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The waif-thin, straw-haired woman used all of her strength to put the Crown Victoria in park. Looking ahead she saw behind her a man walking a Great Dane and thought “Don’t they only live a few years?” Certainly not a pet for someone who had experienced so much loss.
When the coast was clear, she floated across the parking lot and out of the heat into the cool recycled air. At once fear and excitement both played with her hands and toes and her breath stopped momentarily until her sympathetic system realized it was not the time and place to die. So much suffering must reap rewards - certainly. How cruel would this world be if the suffering wasn’t balanced with joy prior to our last and final breath - certainly.
She didn’t have a plan of attack as everywhere she looked required severe attention. No one asked her to help but this was her necessary “Superwoman” duty. She would go where she wasn’t needed…and help. No one even thanked her - but she wasn’t doing it for them, she was doing it for her. She would stay as long as she wanted, at least as long as was necessary.
“Please don’t talk to me” she would think. Averting eyes and destinations, picking the path of least resistance in the children’s section. Those kids were filthy - where had those little hands been?
Standing a mere five feet from the stacks provided shelter like the trenches in WWI; but in her case she would not stand duty or go “over the top” to see what was on the other side waiting to engage in some conversations about life or the weather or book clubs.
The important people who attach to their own ideas and self-worth never ceased to amaze her. After all, she hated herself. It was the best way to stay safe. When she let herself open the door just a crack, all hell broke loose so not being desiring of love kept her safe and sound and yes - happy. Happiness only depends on where you set the bar and she’d rather not set hers at all.
After eleven minutes passed, she was ready to begin. She felt good with the aisle choice and the people around must have sensed her forcefield and were allowing her space to “work”. Her left hand slowly released its grip on the purse she held at her flat chest leaving the purse to only be secured by her right white-knuckled hand and the strap wrapped twice around her body.
Cutting straight through the air. Bullseye. Touch and push to the left, shoot again and touch and push to the right. With each move, a step closer to checkmate, to the elusive finish line that will let her once again fill her lungs with warm air.
Out of the corner of her attentive eye she “feels” a gaze. “Is he looking? Did he notice the first two moves?” Maybe I should pick up the book and pretend I’m interested, maybe read a paragraph or two? No, are you insane? Do you not remember the last time you did that? Enough.
Her injured mind told her timid hand to reach out one more time, and she did - always one to obey to a fault. Again, touch and push and look left and right, pause and repeat. The end of an aisle approached and with it she felt even lighter than her barely eighty-pound needle on the bathroom scale showed. Anticipation began as the first shelf possessed the spacing required to give her the key to open the door. Open the door and once again breathe the warm air that would half-fill her collapsed lungs in a half-breath. Not bad for a half day’s work!
Her left hand and arm were exhausted by this point so her injured mind told her restless arm to push the door into freedom, trying not to make eye contact with the regular shift workers who once again catch her browsing and not buying.
Floating now to find the security of locked doors and air conditioning, taking time to catch her breath before mustering the strength to put the Crown Victoria in reverse, her eye catches nothing in the rear view mirror, and she thinks to herself…“What a wonderful pet a Great Dane would make.”
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© Doghaus
25 December 2017
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Honestly,
Doghaus
