It’s cauliflower that finally undoes Evie Shine. A bed of rough nubs in aisle eleven. Something about its nothingness. A quick silent kick to the chest.
She can’t be winded, Evie thinks, and yet the air has shot right out of her and can’t get back in. Her hands twist the trolley bar. Does she even need cauliflower today? Does anyone?
There are tears splashing softly onto Evie’s hands. How long would cauliflower simply sit in the dark vegetable drawer of her fridge before exhibiting signs of oversight? Try to swallow. Try to breathe.
She hadn’t known her water table was rising. Maybe cauliflower is exactly what she needs. Just a hardy vegetable and a few fresh ideas. Some better shoes. Swifter changing of blown lightbulbs. Deeper lines in the sand. Simple things. Come on, breathe.
It used to be that almost everything Evie needed, everything two children and two adults need over the course of two decades, could be found in a supermarket. There she’d made the weekly choices, tiny and vital, that dictated the rhythm of their lives. The factory floor of a family. Now it’s all passive-aggressive vegetables and decisions of minimal consequence.
Hand on her pounding chest, Evie at last feels a slip of air find its way back in.
‘You okay?’
Evie looks up to see a woman at the head of her trolley. She’s young and concerned, dressed as though she’ll be going directly from here to a half-marathon.
‘Do you need anything?’ the woman asks her.
Evie puts a hand to her cheek now, feels its wetness and does her best to smile. ‘It’s the onions,’ she says, pointing loosely at the cauliflower. ‘Every time.’
‘Okay,’ the woman says uncertainly. ‘Um …’
They both glance at the rows of vegetables for answers, for a way out.
Keep. Breathing…
Leave a Reply