Of A Certain Age

The Other Side of the City

I don't remember the last time I wore jeans. They're so tight and uncomfortable I don't get how anyone can think they provide mobility. I don't want to stand out when I get to Eliot's part of the city, though. I've heard stories of people getting robbed in foreign countries because the locals can tell they're not from around.

The streets are overcrowded. Most of the cars are older model and spew heavy gray clouds of exhaust. Thom would have a fit. A dingy brown dog dashes through the cars.

People move so quickly in the city. I suppose that's because they don't have all the time in the world. The shops on the corner are pretty empty. The restaurants look abandoned. Identical posters sit in the corners of some of the stores but I'm too far away to tell what they say. Every third store is a liquor store. I get the impression that these people like to drink a lot too, but probably for much different reasons than back home. Young people in red shirts stand on the corner just like they did the morning of The Charities. 

After crawling through traffic for another fifteen minutes, my driver drops me off on a street corner. I hope no one's watching close enough to notice me or what I'm doing. People barely even pay attention to the car, though it's much nicer than the others. I have to walk down a few stores until I get to a building slightly larger than the others. The gray brick front makes it looks like it's growing from the pavement. A painted sign above the door reads 'Fair Food for All' with a faded logo of a fruit bowl beside it.

A bell tinkles when I walk in. The co-op looks like the grocery stores in old sitcoms. The yellow walls are sun-bleached. Rickety metal shopping carts are arranged in a small corral next to the door. The lights flicker every once in a while.

"Good afternoon! How can we help you?" A woman behind a cash register smiles widely. Her nametag reads 'Meg'. She wears thin wire glasses and her black hair is tied up in a knot.

I approach the counter slowly. Once I get closer, I notice Meg's roots are graying. Back home, the thirty and forty- year-olds who started to gray dye their hair religiously. Gray hair and wrinkles may as well be leprosy where I come from. Meg has both. A red ribbon is pinned to her apron. I want to run out of the store. Hopefully, she doesn't know who I am. I remember Eliot saying people here don't really watch television or use cell phones.

"I, um, was looking for someone. Eliot?"

Meg smiles again and nods. "He's finishing up in the back. I'll tell him he has a visitor."

"Thank you."

Meg picks up a walkie-talkie and calls for Eliot. He responds that he'll be up in a minute. I stand with Meg in an uncomfortable silence.

"Beautiful earrings," she compliments me.

"Thank you..." I forgot to take them out. Hopefully Meg assumes the diamonds are fake. I look around while I wait. The arrangement of fruit in the center of the store looks nothing like the fruit at home. These are much smaller. The bananas have brown spots. I want to rub the apples on my shirt to brighten them up.

"I didn't think you'd come back with the contracts this week, let me grab a pen," Eliot says. He looks up from his clipboard at the same time that I turn around. When he recognizes me, he frowns.

"I was hoping for a tour," I tell Eliot, giving him a friendly smile.

"I don't have time."

Meg frowns. "You said you were leaving early." Eliot narrows his eyes at her. "Or was that tomorrow?"

Eliot sighs. "I'll show you around. Quickly." He gestures for me to follow him. "People don't tour co-ops," Eliot informs me in a low voice. 

"I wanted to see the kind of work you do."