Three aged men in crow-colored suits perch, overlooking a worshipping crowd. I watch them as they watch me watching them. Three rows in front of me, Sister Devy sits in a lilac dress. Her face covered in smile-dug trenches. She has won the flower gardening competition since I moved into the neighborhood one decade ago. My dust ruffle skirt tickles my prickly ankles. I don't close my eyes for the prayer; I just look down at my chipped purple nail polish and wonder if Sister Devy lets her grandchildren in her award-winning backyard.
Her grass-stained knees and Dorito dusted fingers flitter across the yard as she gathers a buttery bouquet. The sun-fallen weeds bunch in her chubby fists. She gives her collection of starbits to her mother, sneezing. "Wow! They're lovely," Mom says, she's going to put them in a vase in the kitchen. My kitchen has scab-red roses from Costco. I guess I picked them out too.
It is 9:12 p.m. on a Wednesday evening, and I am at Walmart looking for essentials: Milk, a dozen eggs, and Nutella. I resolve to look at produce because it's there at the beginning of the store. I pass the neon fruits - Australian kiwis, Chilean grapes, Brazilian pineapples. I consider some Roma tomatoes, picked in Mexico. An identical group of erythema red, pressed together effectively. The fluorescent store lights reflect on the skin and I can see my face in the reflection.
You do a great job at capturing the reader's attention. In the last narration, I was intrigued to see where the story would lead. It was interesting to be in the same shoes as the reader and be placed in a familiar environment like Walmart.
ReplyDelete