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splinterswerve
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
splinterswerve.hotmail.com
by Michelle Bodnar
Sometimes I think everything I hear is an echo…that everyone else heard it first. Or, that the meaning of life is just to find one.
This she thinks as she heads for the soup aisle first, soup being her favourite staple because it never goes bad and only requires water to make. Clunking cans into her basket, she reminds herself they need to swipe some salt and pepper from the next pub or fast food joint they visit.
“This is proactive,” Robe would say while shoving the shakers in her bag. “We’re taking advantage of opportunity. How do you think the rich keep getting richer?”
At the milk cooler, she tries to ignore the tempting, aromatic cheeses lurking nearby-if Rob were to get a job, maybe, but in the meantime, two plates of nachos later and it’s all gone. And he never cleans the grater properly.
I like that…the meaning of life is just to find one. Or, did somebody say that once already?
She looks up like she heard her name. Marvels at how much a box of cereal can cost.
Damn, it’s confusing.
In the freezer aisle she decides to splurge on a bag of frozen fish and chips, figuring she can maybe hide them from Rob for long enough.
Long enough to eat them first, or at least get to choose the pieces she wants.
“Do you know what’s sad?”
It takes a moment for her to realize that the woman beside her is speaking out loud, a bespectacled, middle-aged woman with slightly mussy hair and a warm but worn-looking winter jacket who’s holding a bag of frozen peas in her hand.
“Do you know what’s sad?”
Yup, she thinks, but says, “What’s that?”
“All this food is so lovingly grown, so carefully prepared and packaged, but most of it will either go uneaten or unenjoyed.”
Hmmph, she thinks. Someone sounds like they have more than 30 bucks to spend on groceries.
She smiles at the woman, shrugs, and says, “It’s a wasteful life.”
The lady sighs. “That it is.”
Shifting her basket, she moves on, and decides she’ll try to remember what the woman said. Rob would probably like the story. But, he also may think she was making it up.
It’s too hard a story to tell, she thinks, finally, and heads towards the checkout counter,
There may be enough change left for a couple of lottery tickets.