A Walk to the Grocery Store

I was moderately drunk when I got home. It was Friday night, and while not especially late, I was feeling ready to relax and go to bed. I had been drinking with the guys from work since our 6:30 happy hour meetup time, and it was around 10:00 by the time I stumbled home. I had a strong craving for some breakfast cereal to soak up the alcohol in my otherwise empty stomach before bed. After getting the bowl and spoon, I opened the cereal cabinet and was disappointed to find it empty. I always forget when I’m out of cereal. I searched for a plan B meal, but found my refrigerator and freezer to be identically barren. Stupid bachelor shopping habits.

I decided to take a walk to Evan's, a 24-hour grocery market a few blocks away. I had to pass fourth and fifth street to get there, and would get the opportunity to look at the second round of bar goers and drinkers to populate the nightlife center. I liked passing them on the street corners, all gussied up for a night on the town, sometimes checking their reflections in the front -facing camera on their phones, making sure they still looked like the people in the commercials that dictated their current outfits.

I was a block away from Evan’s, or as I thought of it, The Promised Land Flowing with Milk and Cereal, when I saw a girl standing alone on the sidewalk. She wasn’t going anywhere, she wasn’t with anyone, and she clearly wasn’t a prostitute. She sort of hovered over her square of sidewalk, gently swaying back and forth without moving her feet. She wore a San Diego Chargers jersey, short jean shorts and converse shoes. We had a second of eye contact as I passed.

I was waiting at the crosswalk for the walk signal to turn in my favor, when I felt a hand take mine. I would have recoiled more sharply if the hand wasn’t so soft. I looked over and the girl with the jersey gave me a breif wide-eyed smile and started to pull me across the street just as the walk signal changed.

She brought me to a small black civic parked on the street. She turned around abruptly and started to kiss me. She didn’t taste like alcohol, which surprised me. She drew her body close while I kissed her. I pulled back.

“Are you O.K.?”

She smiled and whispered “Yes” so quietly I couldn’t tell what her voice sounded like. She leaned in for another kiss. At risk of ruining the best piece of luck I had had in awhile, I pulled back again.

“You know what’s going on and everything?”

This time she responded in a more natural tone of voice. “Believe me, if any part of me didn’t want to do this, you’d know.”

This response seemed lucid enough. Just one more thing.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 22. Anymore questions, officer?”

I almost said “no, that about covers it” but decided to silently lean in to resume making out instead. I had nowhere to go but downhill in this situation, and nonverbal communication seemed to be her strong suit anyway. She took my hand and slipped it under her jersey. A passing car sounded its horn and a male voice called out “Put it in there bro!”

As much as I was enjoying the way things were going, there was the uncomfortable feeling that I was violating my own sense of PDA decency.

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“I want to fuck you but I can’t.”

If only people were always this direct.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant like, maybe a slice of pizza or something.”

“Well, we’re not going to fuck, so...Ok!”

I liked the way her mind worked, even if her logic lacked precision. We walked toward a hole in the wall that sold thin-crust pizza by the slice on the next block.

“How’s your night going?”

She looked at me, grabbed my hand and smiled, “Perfect.” I didn’t believe her.

When we arrived she sat at a table while I got our slices. I reminded myself to just enjoy the situation for what it was, without expectations.

. I brought the pizza back to the table.

“I return victorious. I had to fight like six people to get these, but it’ll be worth it.”

She laughed “You’re funny. My hero!”

The fact that she laughed at such a stupid joke diminished my hope that she was entirely sober. I asked about her, and she was only too happy to tell. She was a political science major at a nearby college. She stressed that she wanted to “make a difference, man. You know? Like, make a real difference.” She went on a tirade against specific people without really voicing any specific objection to them. It was all “Fuck Bill O'Reilly, and fuck Chris Matthews! I’m gonna make a real difference!”

I agreed, fuck those guys, but silently doubted whether she had any clear thoughts on any particular issue. Her drive to make change and her certainty that she would succeed seemed to come out of sheer youthful self-confidence rather than confidence in any solution or ideology. A very millennial mindset, I thought. She didn’t ask about me, and I didn’t volunteer much.

“Shall we go?” she asked after 90 minutes or so.

“Sure, where to?”

“Anywhere.”

