The flash of light fades and fuzzy outlines become shapes and colors. Finally! 1000x in front of the Ocular and I still think it’s SO slow!
Okay, now I can see a checkout line. I look for her. So many adults! I wanna tell ‘em, “None of y’all have any idea what it’s really like here, even when you dream about it. Found her! She’s reading a Marie Claire between a tall man with his baby and a bored woman in a suit.
“That’s such an old-person magazine!” But she loves it. I touch the lens as she sets it down and shuffles forward, mumbling. I can’t see her basket but it’s probably the usual: almonds and white peaches. She’d always tell me Cleopatra ate them. She didn’t.
A group of teenagers, ahead of her, go to pay and she takes her time movin’ up, playing with her nose. But a scratch doesn’t fix the itch, so right there in the aisle, she stops and stabs her index finger straight up her nose!
“What?!”
A kid my age, one lane over, is hypnotized. His mother acts like she doesn’t notice. I laugh and slap the glass. One finger’s not doin’ it though. She’s goin’ all up in there now! The usual nail dig with a twist; nope, it’s a head-tilt to get some leverage and she’s scraping away mining those boogers! I’m dying, laughing.
Annoyed, she snorts. The thing is lodged up hard! She bends over and huffs out through her nose for some wind help. Now EVERYONE is looking! The man in front pushes forward to get away and the face of the woman behind her is half-horror, half-confusion. The fascinated kid knocks over everything on the aisle barrier – he’s not missin’ a thing!
With a whoop, she stands straight and smiles, not carin’ a lick about the people who’ll be talking all about “the crazy-old-black-woman at Whole Foods” later. She wipes her hand on her pants, closes her eyes and takes a deep, clear breath.
When she opens them she’s looking right at me! I fall back, but then she looks away, messing with her basket. She pulls out a handful of almonds and pops ‘em in her mouth. She looks so happy. They call her number just as the Ocular starts to close. I sigh, running my fingers across the lens, and say, “Bye, Nana. I’ll see you soon.”