My Blue Pontiac found its way into the freshly painted parking lot today. The white lines clearly showing me where to park and I laugh to myself knowing the U.S.S Louie will take up at least one point five of those spots. I mean really, who are they kidding anyway no one with a tiny little sports car would ever think about shopping here.
I get out and the sun streams in my face, I can tell it’s going to be a good day. I walk inside and greet the greater like I always do. The manager, who knows me by name now, greets me and asks how school and work and other things are going. It reminds me of walking into one of my grandma’s stories, where everybody used to this considerate back in the black and white days. I answer him and ask him the same follow up questions we share every time I enter his store. I know that he knows I’m here for a fresh one. A one right off the shelf, clean and clear. He laughs and gets back to work.
They are in aisle three. And I see some new ones. Different colored ones. How funny, I think, that people will waste a dollar or two for a fancy one. They are what they are no matter the covering. Just like people. I find them, they are snuggled up to the coloring books, if they were an animal it would be on the Endangered Species List. I pray the silent prayer that I always do, that they never will become extinct. If they do, I would lose a part of me and I would have no reason to come to this shop anymore. It’s the only place they are a dollar.
The cashier adds tax to it, she has to its only natural to pay for my local roads and then asks if I need a bag. She is obviously new. Everyone else knows Ariel doesn’t need a bag. I only get one thing every few months or so, and it’s a happy day for all who come in my path.
Waving goodbye to the manager, I walk out of the store with it hugged against my chest and a huge grin on my face. My car sits there ready to transport its happy driver to her next destination. He knows right where to go. In winter, it’s home. In every other season, it’s there. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it. The black and white colors, the wide lines, and new bind that hasn’t broken yet. And yet I continue to drive.
Finally, we arrive. I hug it against my chest again. I stick a pen in my pocket and my keys. Take out my folded blanket from the trunk. I lock up all other items, including my phone, in the trunk. Making sure my shoelaces are tied, I begin to run. Run to my spot. It’s been my spot for 14 years now, ever since I was young.
Once under the tree facing the water, I release it from the tight hold my hands and chest have squeezed it. I open up to the first page.
And with that, I begin to write.
