- Sparrow -
The falling snow gives way to bright lights and warm air as I enter the grocery store. There aren't many people inside, though I can see a few cashiers working at the checkout lanes. A large woman in a fur coat walks past me on her way to the register, and I catch a scent of her perfume. It must be some sort of wintry blend, with heavy notes of peppermint. I turn away hurriedly to keep from gagging, pressing my nose into the softness of my lavender scarf. At least she appears to be on her way out.
I remember suddenly that I came here for a reason and pull off my gloves as I wander over to a Christmas display. A small ceramic snowman figurine is sitting atop a few boxes of outdoor lights. I smile and pick him up, looking at his painted black eyes and carrot nose. His top hat is chipped, the glossy black surface interrupted by a chunk of white. "What are you doing there? That's not where you belong," I tell him. Nearby is a shelf full of snowman figurines just like him, sans the chipped top hat. I plop him down in the center of them, but he is the odd one out, the misfit, looking too imperfect among the unflawed ebony tops. So I smile and pick him up again, this time placing him in my shopping basket. "Those conforming idiots aren't even worth your time," I tell him. I am sure he agrees as we leave the vicinity of the ceramic snowman clone army.
Soup. That is what I came here for. I eat more soup than any senior I know, especially in winter. Especially in front of the television, during those parties that I don't get invited to. I turn sharply as I exit the aisle, nearly plowing into a freezer full of cookie dough. I carefully read the signs that indicate what is on each aisle. My black flats click on the floor. Aha! Canned products. I enter the aisle and stop in front of the shelf full of soup.
Well. I bend forward, narrowing my eyes. There is some selection. I reach out and pick up one can of French Onion soup, then grab one of Broccoli Cheddar. My scarf slips off my shoulder and lands in a soft pile on the floor.
A hand picks it up for me.
I look up. A boy is standing there, looking at me expectantly as he holds the scarf towards me. Judging from the TARDIS-blue apron, he's an employee.
I smile and reach for the scarf, but then realize my hands are full of soup. I place the French Onion back on the shelf and retrieve my scarf. "Thank you," I say kindly, then turn back to the shelf.
I stand there for a few more minutes, indecisive. Broccoli Cheddar is my favorite, but that bean stuff looks good as well.
"Are you trying to decide which soup to buy?" someone asks. I am surprised to see the same employee stacking cans on the shelf behind me. His hands move fast, and he looks down at the label, then back at me, eyebrows raised as he waits for me to answer.
"Yes," I say. I hold up the Broccoli Cheddar.
He nods politely and comes over to the shelf. He stares at it for a brief moment before snatching up a can and holding it toward me. "May I recommend the Chicken Barley?"
I take it, staring down at the crimson lettering. "Thank you," I say, slightly flustered. No one ever really talks to me, not at school and not in public. I've never really minded, but now I realize that I don't interact very well. I look at him silently. He is taller than me, with messy dark hair and eyes in a sort of light brown topaz-ish shade. His face is bright and alert. I suddenly notice the TARDIS pin cinched to his apron. We are geek connected!
I open my mouth, then close it. "Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey," I blurt out.
My eyes widen. That was stupid. You don't just make geek references with people. What will he even -
He laughs. "Yes! Actually, I -"
"Thank you for the soup!" I cry, practically racing away. My heart is still pounding by the time I leave the store with my Chicken Barley soup in a plastic bag. I just can't deal with people. I'm so awkward. I ruin everything.
I get into my car and sit there for a moment, thinking.
I pull out the can and stare at the label.
Chicken Barely soup.
I didn't even read his name tag.
I remember suddenly that I came here for a reason and pull off my gloves as I wander over to a Christmas display. A small ceramic snowman figurine is sitting atop a few boxes of outdoor lights. I smile and pick him up, looking at his painted black eyes and carrot nose. His top hat is chipped, the glossy black surface interrupted by a chunk of white. "What are you doing there? That's not where you belong," I tell him. Nearby is a shelf full of snowman figurines just like him, sans the chipped top hat. I plop him down in the center of them, but he is the odd one out, the misfit, looking too imperfect among the unflawed ebony tops. So I smile and pick him up again, this time placing him in my shopping basket. "Those conforming idiots aren't even worth your time," I tell him. I am sure he agrees as we leave the vicinity of the ceramic snowman clone army.
Soup. That is what I came here for. I eat more soup than any senior I know, especially in winter. Especially in front of the television, during those parties that I don't get invited to. I turn sharply as I exit the aisle, nearly plowing into a freezer full of cookie dough. I carefully read the signs that indicate what is on each aisle. My black flats click on the floor. Aha! Canned products. I enter the aisle and stop in front of the shelf full of soup.
Well. I bend forward, narrowing my eyes. There is some selection. I reach out and pick up one can of French Onion soup, then grab one of Broccoli Cheddar. My scarf slips off my shoulder and lands in a soft pile on the floor.
A hand picks it up for me.
I look up. A boy is standing there, looking at me expectantly as he holds the scarf towards me. Judging from the TARDIS-blue apron, he's an employee.
I smile and reach for the scarf, but then realize my hands are full of soup. I place the French Onion back on the shelf and retrieve my scarf. "Thank you," I say kindly, then turn back to the shelf.
I stand there for a few more minutes, indecisive. Broccoli Cheddar is my favorite, but that bean stuff looks good as well.
"Are you trying to decide which soup to buy?" someone asks. I am surprised to see the same employee stacking cans on the shelf behind me. His hands move fast, and he looks down at the label, then back at me, eyebrows raised as he waits for me to answer.
"Yes," I say. I hold up the Broccoli Cheddar.
He nods politely and comes over to the shelf. He stares at it for a brief moment before snatching up a can and holding it toward me. "May I recommend the Chicken Barley?"
I take it, staring down at the crimson lettering. "Thank you," I say, slightly flustered. No one ever really talks to me, not at school and not in public. I've never really minded, but now I realize that I don't interact very well. I look at him silently. He is taller than me, with messy dark hair and eyes in a sort of light brown topaz-ish shade. His face is bright and alert. I suddenly notice the TARDIS pin cinched to his apron. We are geek connected!
I open my mouth, then close it. "Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey," I blurt out.
My eyes widen. That was stupid. You don't just make geek references with people. What will he even -
He laughs. "Yes! Actually, I -"
"Thank you for the soup!" I cry, practically racing away. My heart is still pounding by the time I leave the store with my Chicken Barley soup in a plastic bag. I just can't deal with people. I'm so awkward. I ruin everything.
I get into my car and sit there for a moment, thinking.
I pull out the can and stare at the label.
Chicken Barely soup.
I didn't even read his name tag.
THIS IS PERFECT OMG IT'S LIKE A DIARY OF A WHOVIAN!! I really like it.
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I am now...R.
rnmrmmmmmmm
Ash, you are perF. xD
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