Potentially You and Me (Two Truths and a Lie)

CHAPTER ONE: PEAS, NOODLES, CAKE MIX, AND DIGNITY

CHAPTER ONE: PEAS, NOODLES, CAKE MIX, AND DIGNITY

Peas, Peas, Peas. Where are the damn peas?

     There is just one thing that is missing from my life right now. After eighteen years on this earth, two weeks away from being confined to cement walls of a college dormitory three hours away from home, unsure if I'm entering a new phase of life like a reborn star or a mid-life crisis barely halfway through life, all I want is one lousy can of peas.

     Now I know what you're thinking, mid-life crisis it is. Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner in a pair of sweaty gym shorts and even sweater sneakers with even dirtier hair. Eighteen year old female standing in the middle of the aisle three on the verge of a completely anticlimactic mental breakdown over a can of peas.

     There's canned corn, canned carrots, canned yams, canned string beans, and yet no canned peas. The cans are all a mix of red, whites, and greens. All the different brands are blurring together into nothing coherent because none of them say the word peas.

     "Ow!" My hand flies up to my head. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that the culprit isn't a can of peas. I momentarily thought—hoped would be too much—someone saw me in the security cameras and took pity on me. Instead, a box of chocolate cake mix flew over the shelf and ping ponged its way down, smacking the top shelf, the top of my head, and the side of my shoulder, before now sitting on the floor beside my feet.

     I go to sidestep away from the suspicious box as another box comes flying over the shelf and smacks me in the shoulder. I almost want to say something but am still trying to decide if this is real or just a not-so-mid-life crisis induced hallucination. I also can't decide whether to rub my shoulder or my head. I would do both at the same time, but I've got a bag of egg noodles that are keeping my right hand compromised. I decide to just swipe up the vanilla cake mix off the floor instead.

     I glance around, looking for people and cameras, ideally John Quinones from What Would You Do?, but instead I get a front row seat to another red cake box flying over the shelf. Thankfully, it doesn't hit me this time, but instead lands with a resonating smack against the white linoleum floor. The maroon slice of cake on the front says that it's red velvet.

     "Dude! Wrong aisle!"

     A guy skirts into view at the other end of the aisle—literally—his sneakers squeak like hot rubber tires against the floor, I'm sure they left black scuff marks, before he jogs his way towards me. He's wearing the maroon polo that all the employees wear and light grey sweatpants. I want to turn around. I will myself to turn around and jog away in the opposite direction, but it's too late now.

     The guy stops in front of me, two cake boxes away, and sucks in a deep breathe through his nose, expanding his chest as far as it can go, before exhaling and adjusting to a more relaxed stance.

     "Sorry about that," he says, bending down to swipe up the red velvet box. "I was restocking the cake mix when my"—he pauses and leans in closer to the shelf—"idiot friend tossed them over the wrong shelf."

     A low grumble emits from the shelf which I guess means his friend heard him.

     "It's fine," I chirp as he bends down and picks up the chocolate cake mix. My lips clamp shut again though when he straightens back up, and I'm greeted by his bright green eyes.

     We stand there just staring at each other before he extends his hand out. My eyebrows furrow, but then my brain reminds me that I'm still holding the vanilla box. The egg noodles almost slip from my grasp, but I manage to tug both items closer to my chest.