At the grocery store, Harper and I are standing in line at the self-checkout lane, behind a woman buying 25 loaves of Sara Lee whole wheat bread.
Harper and I read the story headlines on the magazines and look at pictures on the covers while we wait. Brad Pitt has a swollen red eye; he’s so far away from the way he looked when he made an appearance on “Friends.” Jesse and I, we watch all the “Friends” Thanksgiving episodes each Thanksgiving, but this one with Brad Pitt makes me cry. He looked like he was having fun with his then wife and the rest of the cast, and I’m sorry the marriage ended. It’s none of my business. None of them owe me anything, and everyone can do whatever they want. Still, I get sad thinking about it.
Angelina Jolie’s in the corner of the front page. She looks angry, but her hair’s nice. She has great hair. I’ve always liked Jennifer Aniston’s hair better, though.
Harper bends down to look at a magazine called Magnolia. I think it’s a new one. I’ve never seen it.
“I like that word, ‘magnolia,'” Harper says. “It’s fun to say.”
She studies the cover for a minute. The couple on the front are smiling and building something against a chalkboard backdrop. They’re cute. It’s all very cute. Harper looks at a magazine next to this one. The same couple is on the front page, and the headlines read something like, “How they saved their marriage.” Or maybe it was, “How they fought for their marriage.” I can’t remember. They bought a house and moved into it to work on the marriage, though. I think they’re builders or decorators or something. I bet that house that saved their marriage is nice.
“Jesus Christ,” the woman buying the loaves of bread says. I look away form the magazines and at her. She’s a small woman, with short, white hair, and she’s wearing those black good-for-your-feet shoes. I remember my mom got a pair of those shoes and a house dress from her friends on her 40th birthday. She put them on and my dad took a picture of her standing on our front lawn, and in front of a computer print out, probably from a Commodore 64, saying, “Lordie, Lordie, Grace is Forty” on it. I remember standing next to my dad while he took the picture and thinking, “That’s funny. My parents’ friends are funny.”
This woman buying all the bread is angry. Something’s wrong with the conveyor belt, or maybe it’s the touch screen. Maybe Meijer thinks she’s buying too many loaves of Sara Lee whole wheat bread, and the store is cutting her off. There won’t be enough for everyone else.
“What’s she going to do with all that bread?” Harper whispers. “What’s she going to make?” Harper says it like it’s Christmas morning and she’s just about to open presents. She’s proud of this woman, excited at the prospect of what she will create with all these whole wheat loaves of bread.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper back, watching the woman figure her problem out. I always have to call for help when I’m having issues with the self checkout.
I don’t know why, but I start humming the melody to “Sheep May Safely Graze,” by Bach. Specifically, the part that I have always sung this way: “Where His tender care doth guide me, shall no evil there betide me, in His love I calmly rest.” It’s my favorite part of the song, even though I don’t know if those are the real words. It’s the solo, I know that. Well, that’s how it was when I sang it in a choir called, “All God’s Children.” I didn’t sing the solo, just the chorus. We were in the Chicago Symphony Center on Michigan Avenue, and I was wearing a blue polyester skirt, a white blouse, and a red polyester vest with gold buttons. The polyester was so thick you could hold a flame to it and it wouldn’t burn. We tried one Advent evening while holding candles, and waiting for the cue to begin singing, “Silent Night,” in three part harmony.
I sing the words softly to myself while Harper and I wait. I think the song’s a riff on Psalm 23, which has always terrified me. Too much eating with enemies. Too much walking in the valley of the shadow of death. That sounds like a mess.
I like the song, though, and I liked singing it way up high in that balcony in Orchestra Hall. I can remember thinking maybe if this song played in the background, I could share a meal with someone who got on my nerves, or someone who didn’t like me very much would be willing to share a meal with me. Maybe I could step into the dark and walk around a bit.
The lady is collecting her bread now. She’s closed a little door on the conveyor belt so I can run my stuff through, and she can bag her loaves. I didn’t know about that door. I’ve always frantically bagged my groceries so the next person doesn’t have to wait for me. I hate being a bother, to make other people wait for me while I figure something out.
The lady snaps the door shut, looks at me, and nods – my cue to get started.
“Thank you,” I tell her and I know I sound ridiculous, but I had no clue about this door.
She looks at me and laughs. “You’re welcome,” she says, and laughs again. She shoves her loaves into bags and then tosses them into her cart while Harper and I scan our groceries: eggs, milk, some clementines, a bag of potato chips, and a tube of mascara that promises me scandalous lash length.
Harper skips to the end of the conveyor belt, rips a couple of bags off the handles, and begins to put the food and my mascara in them.
“You need a bag for the milk?” she asks.
“Nah,” I say, pushing “credit” on the screen.
The woman is still bagging her bread when I join Harper, shoving the receipt in my pocket. I look at the sign above where I scanned my groceries. Usually, these self-checkouts have a limit. Twelve items or less. Something like that. Not this one. You can scan all your groceries at here. Claim all the loaves of bread you want.
“You need any help?” I ask her and she looks at me like I’m nuts.
“It’s bread,” she says. “No, thanks,” she adds, and smiles. She has a nice smile.
“Have a good night,” I say, and take Harper’s hand.
Together, we leave the store, this time, Harper’s singing, and I’m thinking about what there is to do with that many loaves of bread.
Leave a Reply