The people at Trader Joe's are young and hip and there are just a few too many for my comfort. Last time here I carried a basket and put too many items in it. This time I pushed a cart and did the same. As I am shopping, I notice one of the cashiers staring into the far distance seemingly entranced. Her eyes are striking above her mask. When I emerge from my leisurely trip down the next aisle, she is in exactly the same position. Without blinking, her gaze shifts to my eyes, like an owl. There's an otherworldly intensity to her eyes that unsettles me. For a moment, I want her to take off her mask. I need to be reassured that she's human. I wind up purchasing too many spreads and dips. There's no sign of you in there. Why would there be? I don't think you live anywhere near here. Everyone is young, and when I place the images from my memory of you and I shopping here beside them they look like black and white newspaper cutouts from the 1940's. All of that has been turned under to make room for the new. Shards of pottery, a skeleton wrapped in a blanket, a stone foundation to be discovered many years from now by archeologists. The meaning of it all, which you once felt so acutely, will have been lost in time.
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