That Will Be All

She pulled slowly into the parking place at the new supermarket with the bank and the pharmacy and the dry cleaners and all. She had circled, slowly, for a little while, so as to remember where the door for going in was located. She had gone around again after thinking that maybe it would be better to be a little closer to the door for going out, having remembered at the last moment that they were different doors. She ended up in a spot pretty far out - she had aimed for a slot that turned out to be for shopping carts when she got up close to it.

She had felt like going out; getting out of the apartment for a little while. The cat had been warm and sleepy on her lap, perfectly content to stay all day, but she had felt the need to do something; to go somewhere. It was Friday, not one of the days she worked for a few hours at the phone survey place, and she had felt a little restless, wanting to get out into the world for a bit.

She pulled a rolling cart from the group inside the door. She didn't need more than a hand basket, but sometimes it wasn't comfortable to carry the basket all the way through the store. She detoured over into the flower section to get her bearings. Such a big place! The mums were looking very nice. Big, florist mums ... she often thought of buying one, but she knew that they would be much less expensive at the greenhouse near where she used to live, on the other side of town, before she retired and moved to the nicer, newer apartment away from the scary city noises and street corner drug dealers; closer to her grandchildren she saw once or twice a month.

So, she didn't buy the mums. The cat would only give them a brief once over ... maybe a quick nibble before ignoring them forever, and no one else would see them. But they were nice, and it was nice to see them all, so glorious here in the bright lights at the supermarket; big yellow blooms with red tipped petals. The big, proud white round ones ... all in perfect bloom.

The produce section didn't hold much for her lately. Fresh vegetables tended to waste away in the bottom drawer, unattended. But she picked out a nice bunch of grapes, seedless, after comparing the prices and quality of the three types available. Wouldn't those whole pineapples look nice in a centerpiece for a party!

People were rushing past her, grabbing things, and arguing back at their children. Often, she had to guide the big cart over to the side to let people go past, people who wanted to go faster, on their way to someplace else, someplace more important than this shopping trip. She wondered at the way their eyes glazed over as they talked on cell phones, or flashed with impatience while she moved from their path.

She toured slowly through the store, enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the deli cheeses, the rotisserie chickens, the pretty wines with all of their rich colors and artistic labels. She picked up a few of the frozen entrees she liked, to take home and put next to others exactly the same, there in her freezer back at the apartment.

After waiting in line at the checkout, mesmerized by the endless selection of gums and candies, she didn't hear, and then she did hear, someone far away, speaking. Speaking to her.
Oh, it's that question, "Paper or plastic, Ma'am?" The young man had asked it at least three times before getting her attention.
"Plastic," she said, waking as if from a long dream, "they're easier to carry."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am?"
"Plastic! Oh, and could you please wait for just a moment?"
She edged past those waiting behind her in line, and walked steadily over to the flowers, within sight of the checkout. She strode back more purposefully, carefully carrying the most beautiful white mum they had. The people in line watched her coming back, more respectful of her now, as she carried the impressive flowers.
"Will there be anything else, Ma'am?"
"No. No, thank you," she said, "that will be all."

Greg Rogers
November, 2003