I forgot Ivan's lunch today.
I asked him if there was any way for him to get some food at school. He assured me that he misses his lunch regularly. He assured me that it was no big deal.
I thought nothing of letting him make it through the day. It has to do with how I was raised. I felt bad, but I understood his manning up.
On the phone, Susannah suggested I go to a store and buy him something. It was completely novel. I hadn't considered such a thing.
I went to the Quick Mart and picked up roasted peanuts, string cheese, a turkey club sandwich and a bag of Whoppers. It was a lunch I would have killed for if I was just barely 10.
In the line up for the register were two people. One mumbled his gas pump number. The attendent asked if it was pump 4 or pump 1. There was another mumble.
"I guess he means pump 1." The attendent said to himself as the man left.
The next customer had my eye. She was wearing her silk red pajamas, had a white, polyester robe half-open and was wearing furry slippers. Her hair was completely destroyed and medusalike. Several dye jobs were apparent from the exposure of her roots. She was hefty and she was buxom, yet there was nothing pleasant about her spilling breasts.
I stepped to the right slightly to opserve her profile from behind. Her make-up was caked and worn. Her mascara was blackened. I would suspect that she was in her mid-forties.
She purchased an energy drink and a pack of Newports.
As the clerk scanned Ivan's substitute lunch with a wand that looked like a broken stapler I watched her get into a spotless 2008 Lexus.