please sign here

we met each other head on but gently at the top of lane 3. the neighborhood grocer is one i try to avoid, but sometimes you are depsperate and just totally need a package of whole wheat tortillas and a people magazine.

we both turned into the check out lane at the same time. it seemed to startle her, but i was in no hurry, and so told her

'"no, you go ahead".

she was surprised at this kindness, almost suspicious, as i had two items and she had more than that, but when i smiled and said - please you first, she smiled back and started placing her items on the belt.

a bag of tortilla chips, a bottle of welches grape juice, some fresh celery, and a few other things. an odd assortment of flavors that don't go together but sometimes you get a ferocious craving for things you want because you have not tasted that particular thing for a very long time.

perhaps the was the case and perhaps not.

she looked familiar, so familiar.

i noticed her outfit and everything about her, there was something that asked me to look at her and so i did. a half-cowl turtleneck, long denim circle skirt with tiny zipper accents, and brown boots. her hair was full and soft red and tossled; blue eyes, silver earrings.

her total was $21.13 and when he told her that her eyes widened and she panicked for a moment - "do i sign or not?" she hovered over the card scanner and twiddled the electronic pen as if she had never done such a thing but wanted you to know she knew all about this machine. she seemed to want to do everything right.

i know her, i am sure i know her

or at least i know about her. we all do.

is it really her? thinking back to photos of a weary face deep with wrinkles, white hair and sad eyes...but who wouldn't look like that? who wouldn't look like that?!

she took her groceries outside to her van, her light brown van, and i wondered if it was pleasant or mournful to be in that van. She climbed into that brown van with her brown paper bag, and then she drove away.

i had read so much about her these past few years and weeks, easy to form an opinion when one side of the story is printed in black and white while you enjoy coffee and pajamas and freedom.

seems to me we all do our time, in one way or another.

surely she has done hers.

and on this saturday afternoon, here she was alive in front of me, vulnerable, awake, and frightened.

not a story in a newspaper.

a lovely breathing woman, just buying some stuff

and wondering how cash cards work.