We Were Just Girls, In Between the Apples and Tomatoes

I could recognize the mop of messy brown curls from anywhere. It bobbed in and out of view as I weaved my way through the crowd of people strolling through the produce section. As I neared her, I slowed down, my nerves suddenly getting the best of me as my palms began to grow clammy. She was by herself, a shopping basket tucked into the crook of her arm. Her head subtly bobbed in time to whatever she was listening to in her earbuds. Five years ago, I would have been able to guess the song that was playing. I don’t have the slightest clue now.

            Swallowing my nerves, I ambled up beside her, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. She turned, startled. Recognition lit across her face instantly, her lips turning upwards into a small smile. We both leaned in for a cordial hug. A quick squeeze, not lasting more than a couple of seconds. We weren’t allowed anything longer than that anymore.

            “Hey—”

            “How are –”

            We started simultaneously, letting our thoughts dissolve into awkward giggles.

            “You first,” I offered.

            “How have you been?” She asked, fidgeting with the end of a curl. The first time I met her, her mess of hair just reached the middle of her back. The last time I saw her, it was cut short, barely passing her shoulders. It was now long again, the way it was five years ago.

            “Good, good,” I smiled weakly. “I’ve just been working in the city since graduation. How, um, what about you? Didn’t you move back home?” She nodded and went on to summarize the past couple of months as if she was just catching me up after not seeing each other for a short while. We both knew this wasn’t the case. This conversation wasn’t like a Mad Lib, only filling in a couple of blanks to paint the whole picture. We were working with a blank slate. A college-ruled sheet of paper--full, empty lines that traced the timeline of a friendship that didn’t even make it to my 21st birthday.

            “… and I’m staying with a friend, just until Sunday. I fly back home Monday morning,” She finished saying. She adjusted the basket on her arm, switching it from the left to the right side.

            “Oh, nice! That sounds fun. It’s weird being back in the city, huh?” I hated this. It was the most painful small talk. Exchanging pleasantries as if I was just meeting her. Afraid to make eye contact, as if we once hadn’t told each other every secret we had. As if we once hadn’t sat on a bench at midnight, sobbing to each other because we knew our friendship had run its course. As if there wasn’t a point in our lives where people would ask us where the other was if we showed up alone. As if she hadn’t held me as I cried over a boy I don’t even remember, as if we hadn’t hit tennis balls at a football field goal at 1 AM just because we were both angry at the world.

            “Yeah, it definitely is,” She said. “Definitely weird. Um, I actually have to go, I’m meeting someone soon…” she trailed off, checking the time on her phone. It was new. Of course, it was new. It had been three years since I had last seen her, really. We used to get bored and trade phones, starting conversations with random people we didn’t know just for the fun of it. Once we got fed up with that, we would trade back and deal with the consequences of the unsolicited conversations with the respective contacts on our own devices.

            “Of course. Go, go,” I shooed my hand as if I were also in a rush to get someplace. She didn’t know that I was just taking a walk and happened to stumble into the grocery store because that’s where I often find myself wandering nowadays. Up and down each aisle, not looking to buy anything, but enjoying my music and watching strangers live their lives. It’s not something I did four years ago.

            She gave me a small wave and headed towards the cereal aisle. I stared at her retreating back, my hand still limply hovering in the air in what was a wave goodbye. A sour feeling filled my stomach. I knew what it was like to unexpectedly run into someone you weren’t prepared to see. An ex-partner leaves you reeling, rendering you nauseous for the rest of the day. You can’t think straight; all you want to do is kiss them. With her, it was less dread and more regret. I wanted to chase her down and tell her everything she missed. Hey, I ran my first half marathon. And my second, and my third. I fell in love. He broke my heart. I have a new favorite book, a new favorite song, a new favorite movie. Did you see what that person posted the other day? You would’ve laughed so hard.

            With a past lover, you know what went wrong. I could pinpoint the exact beginning and end of our story. With her, I can recall the moment we met with clarity like it happened minutes ago. But where we ended? Why we ended? It’s a fog. There were a couple of moments, and then more, and then there was this space between us and neither one of us could figure out how to navigate around or through it back to each other. With previous relationships, I would beg to go back because there were so many things I would do differently to try and fix us. With her, I don’t think there is anything I could have done to keep us. We can never go back, not really. I know that now. I tuck her into a shelf in the back of my mind and keep her there.

I check the time on my watch. 12:45 PM. Time to go back to work. With one last glance at the tangle of curly hair in the line for the register, I leave the grocery store.