I cleaned up our paper plates and saucy napkins and we started down toward third street. There was a mall and adjacent parking garage to our right. On the wall of the parking garage was a graffiti tag that said “Don’t believe the hype!”

“Let’s sit down.”

“Where?”

“In there.” She pointed to the stairway of the parking garage that lead up to the various floors of the mall.

“Why the hell not? Looks pleasant, I guess.”

We walked across the street and entered the stairwell, walking past four or five landings before she decided we had reached the right altitude. On the landings going up were posters for a suicide hotline that showed a hand-drawn silhouette with it’s head in it’s hands, and large letters that spelled out YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I had been up these stairs often, and these posters used to make me sad until I didn’t notice them anymore. I noticed them again tonight for some reason.

I took a moderately comfortable seat on the landing platform with my back against the wall and my legs stretched out straight, and she laid down perpendicular to me with her head resting on my lap and her back on the smooth pavement surface. She closed her eyes. She looked lovely.

“You feel alright?”

She looked up and smiled at me. “Yeah.” She sounded content. She took my hand and started gently stroking it with her fingers. We relaxed for a moment in silence.

I took this time to remind myself that this whole interaction had nothing to do with me. I was just in the right place at the right time. I felt like Hansel and Gretel,  leaving little emotional breadcrumbs on my adventure.

“You know, there’s something special about you. People don’t treat me like you do.”

Bullshit, I thought.

“You’re easy to be nice to.”

“Uhg! I wish I didn’t like you so much! My life would be easier if I liked you less.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” That last comment was too much to play along with.

“No, really.”

“OK, well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Speaking of which, how are you getting home tonight?”

“I was going to take the train, but it’s so dangerous at night.”

“You’re welcome to stay with me if you want.”

“Where do you live?”

“Right there.” I pointed across the street.

“Ok perfect. I’m exhausted anyway.” She sat up and collected herself to leave.

We were in my apartment a few minutes later, and she went directly to my bed and took her shorts off, revealing small pink panties and the nubile upper thighs of a 22 year old. She plopped on the bed instantly and groaned in satisfaction.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Don’t leave me here alone! Keep me company.”

I gave no argument, laying myself on the bed with my clothes still on. Her face was turned toward me with the side of her face on the pillow. She smiled lightly.

“You know, I bet I could fall in love with you.”

I didn’t respond. I just looked at her a few more minutes before drifting off to sleep.

I woke up early the next morning with a hand on my shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Hey. How you feeling?”

“Fine. Not to be rude but, where am I?”

I felt my chest sink a little.  

“You asked for a place to stay last night. Do you remember me?”

“No, sorry.” She looked embarrassed.

“Pizza last night doesn’t ring a bell?”

She shook her head doubtfully. “I should probably head to the train to get home.”

“Yeah, for sure. One second.” I got up and washed my face. I was glad I fell asleep with my clothes on. It probably eased her mind.

We walked out of the apartment building and started toward the train station that was eight blocks away.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Anthony.” She didn’t know it was the first time I had told her my name. I extended my hand to shake hers.

“Hi, I’m Grace, nice to meet you.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you do?”  

“I work at a Verizon store, and believe me, my service is top-notch! Always smiles and never looking the least bit tired.” I rubbed my eyes and yawned as I said the last part. She didn’t seem especially amused.

“I saw the guitar in your living room. Are you a musician?”

“I like to play around a little bit, but not as much as I used to.” She seemed more interested in details about me than she was last night. Probably embarrassed and trying to be polite.

We arrived at the train station just as a train pulled up.

“Thanks for the bed-space. It was nice meeting you.” She hurried to jump on the train and I waved from the sidewalk as the car pulled away.

I wondered what happened to her that night to make her do what she did. I’ll never know what she was on, or who she might have been trying to hurt by being with me.

I started walking back to my apartment and tried to ignore the rotten feeling in my stomach. I recognized it, and it would only last two more hours or so, while I followed my trail of breadcrumbs home. I was satisfied with the three or so hours of interest and fun for two hours of feeling kind of rotten. It seemed like a good enough deal.

I was feeling hungry as I got back to the apartment, and grabbed a bowl and spoon to make some breakfast cereal. I cursed softly as I opened the empty cabinet.