Ghosts & Cheese

I stand there at the cheese counter trying to decide which cheese pairs best with anxiety. There are kids in their school uniforms hanging off of shopping carts and moms scurrying through to pick up last minute ingredients for dinner. There’s a strange conversational din taking place.

Chablis? Do people still drink that?

Oh, I really don’t know, they just said for her to take the Ozempic stuff.

MOOOoooOoooom!

Taking some type of deep breath I realize, too late, that a cart would have been helpful. Holding a loaf of “artisan sourdough bread”, no doubt made by a cult up north someplace, a bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle Cabernet Sauvignon (Indian Wells), a tube of fresh mozzarella (it offsets the tartness of anxiety), a container of Nancy’s Greek Yogurt (plain), and non-chocolate Halloween candy. The price of all these items equals my doctor’s visit copay.

Was that you? Did I see you standing over in the bakery with your blunt bob and bangs? Wearing overalls?

I go to the self-checkout line which is a bit of a drag. Standing in line at the grocery store, for an actual human to take my money, is where I usually space-out, dream up new nail polish color names “I’m Fine, Thank You.”, and try to answer the ultimate question of the day – What’s for dinner?

Glancing behind me; it is you. You look so young and anxiety-free. That Wet-n-Wild blue nail polish, those tiny silver hoop earrings. I miss you.

I scan my items one by one, beep beep, always that incessant beep. Tap my card to pay, load the items into a store branded paper bag. Leaving, I take one last look over my left shoulder and you’re gone.