The Great Grocery Giveback

Pressing my hands firmly on the bathroom sink, I looked at myself squarely in the eyes.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered to myself, fully expecting a response.

I couldn't help but feel disgusted with how I had let my drive and need to succeed simply slide off the rails. At one point I was my family's "golden girl." I was an academic, a thinker, a writer, and a wonderful oddball.

Tears began to pour from my eyes and down into my open mouth. Sobbing with an open mouth was my norm but I was always sure to do it silently. I would never want someone to hear me during my weakness. Looking into the mirror again I realized that hair was greasy and tangled. Gross. Now my life may be in shambles but there is one thing I always made sure to have polished: my physical appearance. Raking my fingers through my coils, I decided that I would make today about self-care. The disconnection I felt was from myself and the world around me was overwhelming. Washing and conditioning my hair, piling on a face of makeup, throwing on a fly ensemble, and snapping a few pictures for Instagram would be just what I needed to get out of my funk.

I love a good temporary rush of inspiration in the morning.

I opened the door to my bathroom pantry to discover that I was down to a finger full of curl custard, a squirt of shampoo, and no hair conditioner. This means I had to get out of my self-made bed of misery, put on actual clothes, and go to the actual store.

Annoyance is an understatement.

Walmart is definitely a place that I look to get in and get out of as quickly as possible. I do not mind grocery shopping. In fact, I love grocery shopping. Food is something I love almost as much as I love vanity. It is more the thought of running into some old boyfriend, coworker, boss, or classmate that I do not care for. The idea of having to pretend to be interested in seeing either of the above-mentioned people requires far more energy than I am willing to give. I would rather hide in the clothes rack like a small child or magically evaporate like a puff of smoke.

"Let's just run over here, grab a few bottles of curl custard and hair conditioner, and then we can go," I muttered to myself as I entered the store. I lowered my eyes and began to move in the direction of the ethnic hair care section.

My feet seem to just move on their own these days. I should be thanking my subconscious for this I guess. I simply cannot depend on my conscious brain to get things done for me. My conscious mind is usually too preoccupied with negative self-talk, self-pity, and avoidance of action. Yikes. When did I become this sort of woman? Where did my fire go?

My self-loathing was interrupted by the fact that I had somehow reached the ethnic hair care section.

"Ugh!" The store is out of my favorite hair conditioner. That is what I get for not grabbing two bottles of it when I last purchased it.

Today just does not feel like my day.

Grabbing a bottle of something I had never tried before, my eyes scanned the label of ingredients. While I was ready to run full speed out of the store and back into the comfort of my studio apartment, I was not willing to "make a run for it" at the expense of my hair care routine.

My eyes froze on the words "cetearyl alcohol" when I heard from behind me:

"So how's the writing been going, Lillian?"

Confused, I look up from the conditioner to see an old classmate, Gabriella, smiling sweetly as she held a small basket of toiletries.

Her question completely caught me by surprise.

Gabriella, or Gabby as I knew her, and I had not seen one another in at least twelve years. We had both been participants in a college preparatory program for low-income students. She and I were not friends in any sense of the word. She was a semi-popular, mean girl and I was well-liked in my own circle of friends. We had never had an isolated incident of "meanness" occur between us but as they say "You don't remember what people say but how they made you feel." Gabby hadn't been my cup of tea. Naturally, it stunned me that she remembered my ability to write well.

Thanks to the modern wonder Facebook, I knew that she had become a mother, college graduate, and wife. I could only wonder if she was aware that I had become broke, bitter and up to my eyeballs in student loan debt with no degree to speak of. I had not written or done anything of meaning in years. The warmth of embarrassment suddenly became overwhelming.

How was I going to answer her question?

I decided to do it honestly. The truth would set me free, right?

"Well, honestly, I, um, I have not written anything since high school, Gabby." I nervously replied.

She sucked her teeth in disbelief. "Really? You were so good, though."

I do not remember much of anything that was said after that. Hell, I don't even know how I made it home. I was floating on a cloud. Honestly, I was in disbelief that someone who I could not stomach at one point in my life stopped me in the grocery store to praise me for my craft. A craft that I'd allowed to fall by the wayside for over a decade. That conversation definitely made an impact because I completely forgot to get the hair conditioner!

I pulled out my Macbook and stared at a writing prompt I had received.

"Write a story about someone returning to their craft after a long hiatus," it said.

How I'd do?