Loose Threads #6

Looking Up


I look up and see the couple, shivering and sharing. He warms his insides with one last drag, passes it to her, and then warms his hands, rubbing them together.

He looks up and sees the trash bin outside the entrance to the general store. Somebody left a cigarette on top. Others shuffle past, he darts in between, picks it up, and wags the clean white stick. "Babe, can you believe that? That's a good smoke right there."

The day is looking up. The cig goes into his jeans pocket. The couple goes into the store.

Loose Threads #5

Three Generations

One is tired but determined.
Another frustrated but obligated.
The third is just a kid, oblivious as her brother who sleeps in the stroller.

She doesn't know they're supposed to have a car, supposed to be going somewhere fast, somewhere safe and sure and secure. Somewhere called home, not Motel 6.

But they have to walk, and it's a scorcher.

One leads with a quick hustle.
Another follows with a steady march.
The third is just a kid, just out walking with her grandma and mom and baby brother.

One picks up a coin from the parking lot pavement, pockets it. Hustles.
The third picks up the blanket that fell from the stroller and puts it inside.

The other scolds her, drapes the cloth over the stroller. It's to keep the sun off the baby, not put dirt and germs on him. Doesn't the third know anything?

It's a stupid mistake. Life is full of stupid mistakes and generations still making up for them.

One cuts across the grass going uphill, but stops for a moment to make sure they're all together.
The other follows, pushing the stroller along the paved sidewalk.
The third stays close to her brother who still blissfully sleeps.

Loose Threads #4

The Spaces Afforded

Her thread crossed mine, pulled it taut for a fleeting moment, and then it slipped away.

Before I saw anything else, I saw the way she folded her arms, hugging herself. Her arms cinched her t-shirt. The red t-shirt was too big for her skinny frame. The older woman moved through the flow of shoppers like a pebble in the spaces afforded her. She knew how not to be seen, how not to take up too much space-- not to make any sudden movements.

He was all sudden movements, in the parking lot. His words and gestures seeming to take up twice the space afforded his person, equally skinny and old. She handed him a box of ramen noodles. He threw it to the far end of the truck bed. She set down more bags. He pushed his way out from behind the cart, yanked down the tailgate, insistent on loading the groceries the right way: his way: fast enough to be done and on to somewhere else he'd rather be, something else he'd rather be doing.

He passed her pack after pack of soda from the bottom rack of the shopping cart, mindful then--perhaps that she couldn't bend down or lift from so low, of her person, the space she ought to be afforded. He was mindful the way you are when you're mad but the other person isn't, when you try not hurt them with your actions, despite your words. When you can't look at them, because you know you hurt them despite your actions.

He was on his phone as he returned the cart, already elsewhere. She waited for him by the truck, arms folded. Hugging herself.

Loose Threads #3

Look 'Em In the Eye


He probably felt like the master of his domain. A big guy, he'd probably always taken up space, owned it, felt secure. Then she walked out as he was going in.

Gray hair in a no-nonsense bun, broad shouldered, tall in stature and poise. She looked at him, not up or down but straight in the eye.

He flinched.

She didn't.

"Excuse me," she said, and was on her way, leaving him to sort of shuffle aside and into the building, not quite as sure of himself.

Loose Threads #2

Birthday Snack

Just inside, there's a shopping cart nearly emptied of marked down sweets. Chocolate cookies and cupcakes with white frosting and colorful sprinkes.

We move on, picking items, ticking them, making our way around the store until the last stop. In the freezer section, mini towers of boxed canned soda line the aisle. Atop one tower, a pack of those marked down cupcakes. Someone picked them up on their way in and here decided against it at the last moment.

I wonder why until I turn and face the freezer across from it. Layer cake with white frosting and colorful sprinkles on top. Just one box missing from the pile. "Perfect for birthdays!"

Loose Threads

Where did she go?

 

We'd pulled into the dollar store, shopped, and pulled out again.

 

Did she have family? Did they know where she was?

 

This was downtown, in the middle of stores and traffic. I imagined she had a few dollars and change in hand. Perhaps, she was getting something to eat—or maybe something to relieve her pain.

 

She wore a marshmallow type coat, brown. Nothing covered her silver hair. It was getting late. It was getting chilly.

 

I had seen her slowly crossing a gravel lot, far in the distance. Then she was gone. Her thread crossed mine, pulled it taut for a fleeting moment, and then it slipped away.

 

 

Image: Copyright 2012 Gina Fairchild