by Julia Newman
I wish I could sit down right here. Would that be so weird? In the middle of the aisle, right here? All cozy and cross-legged in front the day old cakes, the Pepperidge Farm display, and the peanut butter. Back against the freezer, that nice cool door separating me from my friend Carvel.
Except it’s not all cozy. I’m actually freaking out, that’s why I need to sit. I can’t handle it. I want peanut butter. I want day old cakes. Oh, and I definitely want Carvel.
It’s in the basket. It’s back on the shelf.
I‘m reaching. I’m grabbing. I’m putting it down. I’m picking it up.
Smooth little jar fits right in my palm. Just grab it and go. Jesus Christ, just put in the cart and get out of here.
See? See why I want to just sit. Actually I want to spread eagle right here on these sleazy tiles. Not even tiles. Gritty, dirty linoleum. Spread eagle like I’m a kid in snow making an angel.
God, help me. God, up there in those florescent tube lights. Up there in those sagging ceiling panels. God, get me out of this. What is wrong with me?! Get me out of here. God, up there…
No, really: see me home, God. Please, see me home. God, up there…
Julia Newman is student of creative fiction and non fiction. She lives on the North Shore of Massachusetts, where she is devoted to writing, dancing, and learning. She is also training to be a Yoga Dance Instructor, a new and anxiety-provoking project.