Literary Safari

It’s been almost a month since I posted here. Yikes. I’m ashamed and want to hide under my desk. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t been writing (or reading) though. There’s a list of books I have to blog/review – all are upcoming in the next few days. I’ve also been doing some writing. I started a children’s story about an elephant during a long conference call. It’s coming along nicely.

There’s also this freewrite that I did a few days ago after buying a jar of bruschetta. Umm.. it’s probably not going to go anywhere, but it’s nice to be able to post it here and say to myself, “Let’s see if I can go back to this in a few weeks and decide if it makes any sense.”

Comments and criticism (including “this is awfully cliched”) are most welcome!

Here goes:

Bruschetta

Stacks of bruschetta cans line the shelves of Frank’s Market where Pauline shops everyday. She pauses in the middle of the crowded aisle with her full-size shopping cart and stares up at the glistening glass jars, wondering how to pick a single flavor that would appeal to hear. Basil, Meditteranean, Original, Spicy Arabiata, Truffle. The choices are too many.

She moves on.

It’s like this more often than not for Pauline, ever since she moved to New York City. At first, it was great to have so many options to choose from. Her taste buds were on fire. She was never lacking in choices. But very soon, everything was an effort, a choice, an act of discernment.

Pauline is tired. She doesn’t want to have to pick anymore between starched or pressed clothes, between organic and low-sodium black beans, between whole wheat organic or farmer’s artisan wheat loaves. She would never admit this to Ross, but sometimes she dreams of plain, packaged white bread, the kind that is so soft you can mold it into animal shapes.

Ross. He is enamored by Pauline–the country girl who has turned city slicker, that’s what he calls her. He is riveted by her red hair and gourmet taste, her green thumb, and her gourmet cooking. When he first met her, he was taken by the freckles on her nose. She was wearing a moss green suit and her hair was tied back into a low ponytail. Her shoelaces were untied and she was hunched over on the subway, nursing painful cramps.

Ross was just getting off a 12-hour shift at St.Luke’s. He noticed the way she crinkled up her freckled nose, the tight fist she was making, and the Balducci’s bag at her feet.

“You OK Miss?”

She nodded, grimacing and smiling at the same time. She noticed his scrubs and in her head, she heard the voice of her great aunt Molly. “Never turn down the help of a doctor, especially if he’s handsome.” Pauline never meant to take her great aunt’s advice, but in a moment of weakness, she did.

“Just a bit of pain, I’ll be OK,” she said.

Ross sat down next to her and when the subway rumbled to its next stop, he offered to carry her bag and got off the train with her. “I’ll walk you out,” he said.

The two of them walked in silence, glancing at one another when the other wasn’t looking. Pauline checked quickly for a wedding band. None, she was relieved to find. Ross peeked into her shopping bag: truffles, arugula, parmesan, and risotto. His stomach rumbled for a good homecooked meal and a chance to stare at those freckles for a few more minutes. They reminded him of his sixth grade crush, Rachel Cook, how her freckles showed up more on cloudy days.

Pauline forgot about her pain momentarily when she looked down at Ross’s hands and saw his finely cut fingernails and his running shoes. He kept pace with her steps and when she looked up, she found herself staring into his pale gray eyes. They were kind.
It’s odd, looking back, that they hadn’t exchanged names yet. Just bits of personal information about themselves and their little likes. That’s how relationships begin, you could say – with the small things.

PART II

Pauline stacks her polenta, kalamata olives, parmesan cheese, and plum tomatoes on the checkout slide. The cashier barely looks up at her as she scans the SKUs and rings up the items.

“How are you doing today?” Pauline tries to start a conversation.

“Who? Me?” the cashier looks up with suprise. She’s young and pretty in a babyish sort of way. Her cheeks are round and plum like and her eyes curve upwards with curiosity. “I’m allright I guess. Long day today. Everyone’s coming by after the Medieval Festival looking for pumpkin muffins.”

“Ah ha.” Pauline says. “Those any good?”

“They’re not too bad,” the girl smiles. Her name tag reads Tess. “I’m a fan of pistachio myself. But whatever floats your boat. You want to get another jar of olives? We’re having a 2 for 1 special tonight.”

“Nah, I’m OK.”

“No problemo. That’ll be $18.25.” The girl starts bagging the groceries.

Pauline hands over the cash and walks out of the store into the crunchy fall air. …

To be continued?