So I got five minutes the next day to run into the pharmacy, working like I am right now, I’ve been out of shampoo for two days and no way I’m putting waking up another day with hair smelling like bacon.
I’m zipping through the make-up aisle and I turn past the mouthwash and toothpaste, and I skid to a halt. In front of the toenail section, there’s the woman who I’m sure as the sun is my grandma. Last time I saw her, she’d been in the diner with that group of ladies of hers, one of the worst days my life having to serve them all.
I stop. And turn around. And move back to the mouthwash and pretend I’m shopping but I’m not shopping I’m thinking as fast as I can. Except it all seems like I’m falling off a bike, the aisle tilting and I’m hearing girls giggling in the far corner of the store and I smell the perfume coming from two aisles away.
God’s gone and given you this, Rawling. Here she is, alone. My heads beating because my heart’s up there right now. I step and stop. Rawling, you can’t just walk up to her again, like ending up on her front porch. And then I just blast past myself like an explosion, I take five steps to the end of the aisle, turn past the old people glasses, and there’s the toenail remedies.
“Honey, you should really just go see Dr. Phillips. This is just amateur stuff here,” he says, her neat, nice husband, the man who has nothing to do with me. In that moment, I’m not taking another step, instead I twirl around like I’m dancing and I’m back in front of the asprin before I know what I’ve done.
I hear them talking, kind of arguing about going to the doctor. I guess she’s got some real mess going on with her toes. But I’m clear as can be that I’m not taking this chance with my grandma with her husband standing there. He’d as good as told me I’m impossible when I stood on their front porch.
Shampoo, I grab the shampoo. And then I’m yelling at myself. I’m gonna be late for work. But I gotta hide in the make-up and watch as my grandma and her slow husband pay for their things and check out.
“Rawling, you’re late. Ten minutes late, girl. I can’t have you being late,” Shirley says when I bust through the door. “Not with Richard being sick, I can’t have you being late.”
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As always, I pretty much arbitrarily chose one of these to post, because the entire week's worth were terrific. I love all the talk about toenails here, and I love how well you create tension in such a simple scene. I never get tired of Rawling's voice. And I always just want her life to turn out well.
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