Ritz Cracker Memories

Trudeau’s best days are behind him. His career is behind him. His full head of hair is behind him. And, after his wife died 7 years ago, his marriage is behind him.

Trudeau’s best days were filled with Millicent. Millie sashayed into Trudeau’s life at a sock hop back in high school, and Trudeau was never the same. Never wanted to be. Millie provided the rhythm to his life from that day on, the song that moved him forward. She was his heart’s tether when he went off to war, her letters his reason to keep his head down and survive.

The children began to arrive shortly after his discharge, two girls and a boy. In the blink of an eye they were grown and gone, scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind across the country, planting families of their own.

Trudeau and Millie enjoyed their golden years, turning inward, again, toward each other and devoting their waning strength to the joy of the other. Cancer stole Millie from Trudeau when he was 80, 65 years to the day after they danced at that sock hop.

Trudeau walks into his kitchen and opens the pantry door. Three shelves of Ritz crackers stare back at him. He pushes on them gently, seeing if they will slide back on the shelves. They will not. He moves to the cabinet over the coffee maker and opens it. Boxes of Ritz crackers fall on his head. He puts a defensive hand up, stopping the cracker avalanche, and carefully balances the three boxes that had attacked him back in the cabinet, closing the door quickly before they can strike again.

He ambles slowly across the kitchen toward the door to the garage, his cane clicking with every other step he takes. Stepping slowly down into the garage, he turns to the plastic bins stacked on the floor. With a pop that always surprises him, the lid breaks free from the top bin, almost full with boxes of Ritz crackers. Almost.

With a nod to himself, Trudeau snaps the lid back on the bin, and goes to shave.

Trudeau’s favorite dish of Millie’s was her famous poppyseed chicken. Millie would fix it whenever company came for dinner, and company always came for dinner. Millie would call Trudeau at the post office, where Trudeau worked for 40 years, and would ask him to stop at the market for Ritz crackers on his way home. She never remembered to put the Ritz crackers on her shopping list. Trudeau would enter the house with a flourish, bowing as he presented the crackers to Millie like they were the Keys to the Kingdom. She would roll her eyes and shake her head at his knightly overtures, but she always laughed.

Millie lit the room up when she laughed.

After Trudeau finishes shaving and combing his hair with pomade, he walks to his closet in his undershirt, boxers, and sock feet, and picks out his clothes. He chooses tweed pants and a starched white shirt, and grabs the plaid bow tie that Millie loved so much.

Millie used to call him Dapper Dan when he wore the plaid bow tie. He was never able to get the bow tie to sit straight, but he would walk into the living room and Millie would whistle and say, “Look at you, Dapper Dan!” Then she would walk over and straighten the tie.

Trudeau slips on his brown sport coat with the leather buttons, takes his hat off the hall tree, and heads toward the door. The market is only two blocks down the road, and the crisp air and sunshine feels good on the old bones.

Millie loved taking walks. Every stranger she passed was a potential friend, and she would make a point of saying “Hello!” or “Oh, I just love your dog!” to everyone she met. This often led to a conversation, with Trudeau standing quietly, patiently behind Millie. He never minded. He wished he could be that outgoing. But Millie was enough for both of them.

Trudeau walks into the market with his hat and crooked bow tie, and heads to aisle 4. Halfway down the aisle are the Ritz crackers. He stops briefly at the store brand, then shakes his head. “Store brand crackers never have enough salt,” he says to no one, repeating what Millie always said. He turns and heads back to the front of the store. Time to check out.

It was six months ago that Sarah Sullivan started working at the market. A sophomore at the local community college, she was paying her way through school with whatever jobs she could find that would work around her class schedule. Trudeau had walked to the store that day to buy a quart of milk. It wasn’t until he got in line to check out that he saw Sarah for the first time. He dropped the milk, the cheap plastic giving way to its contents, milk spilling everywhere.

Trudeau was embarrassed as a bag boy rushed over to clean up the mess. They assured Trudeau that it was no big deal, but he left the store quickly, with no milk.

He arrived back home, milk sodden and shaken. He walked to the mantle over the fireplace and took a frame from its perch.

It was a picture of Mille, the year they got married. Trudeau took the picture while on vacation at the coast. He carried the picture over to the couch and sat down. That girl at the register looked just like his Millie at 19.

He went back the next day. And the day after. And the day after that. Bought a box of Ritz crackers every time. He never really talked to Sarah Sullivan, though she did eventually learn the name of her most frequent customer.

Trudeau didn’t need anything from this young girl who was the same age as his grandchildren.

But if you have the chance to stand in front of your bride again, even for just a second, you do that.

Trudeau makes his way to the registers up front, Ritz crackers in hand. He’s third in line, and another lane opens. The young man at the new register waves at him, but Trudeau raises a hand and shakes his head. He’ll wait right here.

Trudeau arrives at the front of the line, and finds himself in front of Sarah. In front of Millie. “Good morning, Trudeau!” Sarah says cheerfully. “Don’t you look dapper today?” Trudeau looks down, unable to maintain eye contact. “Thank you, Sarah. Had some errands to run.”

“That will be $4.33. Trudeau, what do you do with all these Ritz crackers?”

Trudeau raises his eyes to Sarah again.

My goodness, how he misses Millie.

Smiling, choking down tears, he croaks out a reply.

“Poppyseed chicken.”