A woman pushes her cart through a grocery store. Her son is with her. He holds the cart, following behind her. He is small, lean, and his eyelids are closed tight.
He is blind. He lets go of the cart and soon he is lost. His mother is a few feet ahead of him. She stops. She watches.
“Mom?” he says.
“I’m over here,” she says. “Follow my voice.”
The child wanders toward her with unsure steps, arms outstretched. He finds her. She hugs him.
“That was good,” she says. “You’re so good at finding me.”
She kisses him on the mouth. She stares at his clenched eyes. “I love you so much, Peter Pumpkin Eater. Don’t ever, ever, ever forget that.”
He nods. Peter won’t forget.
A woman drives an old model Nissan. She has two dogs in her vehicle. Labradors, I would guess. She is in the parking lot, loading groceries.
A man sees her. He offers to help load groceries for her. Something you don’t
see much anymore.
“Pretty dogs,” he remarks.
She’s smiling at him. He’s grinning back at her. She hands him a business card. He says he’s going to call her sometime.
And you know the tune: first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage. And then comes health insurance premiums stiff enough to squeeze blood from a block of granite.
A gas station. A man with a little girl on his shoulders leaves the convenience store. The little girl is eating a candy bar. She gives him a bite. He takes a bite, then hands it back.
I can’t hear their full conversation, but I do hear: “Love you, Danica.”
“Love you, Dad.”
Same gas station. Two Hispanic men near a pump. One is old. One is a teenager. They are speaking rapid Spanish,…