Hello and greetings! I’m currently in a flurry of life goodness, and oddly, it’s made me reflect a lot on harder times. I know things don’t always feel like this.
In 2021, I went through a difficult breakup and spent a lot of time with my journal, logging what it all felt like. I recently returned to this piece, written during a session with my writing club. That summer, I read it aloud at a small storytelling event in Golden Gate Park. I only invited my brother. The prompt was simply:
Write about something you can’t deny.
I needed eggs.
Our chocolate Labrador, my chocolate Labrador Matilda pulled, reminding me of the training ahead of us. We walked west down 19th Street, headed home after doing one of our usual loops to Dolores Park. I felt for my wallet when I saw Noe Hill Market.
When we walked in, the friendly storekeeper, a man in his 50s, maybe 60s, greeted us. I made a mental note of the lemons and garlic in the front baskets, for another day.
“Want a treat for your pup?” he said. He wore a collared short-sleeve shirt, white buttons down the front. Pale green and blue, vertical stripes. It reminded me of something my dad would wear. The buttons bulged around his stomach as he leaned down from behind the elevated counter. He handed me two treats.
“Thanks so much. This is Mattie,” I said. I wondered if he recognized me without my mask.
Mattie pulled me toward the aisle of packaged pasta, jars of sauce. Bucatini had been in short supply for most of the last year, yet blue and yellow boxes of the thick, sturdy noodles sat confidently next to spaghetti, rigatoni, tan tubes — the big and tiny varieties. I grabbed the eggs from the fridge in the back and wandered to the front. Mattie sniffed the bottom racks of crackers — Mary’s, Triscuits, Chicken in a Biskit. That’s how you know it’s a corner store, I smiled.
I scanned for Parmesan Goldfish. I wanted to buy more — to give this guy some business. It was just me and Matilda in the store. Surely it was almost closing time.
“Remind me of your name again?” I asked, scanning the white packages of Pepperidge Farm cookies. Each one was named after a vacation town for rich people. Nantucket, Milano, Sausalito.
“Duane,” he said. “I remember you. You came in with your husband, right?”
I looked up. I was suddenly self-conscious.
“Oh, yeah… my boyfriend,” I trailed off, correcting him. But it wasn’t correct. We were no longer together.
“Yeah, I remember you… because you guys were so nice.”
I left with eggs, jalapeño chips, a small bottle of Tapatio that would likely last me two weeks. My appetite was hit or miss these days — mostly miss. I took solace in the garlic shrimp burrito I’d order once a week from Little Chihuahua. I’d douse it with Tapatio, eating it over the sink. It was still too hard to sit alone at the kitchen table. My therapist told me during times of moderate stress, we eat more. During times of severe stress, less.
I thanked Duane and left the shop in a hurry. A feisty-looking terrier mix led a man down 19th, headed toward us. I ushered Matilda across the street, eager to avoid them, to avoid anyone.
Towering above the tangerine sky, the cell tower stood in cotton candy swirls of fog on Sutro Tower. A rush, a weight of sadness dropped on me like a kettlebell on my chest.
“Mattie, walk,” I pushed a treat into her mouth. Our dog, my dog, looked at me. She didn’t know. Neither did Duane. And no amount of work — no amount of doing it, no amount of sitting in it, would protect me. And yet, I would carry on.
So glad you shared this ♥️.
Enjoyed reading this ❤️ reflecting on tough seasons in a time of goodness makes me think of the song “Almost Makes Me Wish For Rain” by Lucius