THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY TWO - THE CASHIER

Today’s prompt:

Put yourself in a moment where you were not fine. Maybe you were terrible, and maybe you were TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. Put yourself back in that moment when you lied. Why did you do it? Whose feelings were you trying to save? Write what you wish you would have said, and imagine where that honest conversation could have led you.

THE CASHIER

“How you doin’ today?” she asked. The name on her badge said Ivy.

Ivy smiled at me as she picked up the package of Pampers and passed it over the scanner.

“Great, thanks,” I said, smiling back.

Ivy continued smiling as her gaze drifted down to the baby nestled on my chest, sound asleep in his carrier. And then Ivy and I both turned our attention to the box of Dreft detergent making its way down the black rubber conveyer belt.

What I really wanted to say is: “I’m lonely.”

What I really wanted to say is: “I wake up every morning and kiss my husband good-bye as he heads off to work. And then I have a moment of panic because, for the next ten or twelve hours, it’s just me and my baby, home alone.”

What I really wanted to say is: “I know I should be grateful to have a healthy baby, and truly I am, but sometimes, I would give my last penny for someone to just sit with me and engage in five minutes of honest conversation.”

What I really wanted to say is: “I don’t know how it happens, but sometimes, the entire day goes by in a blur. I’m still in my pajamas. I haven’t showered. I haven’t brushed my teeth. Twelve hours have passed, and I’m exhausted, and I don’t know why.”

What I really wanted to say is: “I need human interaction. I need it like an addict needs a fix. The highlight of my day is coming here to Safeway and exchanging just two words with you, my favorite cashier, Ivy.”

What I really wanted to say is: “Life is short. Tell me your truth, and I’ll tell you mine.”

But I never did. I never said those words.

I think about those memories as I stand in a line ten-people deep with my half-gallon of organic milk and four-pack of Ultra-soft Charmin. I think about those memories as I watch you patiently explain to the exhausted young mother that her WIC benefits can’t be used to pay for Tide detergent or Clorox wipes. I think about those memories as the man in front of me absent-mindedly wipes his nose before handing you his ATM card. I think about those memories as you smile when you see me approach.

“How you doin’ today?” I ask.