I weave through the aisles, convincing myself this is the day we get in, get out, get on with life without unhealthy coping mechanisms of the chocolate variety landing in the cart.
Just the basics.
Apples.
Cat food.
Crackers.
The staples.
I turn to the next aisle. It’s busy, but I must stick it out, because I see a little coping snack selection I might need. So much for my initial plan.
I’m deciding between options when I hear a soft sploosh.
Look down the aisle from whence it came to see a woman bending over picking up fruit cups. The plastic kind with those flimsy film seals that one stashes in lunchboxes.
As I turn back to my choices, I see her reach above her head from the corner of my eye.
Another sploosh.
I take another gander.
More fruit cups on the ground.
Now I’m interested.
This looks like my kind of human.
I’m still a half aisle from her, and other people are in my way. No one is paying attention to her. More sleeves of fruit cups fall from the shelf. A couple of cups splatter.
I pull my cart in front of hers. Her shoulders slump, and she shoots me The Look.
You know the one.
This is not exactly a disaster, but it’s about to be because this is how the day is starting, and my capacity was maxed out before I even stepped into Walmart. In other words: The Look.
I help pick up what I can. The cups are busted, the film seals having given up upon impact. Peaches. Pineapple.
We stuff them on a lower shelf.
She thanked me. I made sustained eye contact—which I try not to do with anyone in Walmart. “I genuinely hope your day gets better.”
Then Look #2.
You know the one.
This fruit cup thing is just the beginning, and we both know it. Look #2.
Fast-forward ten minutes. I’m in the parking lot.
The phone rings.
You know the one.
The call that changes life’s trajectory for the foreseeable future, and a universe full of fruit cups comes crashing down. That call.
Then call #2.
You know the one.
This is just the beginning, and we all know it. All the calls.
I write this a week later, trying to process. Trying to put the pineapple and peaches back on the shelf where they don’t fit anymore because the seals are all busted and there’s sticky everywhere.
At some point, things will settle.
Clean up in Life Aisle # whatever.
In the meantime, I’ve been back to Walmart.
Salad.
Cat litter.
Unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Because now is not the time to convince myself that any bag of chocolate is an unhealthy coping mechanism.
I run into a different woman with a different struggle. She gives me The Look.
I give her Look #2.
And two humans momentarily bond in Aisle # whatever without saying a word.
