television and leave it there, blue light bouncing off the shiny plastic folds.
Brenda, however, wanted to consider herself a good mother, so she put the baby to bed at night, and dressed it in James' clothes. In the morning, she put it in the special chair and mimed feeding it breakfast. Since the baby didn't eat anything, that would save on food.
Over the days that followed, occasionally Brenda would wonder what had happened to James. She had been pretty lucky so far. No phone calls from the authorities and she had not gotten in trouble, so she thought it was better not to take the risk of asking questions. Still, since Bill was spending most of his time out with friends, and rarely even returned home except to put on different clothes, the apartment was so quiet that she had time to feel pangs. During her daily walks with the baby, she usually avoided the block which held the convenience store, but this time she made a point of going inside.
The potato chip baby almost fell out of the stroller when she pulled open the heavy door. She had not bothered to belt it in, since there was no question of it struggling or getting away. The store clerk -- the same one as before -- sat and watched. He did not seem to recognize her, or the baby, even though it had come from his store.
She thought of talking to him, but any question she could come up with sounded ludicrous. So she pretended she was browsing. This was hard in a store this size, but the potato chip display was plain enough. Filled with packages, and the smiling cartoon character up above. She looked for spaces where James might have fallen in, but the plastic and foil bags were pretty tightly packed.
"You looking for anything in particular?"
She wondered who the clerk was talking to, then realised it was her. "No thanks," she said, feeling stupid. Why would she want potato chips when she already had plenty already?
To avoid feeling strange, before leaving the store, she bought a packet of tissues she did not need. "Do you want a lotto six-sixty-six?" asked the clerk.
"Yes," she said, and he drew the fiery red ticket out of the plastic blotter on the counter. As she was paying, the potato chip display gave a quick shake, like a pine tree with a squirrel in it. The clerk gave no sign of noticing, but Brenda was suddenly frightened.
"Is there something inside there?" she asked.
"No, should there be?" said the clerk.
"I saw it move."
"It does that sometimes."
It was beyond her powers of imagination to explain the problem, but Brenda went over to the chip display, pushed aside one of the hanging bags of snacks, and looked inside. She had a brief impression of a pair of eyes, then soft childish giggling. She looked back with significance at the clerk, but he was rearranging his lottery tickets and paying no attention. So she began frantically stripping the chip display, sending bags everywhere.
"If you want something, you should just ask," came the clerk's voice from behind the counter, but he took no further action. Brenda had made a hole in the display through which she could look, and looking back at her was James. He was dressed in a T-shirt promoting a brand of beer, perhaps he was wearing a potato chip bag in place of pants, and on his head was a Mr. Chips Indian Headband, with cardboard feathers. He seemed angry.
"Go away, Mommy." he said.
"Mommy's sorry. She won't leave you behind again."
"I don't want to go with Mommy. I want to stay here."
Brenda burst out in tears. "I want to be a good mommy," she wailed. "Don't do this to me."
"I wanna stay with Mr. Chips."
She let loose another sob.
"Hey, not in the store. Take it outside!" said the clerk.
Grieving, Brenda restored the chip bags to their places on the rack. James watched her from a crouching position beside the ice cream cooler. He looked angry and wiry, not at all like a child who has to be pushed around in a stroller. Brenda buckled the belt around the potato chip baby, and made sure it was snug in its seat, with the green baseball cap on its head.
Maybe she should buy a pack of smokes. There was no telling when Bill would need some smokes.