A Storm
The damp, dreary night tagged along at Mia's heels as she rushed into the generic little grocery store that squatted against the raging snow storm. Midnight always struck the woman as the best time to shop; children were snug in their beds and not throwing tantrums in the aisles, the registers were clear, and crowds were rare at such a time, unless some highly anticipated sale was about to clean out the store's inventory. Mia shook the snow from her dark hair, reaching for a cart as her eyes distractedly glanced out into the foreboding darkness that was roiling outside. Her fingers clashed with a foreign set and, yelping, the young woman pulled her hand away, apologizing profusely as her gaze snapped to the stranger she had just touched.
In an instant, her stomach knotted as she recognized the man. It was a cracked, dusty recollection that had been shoved into the unreachable nooks of her synapses, but - like an embarrassing photograph that had been shoved into a drawer - it attracted her attention swiftly. Mia's feet guided her deeper into the store as her lips formed an emergency excuse to toss over her shoulder to the man. Mia only vaguely noted that the alibi had something to do with bad Mexican food and an urgent restroom visit.
With her face flushing a dark red and her heart quivering from adrenaline, Mia was almost tempted to run back into the snow storm. She had completely lost her appetite and the stale scents of packaged, processed food was starting to make her feel worse. Mia picked up a basket, cradling the handles into the crook of her arm, as she forced her feet to remain on a path through all the aisles. There was no reason to run away.
Wind howled around the supermarket, like the memories fighting to take up space in Mia's thoughts. The fluorescent lights buzzed in her ears, making her imagine it was the sound of suppressed feelings raking their claws against her brain, demanding entrance.
Mechanically, her fingers slid across the cold rows of boxes and cans, routinely picking items as some functioning part of her mind kept track of the mental grocery list. Yet, the memories were fierce in their need to be recognized. Colors and scents triggered scenes in Mia's head, trying to coax the woman into venturing back into time.
The curl of a cartoon’s grin on an rainbow box caught Mia's eye and in rushed the features of the man, his lips twisted into that familiar expression. Words floated about the woman's brain, "You're beautiful, Mia. Don't ruin it by cryin' like that. You kne-"
Forcefully, holding back a grunt of annoyance, Mia shook the words from her head before they could finished their rehearsed speech. It didn't stop the woman from knowing exactly what was uttered afterward and, in the inaudible whispers of the night stockers, the words teased painfully at her ears. "You knew me and her would get back together. You knew that a week ago, just as you knew it last night when we--"
The thunderous, staccato surge of hail rained down onto the grocery store. It shook the roof, causing the lights to sway sluggishly. Dust was shaken loose from the beams and loose screws rattled in the metal shelves. A jolt of fear caught Mia’s spine, just as she reached to snag a bottle of juice from the crowd of its comrades. Her treacherous hand, again, brought misfortune. The bottle toppled to the floor as Mia yelped and scrambled to catch it. It shattered into huge, thick chunks of glass, stained by the blood of pomegranate. The color that seeped onto the floor served as a memorial to past battle wounds from a night long ago; that night with him, that man, the stranger. Even when he left Mia, she had plenty of marks to send her guts into a frenzy of elation and queasiness.
Mia scurried away from the scene of the crime, fingers shaking in mortification, but she was thankful that the sound of the hail had drowned out the homicide of the bottle. Too bad the tattoo of ice on shingles couldn’t overpower the sweet, tangy miasma that hung in the aisle’s air. It was time to leave, decided the woman, before her feet dragged her into worse aisles where even more vivid recollections lurked.
As Mia stepped into line, a heaviness settled in her stomach and on the crook of her shoulders. Her gaze found its way to the windows, where the bright lights of the store seemed to highlight the diabolical, black air that barely dotted between the threads of falling snow and ice. The spiraling flakes whipped back and forth, victim to the bone-chilling gusts. It was on the verge of being a whiteout, which meant the sooner Mia left, the better.
Then, the lights sputtered. Mia jumped, the sudden flickering catching her perturbed mind off guard and into another customer. Her apology was cut short as she recognized the cologne, as the warmth of the body brought back familiar memories that made her stomach curdle. Swallowing heavily, Mia turned and looked up into the face of the stranger from earlier, wincing as he presented her with that sly smile that had haunted her daydreams years ago.
Static buzzed for a second, tossing Mia’s already frazzled thoughts into worse tatters, as the deep, tired voice of the Night Manager intoned, “Due to the severity of the storm, we cannot let anyone leave at the current time. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
The intercom clicked off and the wind screamed in the stunned, awkward silence that filled the store.
