I dropped in to the grocery store for an emergency sweet potato pie. Rushed past self-checkout Lanes 12 and 13, even though no one stood in line. If I were in to doing things myself, I would have baked that sweet potato pie. A single shopper occupied Lane 14. But darn, her groceries mounded a foot high on the conveyor belt, and her cart was still full. Lane 18 looked promising. An unshaven man in sweats leaned against an empty cart, three bags of charcoal on the belt, about to advance toward the register. I sidled up behind him and set my pie a polite distance from his stack.
Now let’s see… which celebrities were battling through billion-dollar divorces? Plenty of divorces on the magazine covers, but nobody I knew. How is it I didn’t recognize the stars anymore? What happened to Oprah? Where’s Julia Roberts?
Umm. Why hadn’t my line moved? My eyebrow arched ever so slightly as I analyzed the situation. A tiny woman in a headscarf was bending over the counter in front of Charcoal Guy. She and the teenaged clerk huddled over a piece of paper. Reward card application? He’d probably promised her it would only take a minute. Right. My minute.
All pinched up into tension, I needed a break. From myself. And the melodrama myself was producing. I twisted my expression into a smile. It was insincere, but it counted. The young man's hair hid his face and muffled his voice, but his tone was kind. His hands moved gently as he offered a pen to Grandmother Babushka. Her gnarled fingers hesitated, and he held the paper steady for her. My fake smile turned genuine. Hurry drained away, and for a minute, I was living in the spot where I was standing.
Earlier posts.
Hitchhiker
No Supervision
Light and Shadow
Now let’s see… which celebrities were battling through billion-dollar divorces? Plenty of divorces on the magazine covers, but nobody I knew. How is it I didn’t recognize the stars anymore? What happened to Oprah? Where’s Julia Roberts?
Umm. Why hadn’t my line moved? My eyebrow arched ever so slightly as I analyzed the situation. A tiny woman in a headscarf was bending over the counter in front of Charcoal Guy. She and the teenaged clerk huddled over a piece of paper. Reward card application? He’d probably promised her it would only take a minute. Right. My minute.
All pinched up into tension, I needed a break. From myself. And the melodrama myself was producing. I twisted my expression into a smile. It was insincere, but it counted. The young man's hair hid his face and muffled his voice, but his tone was kind. His hands moved gently as he offered a pen to Grandmother Babushka. Her gnarled fingers hesitated, and he held the paper steady for her. My fake smile turned genuine. Hurry drained away, and for a minute, I was living in the spot where I was standing.
Earlier posts.
Hitchhiker
No Supervision
Light and Shadow