Two tiny tots had their eyes not all\naglow; they crackled and burned like a beach bonfire! They made such\na racket that the rest of the customers turned to observe the melee.\nIt didn’t take long to intuit what was happening and their frowns of\ndisapproval turned to smiles of delight. A few even clapped. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As the girls filled their baskets with\ntoys and treats, the Writer caught sight of the woman ordering an\nassortment of processed foods. He noticed she was wearing an\nauburn-colored Santa hat that clashed outrageously with her red hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After placing the order, she meandered\nthe aisles examining products. Every now and then she put something\nin her basket. There was zero pattern in her choices. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Writer began shopping, but not for\nhimself. Into his basket was: a couple of TracFone $39.99, 200-minute\ncards, $50 gas card, flashlight and batteries, duct tape, first aid\nkit, two boxes of twinkle lights, a tiny, table-top, ceramic\nChristmas tree, pocket knife, socks, toothpaste, toothbrushes, two\nbottles of water and a pack of energy bars. It was basically a\nsurvival kit for the non-nuclear disaster of the ever-increasing\nmarginalization of American lives in the new American Diaspora. And\nthe supplies wouldn’t last long. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few minutes later the Writer stood\nface-to-face with the woman. She had just emerged from the walk-in\nbeer cooler. Their eyes met. He noticed she’d decorated her face with\nglitter. He noticed she emanated a wan twirling light. She looked\ninto her basket and then back to the Writer’s eyes. She knew he’d\nseen the two cans of Four Loko Frost malt liquor and a pack of Camel\nCrush Menthol.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can put the Loko and cigarettes\nback if you want,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, it’s Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Writer held out his basket to her.\n\u201cI got some things for you, for the road, when you leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThanks,\u201d she said. She smiled, a\njagged smile. \u201cYou like the hat?\u201d She angled her body toward him\nin a way that presented the hat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI like the hat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI got it for myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI almost forgot,\u201d said the Writer.\nHe handed her a stack of $1 scratch-off tickets. \u201cThere are 15\nhere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe’ll open them tomorrow morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat sounds perfect. I hope you\nwin.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt’s never worked before, but who\nknows, it’s Christmas Eve!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She said it with such giddiness that he\nthought he might be bowled over. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They carried their loot across the ice\nto the motel. The woman opened the door, the girls darted in, dived\non the beds,started singing some unintelligible song, and tore into\nthe treats. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman set her bag down on a\ndresser, as did the Writer. He saw a paper pad and pen on a table. He\nwrote down his phone number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHey, I’m going to get out of here,\u201d\nhe said to her. \u201cI left my number on the table if you need\nanything. Call or text. I only live a few blocks away. The tires will\nbe ready on the 26th<\/sup>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had about a million other things he\nwanted to say or suggest, but he didn’t. There would be time for that\nlater\u2014or not. Probably not. It wasn’t necessary for giving the\nright way, although it is a precondition to give for many people. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay, she said. \u201cI don’t know what\nto say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She really didn’t. Why profane the\nmoment of not knowing with a clich\u00e9 of knowing? \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn’t care. He didn’t expect her to\nsay anything poignant or act a certain grateful way. Those\ncontrivances were for stories and books.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He wondered if he’d hear from her. He\nwondered if he should do more. What else could he do? He wondered if\nthe family would make it. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n They shook hands. Her grip was still\nweak, but he felt more of a squeeze. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n It occurred to him he’d never learned\nthe girls’ names. It occurred to him he liked giving. It occurred to\nhim he wanted to write. It occurred to him he didn’t know how to\nwrite, but writing was something worth knowing how to do, and doing\nwell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside the motel room, the Writer\nsurveyed the icy 101 wonderland\/clusterfuck and plotted a course for\nhome that traversed the most grassy areas and bark-dusted flower\nbeds. He needed them for footing. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n He took a first step and began to\nslide. He balanced himself by extending his arms. He laughed aloud.\nHe kept going forward. He would make it, and after arriving home, he\nwould begin his education as a new kind of better, authentic writer.\nHis education as a new kind of better, authentic human being, was\ncomplete. \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Two tiny tots had their eyes not all aglow; they crackled and burned like a beach bonfire! They made such a racket that the rest of the customers turned to observe the melee. It didn’t take long to intuit what was happening and their frowns of disapproval turned to smiles of delight. A few even […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5598,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5597","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5597","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5597"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5597\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5600,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5597\/revisions\/5600"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5598"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5597"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5597"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5597"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}