In No Apparent Distress

You hustle through the grocery store. People around you are inspecting apples, eyeing which tomato will be the best buy. You hear the conversations of two older farmers who have clearly known each other for years. They stand side by side, arms folded, toothpicks wet and splintery.

A young man and a young woman flirt with each other behind the meat counter—each wearing a white uniform, apron, and paper hat. They do their best to care which steak an elderly woman is pointing to. When the girl bends over to get into the case, the boy walks past and his smile widens. You cannot see what happened, but the twinkle in the girl’s eye and small blush speak volumes.

You scurry down the soup aisle, unsure what you are hungry for, trying to sort through your craving to know what will fulfill you best. A young woman pushes a cart full of two sticky-faced children while another little girl straggles behind. They are all snacking on graham crackers that the woman has not paid for yet, and given the weary look in her eyes, she will likely forget. You offer her a small smile, but returning the smile proves to be too much effort.

You wander down the cereal aisle—Cheerios, Corn Pops, oatmeal—nothing entices you. Your quick walk slows to a stroll.

An elderly couple stop and study the labels on the various bran cereals.

“Five dollars for cereal?” the man says, scratches his forehead.

“I’ll just make some Johnny Cake. We can eat that,” the woman replies.

She puts the cereal box back on the shelf and takes the man’s hand. They continue puttering down the aisle in silence.

You begin to think you can live with being hungry. After a while, you get used to the feeling. You have eaten food you weren’t craving before, and while it fills you up, it doesn’t quite have that mouth-watering taste that satisfies.

You pass a teenage boy on your way to the cookie aisle. He grabs a bag of chocolate chip.

You stand in front of the Double Stuff Oreos. Have you found what you were looking for? You don’t normally eat Double Stuff Oreos. In fact, you had told yourself you would probably never eat them again—preferring the taste of Ginger Snaps.

You don’t want to pick up that blue and pink bag too fast. You picture yourself back in your apartment, slowly peeling open the wrapper, hearing the cookies shuffle against the plastic container. You don’t want to rush the experience. Each cookie has to be fully tasted and savored.

Should you buy them? Once you buy them, you will want to eat them all in one setting, but you know you shouldn’t, that you can’t.

Your fingers hover above the bag. They itch. Desire pulses through each tip.

Will you walk on? In your mind, you have already eaten each cookie, the gooey, gritty filling.

A young woman with long blonde hair, a stunning caramel tan, the body every woman would love to have rushes by you. You are still standing in the cloud of her sweet lilac perfume before you realize she grabbed a bag of Double Stuff Oreos. They must not be for her. She wears tight jeans and a halter top—no room for the luxury of cookies. She makes you feel frumpy, too pale, not fashionable enough—who are you to be buying these Oreos?

You recoil your hand. Sigh. You decide to go home, still hungry.

And, when you get home, you do a hundred sit-ups, ride your exercise bike. After a good sweat and long bath, you sit on the couch and smile.

You will buy those Oreos tomorrow.