Idlebones

Supermarket Sweetie

September 27, 2006 – 11:51

I’ve never been a huge fan of Supermarkets or Chinese restaurants for similar reasons. The choices are too vast for one sitting, and I’m far to disorganised to arrive in either with even a vague notion of what I actually want.
I decided that I had to do what is normally referred to
as a “Grocery Shop” I dressed myself, regarded myself in the mirror, and then dressed myself again. On third attempt I stuck with the Khaki green combats that lay, scene of crime style, sprawled on the floor,and the brown tee-shirt that dozed half on and half of the end of my bed. Brown pumps and dark socks, (almost matching) and a combat jacket
that hung mystifyingly neatly against the back of my bedroom door. I popped my morning dose of pills and left the house. I re-entered the house a moment later to retrieve my car key, and then slammed the door
behind me once more. Obeying my normal rule of three exit, I entered the house for a third and final time to pick up my wallet, hiding under last nights confused mess on the kitchen table.

I had planned my trip to the supermarket with military precision. Unfortunately, it was the amassed military no-how of the Scilly Isles that I used. Parking my car in the farthest bay from the lift, in vain attempt to give myself that extra couple of yards exercise, I stood waiting for the lift. Two minutes later, I was again standing waiting for the lift, having gone back to my car to retrieve my ever present satchel, my “Man-Bag”, that contained amongst other things, my wallet,
and stood trying to look nonchalant. Trying not to look my 34 years as a pretty, well dressed brunette stood waiting beside me. Recalling a horrible incident once where I boarded a lift in the Dublin offices of my insurance brokers with a secretary, I was trying to remain calm. She had been 28, 32 at the most, and alarmingly pretty. The lift was one of the old types that are rarely seen in buildings these days. It was small, room enough for two people at the most, and it laboured to bring us both to the fifth floor. Agonisingly slowly, as I had run from the train station to the offices, and now stood, sweating and breathing heavily behind the increasingly nervous girl. Her hair was actually lifting and falling with my exhalations. Finally reaching the top, I breathed apologies as she quickly strode away from me, head
down.

The new Dunne’s Stores supermarket in the newly developed Scotch Hall shopping Centre was somewhere I couldn’t even contemplate visiting last year. It is large and bright, and bustling. Clinical white lights illuminate the isles and the line of checkouts that border the front of the store are constantly trailing lines of shoppers, mind numbing queues that resemble riding the Tube in London. No one speaks to each other and everybody looks over each others shoulders at each others business. I had no idea where to start, but
take a methodical approach and start from the left-hand most isle.

I used to dread conversations in these places. I want to get in, getout with my head down and avoid any superfluous contact. Thankfully the town has grown so much in these last couple of years that my chances of meeting anyone I know are slim. Thankfully, I have to remind myself, it shouldn’t matter any more if I do.

“Bones!”

Her name is Tess, and she has honed in on me. I like her. She is a lovely woman, a girl from my youth and I haven’t seen her for years, but I feel my heart fall as she comes towards me, grabbing my shoulder with her free arm, her other supporting a two year old girl, and kisses me on the cheek. I am delighted to see her, but dreading the
moment where I will have to, inevitably, break off our conversation abruptly, in a manner that may seem rude to her, but a matter of release for me. My head will start to spin, my legs begin to tingle, and I’ll know I will have to find a section of the Store where I can crouch low and pretend to examine fruit or something while I regain my composure. For a second time, i find myself rebuking my premonitions.

“So, how’ve you been? God it’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”, she hikes her child up on one hip as the child holds her doodie to her mouth, protecting it with one soft hand, almost as if she is afraid this stranger might try and take it from her.
“I’m good thanks, and you? You look great. Who’s this pretty little girl? I raise an arm and tickle the little girls back.
The child buries her head in Tess’s shoulder. I’m instantly jealous of her childish affection. She has her mother’s blonde curls and almond eyes.

“This is Hannah. Say hello Hannah”, she coxes the child with a playful jump of her arm. The Child is grinning, a lovely eye focusing on me through her mother’s long blonde hair, dyed, I notice, these days.

Tess has changed since I saw her last. She glows with
motherly affection for her child. The last time I met her we were both drunk, white faced and laughing at a beach party, inadvisably held around a driftwood fire on Laytown beach one November evening. We had kissed, fondled, then fallen asleep, woken only by the dawn and the cold rush of morning air that brushes the coast. I remembered she had gone out with a friend of mine sometime later, and that that had ended
the night we had our graduation, as he lay in a stupor and she had taken a taxi home at 5 in the morning. I remember walking home along the beach, rented Tux minus it’s jacket and dickie bow dangling from a pocket, and climbing into climbing into bed leaving sandy footprints up the stairs.

“So what are you up to these days? An easy question, not wanting to drag up old memories.
“Oh you know, married with kids, living back in Drogheda again. Tim’s around here somewhere” she turned her head, expecting him to appear on cue. “You? Where’s your better half?” She eyed my ring finger. I caught her and unconsciously place my hand in my pocket.

“Still single” I replied. My short answer drew a momentary pause.

“So what are you at these days?” she continues, perhaps noting my discomfort and changing tack.

“Just working away. Computer firm in Galway. I travel a lot, nothing special”

I smiled. She knew me. No. she used to know me. I jingled some change in my pocket, the little girl’s gaze turning towards the sound. Her soft eyes drilling into my pocket. An awkward silence ensued that had to be broken.

“It’s great to see you” I try.

From behind the shelves a man steps forward, not seeing me at first and tenderly brushes the child’s hair. Hannah turns and I can see from the slight raise of her ears that she is smiling at him.

“Oh, this is Tim. Tim, this is, eh. Bones.” I realise at her hesitation that she doesn’t know my real name. Probably never has. “Bones is an old friend of mine from Laytown”.

It’s an awkward moment. It’s borne of my memory of her and and a cold sand dune one November night.

Tim sees me now, and offers a smile and outstretches a
hand in greeting. I shake it; his strong grip is firm and business like. He’s friendly, but preoccupied. He stands a good 5 inches above me, slightly greying locks bordering a strong face. He’s a handsome,confident man.

“Nice to meet you, Bones” He says my name as if unsure that he’s heard correctly. I nod and smile.

“We gotta go, Woodies shuts at six”, He reminds his wife kindly, offering me an apologetic nod.
Tess is looking up at him, nodding in agreement. I can’t help feeling that she is glad of the escape route.

“Good to see you again Bones” She kisses me on the cheek once more, and raises a palm in goodbye and turns to leave.
“You too Tess”.

I’m left in the bakery section, watching their departing
figures. I think I may have been standing here for at least a minute as Hannah watched me grow smaller over her mothers shoulder before I’m awoken from my reverie by an old lady grumpily clattering her trolley into me from behind. I apologise, and head for the ready meals section.

The checkout girl barely acknowleges me as I check out my
bottle of Wolf Blass, two chicken Kiev’s and a packet of frozen vegetables.