So, I didn't have much money this morning, but I needed gas. I put in $5.00 worth and the LOW FUEL light didn't even go off. Thus, the quote of the day. I remember in college that gas was $1.00 per gallon--it took $13.00 to fill the old Cavelier Rally Sport. I told my students that once and they didn't believe me.
I had an amazing mother's day, but I will save that for another post after I get the pictures uploaded. All I'll say is this: the day started with bacon and ended with a movie ALL BY MYSELF! I highly reccommend "Getting Over Sarah Marshall," but considering that I haven't been to the movies in ages, I may reccommend anything. Seriously, it has some very funny lines. I'm sure I'll eventually quote from it.
For today, I am going to post something really random. I found a "flash fiction" story that I wrote back in February. I entered it in a Buffalo News contest (I didn't win), but no one has really read it. Enjoy. So, here it is:
Two Twenties, a Ten, and a Bag of Doritos
The Walgreen’s on the corner of Abbott and Ridge was silent except for the occasional cough and of course the annoying comment Anna had just heard from the girl in front of her. The silence made it seem even more surreal—the beginning of a bad joke, “It was Tuesday, after midnight, and an Indian guy, a young couple, and a big fat pregnant lady were waiting to get their prescriptions filled. . . ”
Anna’s husband was in the car with their daughter who was asleep in her car seat, contented to drift off to Dora the Explorer singing “We’ve Got the Beat.” He was irritated that three hours in a waiting room in excruciating pain yielded a diagnosis of constipation, with directions to “get this filled tonight and stay near a toilet.” Tom didn’t want to go in to the pharmacy in his Santa pajama bottoms. Anna wore a huge sweatshirt and stretch pants, not really flattering on anyone. For a woman in her third trimester who had already gained what amounted to a healthy 3-year-old—well, Anna thought, maybe I do look like a “big fat pregnant lady.”
The whole snippet was actually, “Can you believe it? There’s a big fat pregnant lady behind us!” She’d only heard this comment because the pharmacy was so quiet, and the girl was a good foot shorter than the Oafy guy she was with. They too were in pajamas. He had on flannel pants with cows on them. Her bottoms were fuzzy, a pattern Anna recognized as last year’s Old Navy. When Anna had moved to Buffalo from Philadelphia, she had admired Western New York’s unwritten rule that if one must travel out after 9 o’clock on a weeknight, then pajamas were socially acceptable.
The pharmacist was attempting to explain something to the Indian man. Finally, he smiled and walked away, though empty handed. Anna wondered if he was secretly a sociopath. This is what Anna did. She made up stories. This silence was grating and Muzak, even the acoustic version of Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror,” would have cured the pharmacy of the awkward social silence which made everyone seem like a voyeur or an exhibitionist. When you weren’t talking, you were listening. When you were talking, everyone else was listening.
“Next,” the pharmacist said, too loudly for the three people who were standing there. There was an annoying ringing sound. “Register’s out of tape. Just a second,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What a night.”
The couple stepped forward, careful avoiding Anna’s gaze. Anna, tired and irritated, was staring. The girl grabbed his hand. Finally, after huffing and sighing, the pharmacist looked up. The Oaf said, “We need a ‘Morning-After-Pill.’”
The pharmacist walked away without a word. The girl looked up at the Oaf and said, “It’s totally worth it, ya know?” He nodded.
“$44.17,” the pharmacist said. He took out two twenties and a ten. Anna, now downright rude, was watching with open interest. After four years of trying to get pregnant with Marissa, this was like a car wreck you couldn’t turn away from.
“You want to get some Doritos or something?” the Oaf asked as they walked away. He handed her the bag and pocketed the change.
Now that Anna was at the counter, she could see the dark circles under the pharmacist’s eyes and the dullness of her hair. “Long night, this one. Ya want my job sweetie?”
“Nope. Just this,” Anna said rubbing her belly gratefully, passing the woman her prescription.
The wisdom of Annie Dillard is what I have been working on lately--the quote. Every day seems to rush by, like the wind in my ears. I sometimes catch a song, sometimes a siren, sometimes a baby crying, sometimes laughter. So, if I simply give over to each day, I will increase the odds of hearing something good instead of an empty whistle as I try to catch the wind. 
