At the Grocery

Sometimes the things we see indirectly are more real than what we see looking dead on. For instance, take the Honey Girl.

I was at the Market Basket supermarket the other morning, feeling more than my usual out of sorts with time and society. I had been up all night, fighting some uncooperative prepositional phrases. Now it was breakfast time-- and I was there at the Market Basket shopping for dinner foods. 'Forget the French Roast! I'll have that at midnight the way I always do. Right now, what I need is a salisbury steak and some potato planks.' My look said this and more, even if I did not.

The store was quiet and the aisles were mostly deserted. In Produce, a young man was spraying the veggies with a hose. Up front, only one of the ten cash registers was open and the clerks and baggers were chatting about movies while they put new plastic bags at the end of every sticky conveyor belt. This was the early morning lull-- the period of time each weekday after the stockclerks finish restocking the shelves, before the stay-at-home moms arrive in their SUVs with babies or toddlers in tow.

I was carrying a plastic shopping basket and wandering the aisles, seeking inspiration and snack foods. I was just coming around the corner of the bread and peanut butter aisle when I saw her. I immediately stopped and pretended to be looking at the mustards and jars of horseradish. 'She's up to something,' I thought to myself. There was this young woman-- early twenties, I think-- standing in front of the jams and jellies, the peanut butter and the Fluff. She glanced at me and turned her back toward me, hiding what she was holding. 'What's worth shoplifting in this aisle?' With her back to me, she couldn't see me watching her-- so I did. But I didn't stare at her back. I watched the round convex mirror hanging near the ceiling at the end of the aisle. In the mirror, I could see her clearly, smelling a small container, then taking it and squeezing something onto her fingers... and then slipping her fingers down the front of her shorts. They were the longest five seconds, those five seconds her fingers were out of sight, inside her shorts, inside her underwear, inside... what? And then she took out her hand, licked her fingers... and without looking back at me... wheeled her cart away. I walked down to where she had been standing and picked up the object she had taken from the shelf. A squeezable honey bear.

I saw her again in the paper goods aisle. We were approaching each other from opposite ends and I finally got a good look at her. She was gloriously average with smooth skin interupted by freckles and a nose with just the slightest bump. Her mouth was small but nicely shaped. Her long brown hair was pulled back, revealing a thin neck and broad, swimmer's shoulders. And her cart? There was nothing in her shopping cart that suggested she was on her way to meet a lover. Was she? Wasn't she?

She finished shopping before I did. I started unloading my basket of groceries just as she was signing her charge card receipt and putting away her wallet. She looked down at my groceries and then up at me. I pointed to the white box from the Bakery section.

'Baklava. I couldn't resist.'

'Yes,' she said. 'I love baklava.'

'Sticky but worth it,' I replied. She smiled. I continued. 'It's almost too sweet... but just almost.'

'Honey is like that. It almost depends on what it's in.' She started to leave.

'Or whom,' I said, smiling. She turned back and blushed. But... she smiled. And then she looked me right in the eyes and said, 'Enjoy your dessert.' And with that, she sweetly walked away.

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