Still Water

Welcome Back, Old Timer

The red brick houses had not changed since last June, still vibrant and solid against the overcast sky. Astrid let her fingers linger against the cool glass of the storefronts she passed. Under the hooded gaze of the dawn, Portland was still, and the young girl was engulfed by the feeling one gets when entering a church after-hours. Her skin prickled with anxiety. She felt as if she were an intruder in this private place but could not resist the force that drew her further down Main Street. Astrid had missed the sleepy town and her lips curved upwards at the thought of being reacquainted with it.

Gene's Grocery Store flickered to life down the street, signaling that it was exactly 6:30 A.M.. The store's door opened with a jingle and Gene himself flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open". She was right on schedule.

"Mornin', Gene," Astrid greeted, shattering the silence. A croak replaced her usual slight southern twang. It had been a while since she'd spoken to anyone...well, out loud anyway. Gene turned to face the voice, recognizing its owner and grinning fondly.

"Welcome back, Old Timer," Gene chuckled, holding the door open in an invitation. Astrid tucked her chestnut waves behind her ears bashfully and entered. "You and your folks get in late last night?" Gene asked from behind the counter, "If Mags was awake, I'm sure she would've rounded up half the town to welcome you.". The seventeen-year-old sighed. Her dirty, white converse carried her across the checkered tile towards the shopping baskets. The kind, old man was her grandfather's best friend growing up and later grew to be one of Astrid's. Gene Buckley was family.

"It's just me this time, Gene," Astrid murmured, picking at an old scab on her wrist. A frown creased the white-haired man's face as he came around the counter and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The warmth that seeped through her blue cotton tee shirt brought her momentary comfort. Astrid raised her eyes to meet Gene's blue ones, reflecting the sadness that she felt. She could tell he, too, was wishing her parents weren't so flighty.

In that moment, she noticed that Gene, much like the town, remained almost the same. While most men and women shrunk with age, Gene seemed to have grown. He still towered over her, and she wondered if he seemed mountainous to girls who were above average height. Gene had remarkable posture, his head up and his broad shoulders pushed back. His short hair was a little finer and his laugh lines had only grown deeper since last August.

Though Gene was about seventy, his spirit was years younger. The old man's eyes still lit up with joy and curiosity at the world and he could always put a smile on her face. His jokes were awful, but he told them with such enthusiasm. Astrid could never help but laugh along; she wished that he had a joke for her now.

Giving her shoulder a firm squeeze, Gene pulled the girl out of her thoughts. "Remember, Grampa Gene is always gonna be right here if you need him, kiddo," the older man reassured, before leaving Astrid to do her shopping.

Astrid had memorized the layout of the grocery store when she was seven years old. Every break from school, her parents would ship her off to the coastal town to spend some "quality time" with her grandparents. Astrid's parents made a habit of visiting for the token holidays like Christmas. Otherwise, they did not make an impressive effort to spend time with their daughter. The young girl spent her summers clinging to Nan's side and playing with other kids in Portland's suburban bubble.

Astrid lingered for a few moments in the produce aisle before making her way through the rest of the aisles. If there was one thing she learned growing up, it was never to show up to someone's home empty-handed. Her Nan loved blackberry cobbler, and when Nan found out that she arrived last night, she was going to need that sugary barrier to save her.

She gathered her dry ingredients—sugar and self-rising flour—and was about to move towards the dairy section when she noticed a woman staring hopelessly at rows of spices. She must be new here, Astrid thought. Giving the raven-haired woman's shoulder a gentle tap, Astrid offered a hand.

"Need some help?" The teenager questioned in a clear voice. The woman jumped at the contact, not realizing someone had been behind her and whirling around in confusion. Astrid gave a sheepish smile. She was strikingly gorgeous as well, the brunette noted. "Sorry about that. I promise I didn't mean to startle you. You looked like you could use some help. Are you looking for a specific spice?" She extended the offer for assistance once again.

The stranger composed herself and replied, "Nutmeg." Astrid knew exactly where the nutmeg was, her eyes flitting to the top shelf a couple of feet away. There was only one slight problem: she was way too short to reach it without a step stool. After eyeing the woman up and down, she assessed that the woman wouldn't be able to reach it either. Astrid resolved not to make a fool out of herself, deciding, fuck it.

She gestured towards the woman's empty shopping basket with confidence, asking, "Can I borrow this for a second?" Despite her confusion, the black-haired beauty handed the basket over to Astrid without a word. The short girl placed it on the floor a few feet away and unashamedly used it to boost her up high enough to reach the nutmeg. Tossing the plastic bottle down to the woman, Astrid exclaimed: "Cumin right at ya'!" 

Astrid jumped off the basket before retrieving it from the floor and returning it to its owner, with a smile. Before the young woman could thank her, Astrid said, "I'm Astrid. Gimme a holler if you need help with anything else. Gene won't mind ya' shouting, but if that's not your style, I'll be down over in dairy for a bit. It's no trouble at all, so please don't be shy about it."

The woman stood shocked as a very pleased Astrid made her way to the refrigerated cases of milk. The brunette didn't make a habit of going out of her way to help strangers. However, she remembered the culture shock of her earlier visits to Portland and took pity on the woman. It was nothing like Houston, though it still had the same amenities and entertainment. She could use a friend.

After finding the coldest carton of whole milk and a satisfactory butter, Astrid lingered an extra ten minutes. The teen would never admit it, but she hoped that the mysterious stranger would seek her out. Oh well, she sighed and meandered back to the front of the store. 

Gene waited for her at the counter with an expectant look on his face. Gesturing towards the rows of aisles with her thumb, Astrid leaned over the counter to whisper in Gene's ear, "She's new in town, and she might be too embarrassed to ask for help." The old man nodded in understanding and then proceeded to take her basket.

Gene eyed the contents knowingly. "Someone's in trouble," he whistled. "If I don't get a piece of that cobbler, I'm going to have to assume Mags is keeping you hostage. I'm warning you, Astrid. I will storm that colonial, guns blazing." The teen gave the old man a playful punch on the shoulder and paid for the groceries.

"Swing by later, Old Man. I always save you a piece!" Astrid called over her shoulder as she walked towards the door.

The door jingled as it shut and Gene shook his head, murmuring, "That you do, Old Timer, that you do."