Tomato Soup

Tomato Soup

It was a Sunday like most and she walked to the store for a can of
Tomato soup
A kid two isles over bumped into her leg with his cart
He didn't apologize, and she was mad at him.
She picked up the last gallon of milk
Then put it back and grabbed the pint
Skim, organic with an expiration date she’d never reach
She stood in a line to pay for her things,
The old woman in front of her was buying cat food and cheddar cheese
And she laughed at her because she was somehow pathetic and strange,
She locked eyes with a boy in the front of the store,
They were blue and bright, he had cropped blonde hair and a brilliant smile,
Maybe she could talk to him when she was done here.
She was next in line but the cashier ignored her, instead she devoted attention to the terrified screams outside.
People ran everywhere and some came into the shop, for shelter and safety.
There’s nothing more painful than listening to a grown man beg for his life from a stranger who’d gone crazy and decided he’d ‘had enough’
She watched them plead for one last look into the brown-edged photos in their wallets.
People laugh and they joke about death but when it’s staring you in the face,
And you feel its warm breath on your cheeks
You can hardly think at all and your mind is like a bad book with all its pages out of order
And you can’t control what comes next.
In those few moments she tried to take everything back, trying to remember what she did this morning where she left her laundry. She tried to take back her cynicism toward the woman and her anger at the boy, she continued to ask herself why she didn't grab the gallon when she knew she could drink a full gallon and she got the store brand when she should have gotten the campbells.
But she didn't.
It’s not safe inside anymore,
The pristine tiles are no longer clean.
Her eyes followed the boy, he was fit and handsome and about her age,
With kind eyes and a blue collared shirt,
She hid with him behind a shelf,
They were quiet, she and this boy whom she’d never met but they smelled the same,
They smelled of fear and words the two of them would never again utter.
He turned to her, a stranger, and confessed that he’d never loved a woman.
Cans of beans and corn that litter the shelves of lovers and families alike topple over onto them
But they don’t move.
Instinctively they clutch each other’s hands and sweat pools in their palms
But they don’t move.
The footsteps that seem to control the store eventually call for them, he’d never loved a woman but in that moment he made the choice to put him between her and the edge of insanity.
She saw that his shirt tag was flipped up and his wallet was sticking out of his back pocket.
So she tucked his tag and touched his shoulder and felt the air leave his lungs for the last time.
She was alone.
The last sound she’d ever hear was echoed by sirens that were just a little too late.
It was a Sunday like any other and she walked to the store for a can of
Tomato soup