She Shouldn’t Have Said God’s Name in the Bathroom | MARIA BELAYADI

She Shouldn’t Have Said God’s Name in the Bathroom

fiction by Maria Belayadi

The girl held her stomach as the bile rose up her throat. She no longer could hide from her truth as she sped across the speckled tiles. Each step was cold against the soles of her feet. Hunched over last night’s dinner, she watched the green stuff swirl around the toilet before being flushed down along with her purity. She whispered the same words from the Holy Book that her mother always recited when she was nervous. She was told to never say God’s name in the bathroom because that’s where the Devil stays. Maybe that’s where she belongs to. After all, she knew it was a sin to buy the new lace underwear the day before she went to the boy’s house. My parents will disown me, she thought as she put her knees to her chest and counted the little bathroom tiles that made up each big square tile. Tears no longer urged their way out. She pushed herself off the ground after 114 tiles. Maybe she should pray. But what good would prayer do now? Maybe she could pray for someone to let her live with them while the damned grew inside her belly. She remembered the last girl who sinned like this—she left the country. But the boy who helped her complete the sin is married with two kids in the next neighborhood over. The girl lay in bed rubbing her flat belly. She weighed out the level of each sin and came to the conclusion that a baby that would be ostracized for something out of its control shouldn’t be born. But killing a baby is a sin too. She wondered what constitutes a sin and why some of them didn’t apply to boys. Or adults. She remembered reading a verse about backbiting. Too many people came to mind. Herself included. She went over the conversation in her head that she would have with her mother. No matter how she

phrased it, what words she used, or the timing of the tears, she knew the outcome was the same.

She really shouldn’t have said God’s name in the bathroom.