You walk into the corner store for some vegetables and some bread.
I see you from across the street, I wave, but you don’t see me. I try to cross the street to catch up, but you’ve already moved inside. You’re eying canned goods and jerky, always tapping them with curious fingers, wondering if they’ll do any good when the bombs fall, or maybe if something monumentally terrible happened.
Outside the day is broken by screeching tires, but given skid marks to apologize for the noise.
Now I’m inside the corner store with you. We’re shopping together.
The carrots look good, the tomatoes are ripe. I know. I checked them.
You smile in my direction, I think you’re smiling at me.
You’re looking at Toucan Sam, he reminds you of the days I would walk to your house, and we’d have breakfast together and simmer in the Saturday morning madness taking place in Greyskull.
You walk on. You need milk. You go for the milk. Grabbing it, it reminds you of my pale skin. “Such a white boy” you’re mother would say. You’d giggle and I would trade in my pasty exterior for a flush pink.
Milk. Check.
You check your list. You double check it. Triple? Of course.
You’re beautiful. You have never looked so alive. Your hands are soft as silk, but getting a little calloused around the edges. You live alone now since your mother’s been gone. You do chores. You cook. And you think of me. The last link to a past that reminds you of banana pancakes and Sunday outings.
My dad would take us swimming. There would be coconut milk. There would be charred meat from the grill in the sand. There would be laughter. There would be birds singing. We commented once on how the two sounds simultaneously sounds like a restless day at the zoo.
You would always wear summer colors back then. Sunflower yellow would look so good on you. You have traded them in for gray’s and white’s and blacks. Office job ‘n all.
Next on the list, tuna. You’re obsession with tuna is a bard’s song. It’s being considered for a Hollywood picture. It has a book deal. You have a fan following. You’re absolute allegiance to tuna, is a thing of legend.
You grab countless cans. I watch. I smile. I fall in love with you, for the umpteenth time this week.
I trail close behind as you get some mayo for your tuna delight. You forget something. You double back suddenly. We touch.
It’s as if you walk right through me. You’re like the sun. Radiant. Warm. And yes, despite what you tell yourself in the mirror every morning, you are quite hot.
You grab pickles. The big ones. You would eat them straight out of the bottle. You’re a freak and I love you.
I’m a freak too.
Last but not least, you grab coffee, because you invited me to have some the following morning. You grab milk and brown sugar. You treat me well. You make sure I’m a well oiled machine.
You think of me, you bite your lip subtly, only I can see this from my privileged gazebo. I can see all of you from my perch.
You’re thinking about me completely now. You’re untouchable.
You wonder if this will be the day I finally ask you to be with me. After all this time. You hope. You cross fingers. Anyone can see you do that one. Now you cross the other one too. You look up and sigh, you smile, shake your head, head to the cash register.
You pull out a wad of cash and pay. It’s a sweaty little wad. You always have one or two of those on you. You’re such a quirky freak. And I’m such a dork. But we’ve been secretly in love.
You walk out, your skin is bathed in red and blue light.
There is a crowd.
You make your way through it.
Your eyes fix.
The grocery bags drop from your fingers.
You have tears in your eyes.
You cover your mouth.
There is broken glass. There is crushed metal. There are broken bones.
Hey love, I’m early for my coffee. I just couldn’t wait to tell you what you already know.
But, you already know.
Thanks for the coffee and the memories. Thank you for your time.
I’ll see you around.
I am snuffed like a candle, and she is in the dark.
