grumpy
stupid market excursion was a mood killer even worse than the snide remarks by
the baggers when I demanded paper instead of plastic bags. This date was going
even better than our first date.
That’s when Eddie saw the cookie aisle.
“Ooh, Anna, let me look around.” He got that same glazed-over look that
blanketed his features in a hardware store. The same one I probably wore in a
bookstore. Eddie in the cookie aisle was a beautiful thing.
I don’t eat cookies, so I rarely buy them.
I’d rather bake them. Eddie loves all cookies, quite possibly as much as he
loves me and the kids. He didn’t even check the coupon pile. He didn’t even
look for sales. He couldn’t decide between chocolate and oatmeal so, like a
little kid, he grabbed both and hugged them all the way to the checkout.
It became our thing during my last summer.
Our date night. Eddie would escort me to the grocery store. He’d deal with the
deli, push the heavy cart, and help pick food for meals. After a month of such
excursions, I suggested he just take over and let me stay home. Let me mow the
lawn or something. He shook his head slowly, his serious eyes locked on mine.
“No, Anna. That’s the point. If I did it
alone, I’d hate it as much as you do.”
He was right. Even grocery shopping was
improved by his presence. That equals love. Now, from my front row seat on the
dead side, I watch as, once again, Eddie is tossed into my path. My Eddie: the
collection of atoms that comprised the saddest and best parts of my life. If he
only knew how much I loved him. Always loved him. The most. He was my best
friend, my center, my compass, but he left me at the end of my life. He pulled
away from me and took my heart with him, leaving me empty before I even died.
| | | |
Eddie is driving my car with my seat pulled all the way forward and his
thighs hitting the steering wheel. He pulls into the parking lot of the
Shop-N-Stop. As he walks in, he reaches into the back pocket of his baggy, old
man jeans and pulls out a list. Where did he ever get a list? Eddie is not a
list maker.
He pushes the cart at turtle speed, bent
over like it hurts to walk, drifting through every aisle and studying the food
in wonder. He keeps looking up and down at his list.
He grabs whole milk instead of skim.
Chunky peanut butter instead of creamy.
American cheese instead of provolone.
Things are going to change without me in
charge.
With half a cart of preserved food, stuff
we never eat, Eddie just wanders aimlessly around the store. I ache to be with
him. To touch the soft hair on his forearm, kiss his stubbly cheek, and breathe
in the musky smell of him in a hug. All I can do is watch him and let the pain
burn down. In the cookie aisle, he leans over the cart, looking like he might
pass out, when he sees the Oreos.
I feel a strong tug to listen to Eddie’s
thoughts, but my own are chaos. Swirling. Too many painful options present
themselves, trying to pull me in. They flash by and force me to watch my life,
the life I used to have, as it flows forward in time. Without me. I resist with
a newfound energy. I push back on the force, exerting a will that I didn’t know
I had. I leave Eddie alone in the stupid market. Alone with his pain.
12
My Daughter
Back in my kitchen , Bethany washes a mountain of dishes. She has
occupied my space, the place where I was always found. Her bare feet stand
exactly where mine always did as she sloshes around in the hot, sudsy water. My
stained, yellow apron is tied loosely around her pencil waist. For the first
time since she came home from college, I can hear her from the dead side.
Mom, I’m trying.
And Mom? I’m sorry. I guess I always
knew it wasn’t only your fault when you and Daddy fought. It was hard to be
caught between you two, though. Easier to side with him.
I watch her dry and put away all of the
dishes and pans. She even wipes down the counters and the sink. Just like I
would, if I
stupid market excursion was a mood killer even worse than the snide remarks by
the baggers when I demanded paper instead of plastic bags. This date was going
even better than our first date.
That’s when Eddie saw the cookie aisle.
“Ooh, Anna, let me look around.” He got that same glazed-over look that
blanketed his features in a hardware store. The same one I probably wore in a
bookstore. Eddie in the cookie aisle was a beautiful thing.
I don’t eat cookies, so I rarely buy them.
I’d rather bake them. Eddie loves all cookies, quite possibly as much as he
loves me and the kids. He didn’t even check the coupon pile. He didn’t even
look for sales. He couldn’t decide between chocolate and oatmeal so, like a
little kid, he grabbed both and hugged them all the way to the checkout.
It became our thing during my last summer.
Our date night. Eddie would escort me to the grocery store. He’d deal with the
deli, push the heavy cart, and help pick food for meals. After a month of such
excursions, I suggested he just take over and let me stay home. Let me mow the
lawn or something. He shook his head slowly, his serious eyes locked on mine.
“No, Anna. That’s the point. If I did it
alone, I’d hate it as much as you do.”
He was right. Even grocery shopping was
improved by his presence. That equals love. Now, from my front row seat on the
dead side, I watch as, once again, Eddie is tossed into my path. My Eddie: the
collection of atoms that comprised the saddest and best parts of my life. If he
only knew how much I loved him. Always loved him. The most. He was my best
friend, my center, my compass, but he left me at the end of my life. He pulled
away from me and took my heart with him, leaving me empty before I even died.
| | | |
Eddie is driving my car with my seat pulled all the way forward and his
thighs hitting the steering wheel. He pulls into the parking lot of the
Shop-N-Stop. As he walks in, he reaches into the back pocket of his baggy, old
man jeans and pulls out a list. Where did he ever get a list? Eddie is not a
list maker.
He pushes the cart at turtle speed, bent
over like it hurts to walk, drifting through every aisle and studying the food
in wonder. He keeps looking up and down at his list.
He grabs whole milk instead of skim.
Chunky peanut butter instead of creamy.
American cheese instead of provolone.
Things are going to change without me in
charge.
With half a cart of preserved food, stuff
we never eat, Eddie just wanders aimlessly around the store. I ache to be with
him. To touch the soft hair on his forearm, kiss his stubbly cheek, and breathe
in the musky smell of him in a hug. All I can do is watch him and let the pain
burn down. In the cookie aisle, he leans over the cart, looking like he might
pass out, when he sees the Oreos.
I feel a strong tug to listen to Eddie’s
thoughts, but my own are chaos. Swirling. Too many painful options present
themselves, trying to pull me in. They flash by and force me to watch my life,
the life I used to have, as it flows forward in time. Without me. I resist with
a newfound energy. I push back on the force, exerting a will that I didn’t know
I had. I leave Eddie alone in the stupid market. Alone with his pain.
12
My Daughter
Back in my kitchen , Bethany washes a mountain of dishes. She has
occupied my space, the place where I was always found. Her bare feet stand
exactly where mine always did as she sloshes around in the hot, sudsy water. My
stained, yellow apron is tied loosely around her pencil waist. For the first
time since she came home from college, I can hear her from the dead side.
Mom, I’m trying.
And Mom? I’m sorry. I guess I always
knew it wasn’t only your fault when you and Daddy fought. It was hard to be
caught between you two, though. Easier to side with him.
I watch her dry and put away all of the
dishes and pans. She even wipes down the counters and the sink. Just like I
would, if I
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