aisles in the grocery store

I find myself stuck in aisles at target often. I can’t decide if I want the protein bars that taste horrible, but will maybe help me somewhere later on in life if the gym bros are not lying. or if I should stop thinking so much about the future, and get the kellogg strawberry protein bars with too much sugar in them. because the present is all that should matter.

my mother’s voice is an ongoing chatter in my head. her hand on mine holding onto the railing of the red shopping cart, I think i’m helping her push. shes always been really good at pretending. pretending that i’m helping her when she’s been the one pushing the entire time. my mother has regal beauty. the kind that you’re lucky to catch a glimpse of at a grocery store. the kind you never see again. i don’t look exactly like my mother. i’m an even combination of both my parents, the regal beauty is modified by my father’s low eyes and unexpected smile. I push my cart, aimlessly always, I didn’t choose either of the protein bars. maybe when I circle back around, i’ll decide. or i’ll create more options for myself to never choose from.

my music blares from my apple air maxes that I cannot afford, I am a rap fanatic. or so I say I am. but the price tag on noise cancellation headphones never explains their worth. worth depends on what your quality of life is like. mine is loud, these headphones are priceless. they kill my mother’s ongoing chatter in my head. suddenly i’m in a maybach with kendrick and I made it out of my own head, but my red shopping cart remains empty.

I stop at the candles, room essentials sells the big ones for $20 each. to create an illusion of a place with a scent I don’t recognize. but the scent is new, and new is good, and maybe I need the change. but my red cart remains empty.

I push my cart in circles, do I need more sandwich bread? maybe I should eat something other than toast. i’m not sure, i’m in the grocery aisle alone. I hate being in grocery aisles alone. my head throbs when the music is too loud, so I give my brainwaves breaks. I take off my air maxes, and let them speak freely. sometimes they say horrible things, a lot of times we reminisce. and I remember how my father raises his hands from the steering wheel when he drives past the cemetery. I know the look on his face, I recognize it often. I recognize our childlike grief often. he smiles and tells me, at the age of 7, that he will die one day, and although I love him, I must love God more. I grew up angry and bitter. because my father does not belong to me. I grew up knowing he will one day leave. I was angry often as a child. I smile at her anger now, and remember that my father grew up an orphan. I don’t remember it often. that this terrible thing he’d always say, was what he believed to be the best for me. because my father wanted to prepare us in a way he wish he was prepared at 13. I smile at it now, how the roles have switched.

I push my red cart around the fruits section. my father is always knocking on watermelons, to see which one is destined for us. parenting for my father meant preparing us for his one day permanent absence, for when our Creator would decide he’d return to Him. but God has a funny way of showing us things. so he showed my father what it could feel like to lose a child instead. sometimes i’m still laying on that stretcher. I don’t discuss it often, only when i’m alone in aisles at the grocery store. I pick up a bottle of Arizona Watermelon. I understand that loving a drink that only costs $1 and is quite literally always on sale, is a sign that it is meant for me. I push my cart and realize I did not need this red cart, if i’m only buying this bottle of Arizona.