I Didn't Mean To

1: That Woman

I wasn't prepared; mentally at least. If only I had a warning, maybe just an advanced notice. I wonder, would I have had a better reaction? I don't think so. It was going to be a normal boring day. I was going to go to work, do whatever afterwards, then come back home. Maybe stop by the cemetery, say goodbye to Sat, get some ice cream, and do chores. I just had to see her. The woman could never go too long without somehow surprising me with herself. Whether that be with her memory, thought or physically being. I had a good run. I haven't seen her in 2 years.

I study her new appearance, watch her movements, and process her behavior. She's been dying her hair to avoid grays, she used to say aging is a sign of losing, losing to what? To time I guess. Which for the record I always found stupid. She used to say many stupid things. Sometimes I was surprised when she said something that wasn't.

Other than the subtle little changes one acquires after a time of not seeing one another she hasn't changed much. Same no-rip jeans, with no-hood hoodie with a pair of white sneakers– matching of course, all puma. One thing I will never forget: Never a mixture of brands. "Never put brands to compete and fight. They will clash and ruin your whole outfit." She would say. Her outfit is a great difference to my own: Sweatpants with a couple of holes from my attempted craft phase, white turtleneck and a pair of self-dyed orange converse. I wanted brown; it just didn't turn out that way. I tried.

As I continue to study her she looks tense. Her back is so straight it looks unnatural, her knuckles tighten around the shopping cart too tight and the expression she wears on her face shows that she's trying not to show any emotion but also trying to show that same neutral tone she always wore. She almost succeeded, but I guess the unimpressed look on my face upset her. She decided it wasn't worth it.

She shot me one last disapproving side-eye and broke our staring contest first to resume her shopping, pushing her cart full of healthy produce and sugar-free sweets down the frozen food aisle. I looked down at my own cart: Variety of chips and deserts, lots of fruit, milk eggs etc. How does she always manage to make me feel like I'm doing something wrong with a simple look?

If I learned anything from the amount of stupid decisions characters make in books and movies is one thing: If you don't do the thing that has been haunting you forever you will regret it. Regret is something that I have been carrying for the longest time and I have enough of it. I don't need anymore thank you.

So fuck it. I push my cart after her. It swerves and hits the freezer to the left of her. I walk towards her as she turns around startled. A mother and daughter in front of her gives me a weird look and walks out of my way, but I ignore them. Others move out of my way until I get to the sick excuse of a human. I stop right in front of her.

She yells at me, "What do you think you're doing?"Right how could I ever think of accidentally hurting her. As if I don't have any control over my own body. I look up at the ceiling and take a small breath.

"Is there anything you want to say to me?"

I have to admit I'm curious about what she'll say. Will she actually answer or avoid the question and direct it towards me? She laughs, a low humorless forced chuckle. Now that I did not expect.

"Why would I? You should be the one saying something to me. You were always so bad at reading a situation and figuring out what you're supposed to actually do. I did my best as a single mother, you were just a slow learner." She looks at me as if she's expecting me to blow up, get angry, lash out.

She might try to hide whatever she's really feeling but her eyes are telling me everything I need to know: She's scared of me, she thinks I'm going to hurt her and she's trying to play it off. Her eyes are wary; looking around subtly, hoping no, wishing someone drags her out of this confrontation. Sucks for her. I'm not going anywhere until I get to do what I intend to.