Sept. 6, 2012
Grants, New Mexico
Saw a girl in front of me buying a 12-pack of ramen and a set of rolls. She was downtrodden, had various dulled random scars on her arms and legs, on dark skin.
It came out to 5 dollars. She balked, and the checkout person heaved her shoulders as if she had seen this before, from this person. The girl asked to remove the rolls, and the total came out to $3.88. She swiped her food stamp card through the credit machine. I had a distant impulse, a momentary after-thought to help the girl. But who does that anymore? It was a glimmer of a me that I used to know, that used to exist.
I don't regret it, because that moment taught me more about myself, than anything. What was bouncing around absently, almost distantly, in my mind. What I started to think of, what I had a momentary almost-impulse to do, a long forgotten me that I had forgotten even existed.