Grocery Shopping

It had rained the night before, but the strong winds on this fall day still managed to blow the soggy yellow and red maple leaves past the sliding doors and onto the speckled off-white floor of the Safeway. The leaves collected in awkward groups, like middle schoolers at their first dance, and didn't move. They were glued onto the linoleum floor, pressed into its otherwise slick surface by rain boots and shopping cart wheels. Perhaps, in the cold of the wind, after they were ripped from their thin branches when they realized the great gust would carry them inside, they imagined safety, but that was not the case. Where they landed, they stayed and died. Justin listlessly pushed a squeaky shopping cart over the leaves. His eyes focused on a brownish one that was trampled on so much it was beginning to tear. He couldn't help but notice a pair of leaves a few inches away from the tattered brown one touching as if holding hands. What had that brown leaf done to deserve this? 

The front of Justin's rusted shopping cart slammed into the backside of an obtuse middle-aged housewife. At the moment of collision, he peeled his eyes from the floor to the shocked, disgruntled woman. He apologized, and she rolled her eyes, irritated by his incompetence. They were standing in front of the bulk packs of seedless mandarin oranges that his wife loved, and when the woman grew tired of ridiculing Justin, she moved on to the next section where the berries were. It was just him and his wife's favorite fruit. Out of habit, he felt around each package, checking for firmness. When he found a desirable pack, he turned to put it in his cart, then that brown leaf caught his eye again. He scrunched his face, sighed, and dropped the oranges in the cart. 

James Blunts' “You're beautiful" played on the speakers. Not even the squeal of his broken shopping cart wheel could ruin it, at least for Justin; other shoppers shook their heads at him. On any other day, he might have returned his cart to the front of the store and switched it out for another. This day, he didn't care. His apathetic behavior continued as he shopped, and other patrons took note. At the organic section where the dark leafy greens sit, the misters came on as Justin reached for collards. Instead of removing himself from the spray, he bathed in it like a tourist welcomes Niagara Falls's spit. A six-year-old girl, too large to be in a shopping cart, watched. Little else would remain with her from that year of her life, but she'd never forget the man who gave up in front of the kale. 

There is a reason why these things happen. Call it middle age; marriage for five years, working for fifteen, and at least one kid. He'd recently read the "Boy Who Cried Wolf" to his son. The message is still relevant. Where does someone find the time to have a less monotonous life? There's Netflix, your phone, new tubes of toothpaste, the yellowing of all things white in your home, and countless trips to the grocery store. Justin thought of all the times he left his house and got those pesky ring notifications. Maybe he should have opened them and checked for wolves.

 What did that iceberg sound like against the Titanic's hull? It had to be like this; Justin turned his obnoxiously loud cart down an aisle that held oils, containers, baking supplies, apple sauce, and the housewife he'd run into earlier. She scowled at him like he was homeless, covered in feces, trying to enter her home. He was only passing her to get to the baking soda. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a twenty-ounce plastic canola oil container. He hadn't shaved in days, and because his beard line went up so high above his cheek, his stubble did not look GQ; it looked unkempt. His oversized and fading 49ers sweatshirt had crumbles of dried avocado toast on it, which he hadn't noticed before. Worst of all was his heather gray sweatpants that had multiple obvious stains on the crotch like they were hit by a buckshot filled with butter pellets. I'm disgusting; no wonder why this is happening. He lowered his gaze to the floor and squeaked to the next aisle. 

It seemed to him that there was a treadmill he was on that carried him through life regardless of his desire to make a different selection. It was like one of those moving walkways at the airport, except instead of taking him to the starting gate of a wonderful vacation, it pushed him toward death. Day after day, year after year, he observed things changing around him and felt powerless to adjust; at least the grocery store stayed the same, unlike his parents' wrinkled skin, which became more spotted as the months passed. Did he always think like this, or did life's current events tint his perspective? Maybe he should start drinking again. A large bottle of whiskey, looking as sweet as maple syrup, winked at him.

 At checkout, he handed a teenager with shaggy brown hair, acne, and too much lint on his shirt his threadbare Trader Joe's bags. He had used them since he and his wife started living together in the Emeryville days. The cashier beeped the groceries as Justin watched his total climb. Megan was so interested in him back then. She was always smiling and clinging to him, wasn't she? They used to get drunk and roll around on the floor of their furnitureless apartment. How could he have known it would end up like this? That she would do this to him? Maybe she didn't. The charge was two-hundred and seventy-eight dollars. He put it on his visa and declined help out. 

