Deadly Market

Finally, Sunday had arrived—a day set aside for my chores and Jesus. I had an hour to get groceries from Trader Joes, my favorite store. Even though I had no good reason to be in a rush, I yearned to be anywhere else today. One of the undesirable traits that I inherited from my father was that I lacked patience. I hurried out the door, giving my best friend less pets than they deserved, 

“I will see you later Remi.” 

 I climbed out of my warm Cheyannne and swung my purse over my shoulder like a walk out scene in legally blonde. “Run better run, faster than my bullet, all the other kids with the pumped up kicks...”  I threw my shades on as a shield from the sun to see the overgrown pumpkins on the sidewalk outfront. I was reminded of how much I loved fall. Aisle 18 is where my top item brought me. I grabbed my mounster cheese and carelessly dropped it into my germy Trader Joe's branded basket. Onto item number two. While walking, I saw a young child running at me, I smiled as he latched his arms around the bottom of my legs. He was a cute little thing, and must have thought I was “Mom”. Looking over my shoulder, there was a lady like me, not in crop jeans but a similar mustard toned shirt layed on her shoulders. Odd to be dressed the same as me, but incredibly ironic that he missed his Mom by one alike looking shopper. After removing his ear from his incoming call pinned by his shoulder to his head, his father insisted sharply, 

“Kogen let go of her!” 

It was cute, I laughed as the no more than two year old looked up at me with smiling eyes, which quickly turned to confused ones. I smiled and continued on my time-tabled shopping visit. 

The deli section was unusually busy as there were one less than five, somber dressed unfemalistic looking people, conversing swiftly around a well stocked section of salami. As I politely cut in to grab my protein for the week, I heard conversation regarding them being behind schedule. Those are the words that resonated with me, because I felt the same way. I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to head all the way to the rear of the store where the dog food was. Dependent on time, this was the last thing I budgeted for. Out of nowhere, just as I was deciphering between which beef was least fake out of Purina and Blue Diamond, my ears were invaded with gunshots, and screaming, instantly I knew what was surpressing me. As I stopped breathing and then resumed again, the air was thick with guilt and lead. I struggled to breathe. Rounds rang out, as did innnocent-pitched screaming voices. As my heart turned, flipped and seemingly exploded in my chest, I simultaneously let go of my basket and flung out the red EMERGENCY EXIT stamped doors. To my surprise, the doors pierced my car with tauntfull eagle eyes. I sprinted what felt like the longest 18 steps, fearful of a metal cylinder entering that soft spot under the back of my skull. I could have eluminated in a Jason Bourne episode the way I danced across the broken, backwoods grocery store blacktop, reality circled back in fast motion, as I hopped in the back of my Cheyenne in an attempt to stay hidden from my surroundings. Right as I settled in next to my mudcovered muck boots on the floor of my truck, I woke to the sound of my Dad throwing up. A dream, I woke up panting, questioning my entire existence and how society has taken a few too many turns for the worse. We can’t rely on police officers alone for our safety in public anymore. We have to look out for ourselves. Relief flooded over me as I wasn’t on the backseat floor of my dirty, memory-filled farm truck, fleeing from a relentless air-born pack of lead. Rather, I was in my warm bed, safe from our downspiraling society.