Can We Be Wrong Tonight

Poison & Wine

I don’t have a choice, but I still chose you

I don’t love you, but I always will...

                                 -- “Poison & Wine”, The Civil Wars

I walk through the automatic supermarket doors, the air conditioned breeze blowing the loose hairs off my face. I wander over and get a shopping cart. I stroll through the sale aisle until I’ve decided that I don’t need anymore useless trinkets. Pulling out my crumpled shopping list I head purposefully over to the produce section. 

I practically run through the aisles as I grab the essentials. I’ve always hated grocery shopping. I never liked the huge stores or the bustling of people. I never liked searching for the things you need. I always hated it, until he showed up in my life. 

We used to go together. We used to tear the list in half and race to see who could complete his or her half first. We’d end up in the same aisle giggling and teasing each other. Those were the only times I enjoyed it. Now the initial dislike combined with the knowledge that he’s not here makes it miserable. 

I stand on my tip toes with my arms extended to the top shelf in the dog food aisle trying to reach the last bag of the brand I buy. And that’s when I hear it. His voice. It’s like a siren in my ear. It’s ringing loud and clear even though he has to be more than two aisles away. But after the miles we’ve spent apart it feels like he’s right next to me. I sink back down on to my heels contemplating my next move. 

I return to my cart sluggishly like a zombie. My thoughts no longer processing. My heart leading me to him, dog food long forgotten.

I push the cart down the aisles, quickly glancing down each of them without stopping. I try to tell myself I am just going to the back of the store to the electronics, but I know what I am looking for. 

By now he’s stopped talking, but I follow my instincts. I glance down the dishes aisle as I move past it, just like every other aisle. But after passing I stop dead in my tracks, surprising the woman pushing her baby across the aisle. She gives me a strange look, but keeps going. I slowly and carefully turn around, as if afraid what I saw might disappear if I startle it.  

There was something about the man standing in the aisle. I wander aimlessly down the rows of bowls, cups, and mugs until I am close enough to see that after all of the false alarms it really is him. My heart starts racing as the distance between us gets smaller and smaller.