Driving a premium minivan was a badge of acceptance; I am a father; watch me use this built-in vacuum to suck puffs from the car seat before walking into Applebee's. However, as he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror, no kid in the van, he couldn't help but reassess the visual. A man in a minivan with no kids in it may be the most emasculating image of our time. He slumped in the caption's seat, his tailbone curling under his butt like an embarrassed canine. He was then entranced by the command of the red light holding him and all those other cars in place. If some cosmic disaster struck and stuck him in this spot for eternity, would it really be so bad? Wasn't it better than going home and facing his wife? Wasn't it better than dealing with the change? The light flashed green, and he accelerated because he had to. The objects outside were blurry; he only could focus on an abstract feeling of doom on the horizon. 

He'd pulled into his driveway thousands of times before, but never like this. The bad news was imminent, this much he was sure. The garage door opened, and he drove his car into its shelter. He used to worry that his son would dart in front of the vehicle as he came in, but it never happened. A part of him wanted it to just then. Not because he wanted to injure his son, but at least, if an event like that happened, it would buy him some more time from the inevitable. He turned off the car and sat still, like a predator listening for prey. He heard murmurs of his wife's voice and footsteps coming from inside. It felt so strange how normal everything was. The calm before the storm; he wanted to chuckle but didn't because he worried any sign of emotion would open the floodgates for tears. 

Emptying the groceries was usually a family affair. His son put items in the lower drawers, commenting on the snacks he wished he could have when he finished helping. His wife was in charge of the fridge, throwing out perishables from the week before, and Justin emptied all the items from the bags and put away whatever things belonged in the high cupboards. Only, on this windy fall day, his wife and kid wouldn't help at all. As soon as Justin entered the house, Megan told him she would drop Caleb at the neighbors and be right back to help; then, they were gone. 

Justin knew it was a lie to protect Caleb. His wife wasn't going to help. She was dropping Caleb off because she wanted to talk. Justin was dazed and melancholic. He put the groceries away like a Tesla on autopilot driving off a cliff. He thought I want to be an owl that lives in the trees. A snow owl that blends perfectly with its surroundings would be good; I could hide from everyone and have enormous wings to fly away from anything I didn't want to confront. His wife opened the door.

They'd been married for five years, but Megan's energy as she entered the kitchen and faced him from the other side of the island was unfamiliar. She told him that they needed to talk. Of course, they did.  

"Let's go for a walk." 

Justin was naive for thinking the game stops when a marriage starts. His wife had been playing chess all along. Getting him outside was part of her strategy. It was unlikely he would scream, cry, or yell when they were out. 

He wouldn't have reacted differently if they were inside when his wife broke the news of her affair. Those emotions of jealousy and anger he first felt when his best friend Alex told him he saw her kissing another man disappeared in a matter of hours after he understood how his life was about to change. Two weeks passed since then, and Justin remained subdued like he was a person who started taking lithium and found out about a cancer diagnosis on the same day. Sleeping beside his wife was the most challenging part because she still seemed capable of dreaming. Meanwhile, he tossed and turned, unable to escape the nightmare. She told him their marriage had become stale, and he thought of old bread. She said they'd drifted apart, and he thought of a single Cheerio disintegrating in a bowl of milk. I didn't expect this to happen; I wasn't searching for it, but it just happened. I hope you can understand. You're not happy either, right? 

The wind picked up as they reached the end of a cul de sac, whipping Justin's cheeks. It stung, and his eyes began to water. His wife was talking, but he had already tuned her out. He should have appreciated her more when he had the chance. He could have tried to break the monotony of their lives and spiced things up with a vacation, a date night, or something. But where was the time? What about the house? And his son? And work? And chores? And shopping?

"I'm going to head back," she said, squeezing his hand. 

He nodded and looked to the sky. The sun blinded him even though it was gray. The cold air licked his ears, and his shoulders dropped even lower. Then his gaze went to the horizon. The house on the right had a maple tree that was dropping leaves. He'd never even noticed it, but now it towered above him like a billboard. Four leaves were dancing on a gust in front of him, twirling, and swaying like drunken ballerinas. He watched as the outer left leaf lost the wind and separated from the others, who kept playing. The lone leaf slowly sunk to the sidewalk and landed at his feet. He stared at it, holding his breath, feeling like he'd forgotten something at the grocery store.