Stopping for Milk...

Billy and I had our 2nd go-around at starting a writer's group yesterday. We're both fed up with our inability to focus on writing. I don't know why we call ourself a group since it's just 2 of us...but we hope to recruit more hopefuls into our circle. Matt is eager to join us. However, I must inform him that he has to fill out an application, which must be approved by the board before admittance. ;)

Last night's excercise consisted of a 10 minutes of writing. The story had to begin with the phrase, "I don't remember..." After the 10 minutes, I left him with the assignment of perfecting the story for our next session. The following is my feeble attempt....

Stopping for Milk

"I don't remember if Maggie wanted me to pick up 2% milk or skim milk," I thought as I stood staring blankly at the rows of various kinds of milk in the dairy section. They called the store Quickie Mart, but there was nothing quick about my shopping trips, which typically consisted of 30 minutes spent trying to remember what I was supposed to pick up and another 30 minutes standing in line. Luckily, it was late, and the store was empty at the moment except for me and the clerk. So, if I could just remember what kind of damn milk to buy, I knew I could get out quickly for once.

If I called Maggie to ask her, she'd start nagging about how I never pay attention to her. I don't know why she always said this. It was certainly not true. I listened to all the important things she said, like "we're having steaks tonight." It was the unimportant things I didn't comprehend correctly, like "take the trash out." Isn't that what happens naturally after 13 years of marriage? You begin to filter through what your spouse says in order to retain the important and forget all the rest.

Maggie had a way of nagging that surpassed the way my mother used to nag my poor dad. I didn't think any woman on earth could have a more annoying tone of voice than my mother, until Maggie and I got married, that is. It's not like we weren't happy. We were. It's just that coping with the challenges of living with each other forever and raising children became more important than loving each other.

I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket and began to dial. The phone rang once, and I quickly hung up. I just couldn't bear the thought of having this argument again. I decided to grab the gallon of 2 % milk. Seriously, what was the difference anyway? One was more watery than the other? If so, she could just add more water to the 2% and call it a day. As I reached for the milk, I could feel a surge of cold penetrate through my skin and send shivers down my spine. But, it wasn't the coolness of the gallon of milk that had this affect on me. It was the sting from the cold of the barrel of the gun that was pressing against my temple.

I had been so lost in thought about stupid milk and my faux functional marriage that I didn't hear the commotion at the front of the store. I guess I had really learned to tune out the things I didn't want to hear because I never heard the man in the tan over coat and masked face urge the cashier for the contents of the register as he nudged a gun to his forehead. The young cashier was then thwacked in the head with the butt of the gun after refusing to oblige the masked man's wishes. Even the thud of his limp body hitting the floor didn't register in my mind and alarm me to the danger.

In fact, it wasn't until the exact moment when I felt the barrel of the gun against my flesh that I became fully of aware of the presence of danger. From that moment on, every sense was awakened. I could smell the stench of sweat and alcohol, feel the pressure of his arm around my neck, and hear the sobs of the young cashier as he writhed in pain. It was as if this moment in time forced me out of my mundane, lackluster existence and forced me back into life. Suddenly, all I could think about was going home. I wanted to hold my wife in my arms and take in the scent of perfume in her hair. I wanted to feel her fingertips gingerly caress my back. I wanted to love her, not just cope with living our day to day life and raising our kids.

My ears were filled with a sound sharp sound. As my body fell to the ground and I took in a final breath, I remembered that Maggie asked me to bring home skimmed milk.