HomeAn Astonishing Reverie
by Robert Green
Lea was a high strung, excitable, fastidious character.
Saturday was market day. I accompanied her as she hurriedly boarded the downtown bus, which to her chagrin, was rarely on time. Armed with two doubled-up brown paper shopping bags tucked under one arm, she carried her favourite black purse in the other. Her free hand clutched the bus tickets which she quickly deposited before we took ours seats.
She wore her black felt hat and veil, even though my grampa had died several years ago. The hat, slightly tilted to the right and securely fastened with a long silver hat pin, gave her a jaunty, stylish look without drawing too much attention to herself. Her quick light grey eyes peered through small wire rimmed spectacles. She was in her mid sixties yet had a disarming youthfulness about her. An air of haughtiness and self assurance gave her a commanding presence.
She walked about the market stalls as if inspecting a column of troops. Her bearing told the rabble she was above the fray. She was a lady not to be trifled with, despite her small stature of 5 feet 2 inches, even in her black oxfords and their slight heel.
Mike, the potato man, as she liked to call him, smiled as she approached.
"Hello Mrs. Green, how are you today?” She smiled acknowledging his greeting without saying a word.
“I have some new Sebago’s here for you to see…I know you like these potatoes best of all.”
She carefully inspected a few for blemishes, then looked right at him.
“They’re awfully small Mike. Do you have some bigger ones? I’m not paying these prices for small potatoes.”
“Yes Mrs. Green, I find you some big ones like you like. You come back in a little while, I have them for you, OK?”
She gave him that “knowing” smile, and with a slight tilt of her head backward she continued on, saying as she walked along, “I’ll pass by on my way home.”
I heard her mutter to herself as we walked on, “Mon Dieu. You’d think after all this time in this country that man could speak proper English.”
Mrs. Brown, the “egg lady” dispensed her wares out of the trunk of her blue Chevrolet. She was a stout farm girl, with thick brown hair and a ruddy complexion from countless hours in the wind and sun. Her hazel eyes and dark eyebrows seemed to pop out of her round face. A red and white plaid automobile blanket was draped over her like a shawl with its long thick fringes dragging on the ground. She greeted folks with a broad friendly grin, displaying a full set of fake looking white teeth.
“Well Mrs. Green, nice to see you again. How are you?”
“Fine thank you. I’m looking for some of your large brown eggs.”
She carefully moved several eggs gently in their flats making sure none were broken or stuck to the cardboard. Satisfied, she selected the appropriate flat, watching as Mrs. Brown carefully deposited each egg into a separate bag and gently laid it on top of her groceries for safe transport.
I opened my eyes. The pillow was damp. I lay there in a cold sweat.
It took a minute, but then it dawned on me I wasn’t 5-years-old holding my grandmother’s hand at the market.
The End
ROBERT GREEN: of nonfiction articles and stories in national and regional newspapers Fiction. Parenthoodstories.com, A Motherhood Adventure; CommuterLit.com “A Mother’s Pact” and “Drastic Decision.” Contact Robert.
