cultivated peace. @jpinkmanbtch
She should stop believing in ghosts.
The boy strayed, faded in and out of aisles—someone had loosened the lad from his moorings, and he was paying for it. No clear association attached with another within the store. Setting foot in Albertsons an hour prior, spotting the baby faced boy struggling to maintain concentration upon a pack of—what were they called?—chips, without the impulse to slump against shelving. Quite the specific nuance—signs of peril. A mother knows. An hour onwards, he’d kept himself on the move. Turning into Tea & Coffee, dickering between two blends of Twinings and attracting more attention than the boy, was one of the main characters of this story.
Pale faced, alert eyes of faded, haunting grey searching her neatly written shopping list for more goods—damask pink notepaper caught in one hand, marking off items using a rosehead topped fountain pen. Reaching Baked Goods and Pastries, Jennifer Pennyfortune felt more sure of herself in this open ended aisle than she did in Tea & Coffee mere moments ago. What tended to happen in public spaces, Jennifer surmised, was that one either gained stares of bashful admiration—the kind of attention people give celebrities but are too shy to approach the celeb themselves, thinking they’re too terrified of one on one attention to say anything—or stares of grave concern, like watching a diseased tree that could be felled any day now.
She received the contradictory mixture, both showered upon her. But now most of the gawpers had buggered off. Gracefully turned out and taking a day off from leopard print, the lioness gave her Laura Ashley dress a grateful turn on her willowy figure. Looking dingy on some women, perhaps. Upon Jennifer’s slim, broad shouldered frame, it seemed to cheer up. It was an innocent looking thing, as was Jennifer at present.
Violet top and mauve-blue skirt, a large wide collar lay open and white, matching violet bow sewn underneath. In all of her typical Leo fashion, her ego was satisfied by the outfit befitting the activity—selecting freshly baked cobs in clothing appropriate for a local village girl. Yes, she may look on the side of unwell and slightly pale, expertly applied makeup hiding the true nature of her mixed vitiligo—but the woman’s alarming size gave her the strength of an ox, by comparison. Always give people what they expect to see. Folding the crossed off list into three parts and pushing her cart full of goodies towards the friendliest looking checkout person, a rattling metal thunk interrupted the flow.
Stepping back, cart halting and Jennifer confidently addressing the brown haired beanie boy.
“Well, well...” Jen murmured in ill disguised awe, “Young man, you have a talent for locating Amazon women in supermarkets.” She fought back the urge to run a hand over his sweet face, eyes deadened from something gripping his wellbeing. “Are you very lost..?” It was gently put.
“I’ve placed some iced cream sandwiches in here.” Jen offered, “If you’re so very hungry.” A sympathetic coo to her voice.
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