August 24th, 2004, Store 1047:

She was one in a million

the first time I laid eyes upon her

in isle 12. Her curves exemplified

by the green supermarket apron she filled out

so perfectly; the small of her back arched

as she stretched out a hand towards the fruit loops

on the top shelf

and I caught a glimpse

of a nymph like little face

with curiosity and wonder still left

behind the eyes.

Something

I thought,

only reserved for women

in high gloss magazines from New York.

She had long flowing blonde hair that was messy

but in a subtle sort of elegant way,

almost deliberate, like she didn’t want you to think she was trying

too hard.

It suited her.

She’d do these little gestures

that were all part of her game,

one you weren’t aware

you had started playing.

Sharing a Coke in the break room,

picking the next register over on shift,

smiling at you from behind

the latest issue of Seventeen

with those baby blues

and smacking her gum.

I fell, I swooned, I became her automaton

in perfect space and time with an

implant in my brain.

She controlled my hardwiring

in every sense of mind

step, walk, act of balance,

breath

and blink.

She had the most delectable makeup combo that day;

her lips so gush-able, juicy and red

that they reminded me of the candy I used to get in my Halloween bag.

I wanted to bite them

ever so softly.

And then with the part of her breath

I blurted out the words

requesting her honor to Spiderman 2.

I asked,

the answer came

not with words but a freeze

then a giggle

then a fast walk

off to the frozen food section;

the one where the waffles were half offon special,

whispering to her sister

laughing and

looking.

I lost it

time stopped

then my head exploded.

Everyone could see inside into what I was thinking;

laid bare, naked,

exposed to the world

like a baby on a bed sheet

for the taking.

Each customer that came through my lane

was a mindreader.

Every smile, hey how are you, nice day isn’t it

felt like a jab to the face,

and a reveal of my deepest

darkest secrets.

I kept scanning the items

across the checker

but they might as well have been pieces

of my heart

being taken away

little by little, carted off into the wind

until there was nothing left

fed to the wolves in the parking lot

by the cart returns,

or taken home as souvenirs

for people to put on their plates

and serve up hot,

blood running from their mouths

as they were made younger.

By the end of the shift I was so beat up

I could hardly stand,

sweating underneath the florescence

my mind was running

a marathon I didn’t train for.

It was time to get out.

I jogged

no, sprinted towards the exit

in a flash

not caring if everyone thought I was a spaz.

I was.

Past the Mountain Dew goal posts,

the labor day streamers, and pumpkin spice hot toddy

I ran;

a cart squealed, an old lady slipped,

and a doberman lost its bowels.

The automated doors gifted me

a chance at freedom

and I took it

out to the parking lot

where I chucked my badge

into someone’s Buick.

My day was over

before it began.