By Danila Botha

If you want to know something about the way I was raised, let’s start with this; my mom absolutely detested processed foods. There was no artificial colors or corn syrups, no boxed mac and cheese, hot dogs or marshmallows. Basically, anything that made my tastebuds sing, from Sprite to cans of vanilla frosting, was forbidden. We weren’t rich enough to buy organic, especially after my dad left, but my mom was a nutritionist, and everything, from hyperactive, out of control kids to obesity happened because people mindlessly ate garbage.

When I was fourteen, I started sneaking over to McDonald’s for Oreo McFlurry’s and nuggets, then immediately showering so she never knew. When I got older, I went to college to become a chef, then got my first job at a waffle house. 

I ate erratically, partly because of my hours, partly because I was raising a kid alone. I’d start the day with black coffee and a random donut, then forget to eat for hours. 

 I met this older Bit Coin guy one day and the chemistry was insane. I guess the pullout method really doesn’t work because a few months later, I found myself pregnant. Then the Great Crypto Crash happened when I was eight months pregnant, and two weeks later, Mark disappeared. 

By the time Macy was almost two, I had a good routine and was starting to feel normal. After work one day, I grabbed a can of Spaghetti O’s, along with one of the restaurant’s beaten up metal spoons and I guzzled it on my way to pick her up. 

I was surprised when I got pulled over. I’d already tossed the can, so what was in my purse, along with my wallet, receipts and half a protein bar, was the spoon. The cop eyed my pale skin, the circles under my eyes, my skinny frame. He insisted the spoon was covered in a clear residue that looked like Meth. 

“Crystal Meth?” I asked, in shock, and he looked at me like I wasn’t just stupid, but a bad actor. 

“I don’t believe you would eat Spaghetti O’s cold, while you were driving. Also, why use a metal spoon, and why put it back in your purse?”

It was like watching a sitcom about a mindless sidekick who kept falling into surreal traps. I could hear the laugh track every time I opened my mouth. 

He dragged me into his cop car, and I kept waiting for him to say that it was a joke. He stuck me in a cell with a girl who kept picking at her skin and nodding off.

I cried. I called my mother who thought I was lying. I lost my job and was in jail for so many days I missed Macy’s second birthday, but after a few weeks the truth came out. The cop lost his job and everyone said I should press charges, but all I wanted was to wake up as someone else; a woman who anticipated everything.  A woman who could defend herself against her own desires, fearlessly telling men to fuck off. It’s all I wish for Macy to become.

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Danila Botha is a fiction writer based in Toronto, Canada. She is the author of the critically acclaimed short story collections, Got No Secrets, the Trillium and Vine finalist For All the Men (and Some of the Women) I’ve Known, and the forthcoming Things that Cause Inappropriate Happiness (Guernica Editions, 2024) She is also the author of the novel Too Much on the Inside, and the forthcoming A Place For People Like Us (Guernica 2025)