Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Friends / Friendship
- Published: 07/09/2017
Fifteen minutes.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesShe continued to stack the salad boxes in their neatly assigned: “Organic Only” racks. Occasionally she would look up to smile at a customer, check her phone, or respond to a Manager’s request, or continue checking items for expiration dates. An ordinary girl, doing an ordinary job (but doing it well, and with quick precise steps) in an ordinary store. Nothing extraordinary at all. Except for him.
He walked in the mind boggling heat. The Amazon -it appeared- had decided to take root (at least for this summer) in a tiny little hamlet in the Carolina’s, or maybe all of the Carolina’s. For he heard many folks complaining about the heat and humidity. He even looked it up on the computer- and what they said was correct: “If you combine the air temperature with the humidity factor, it feels much hotter than the dry heat of dry air.” That is for sure. Your sweat didn’t dry out, or cool you down, no sir, it just lay there on your skin with as little desire to move as you yourself have in this heat and humidity. It wants to go indoors and cool off, warning you that you probably should too.
The Wet Bulb Temperature (which is the combination of the air temperature and the humidity into a number) is (once again) well over 100 degrees; and ninety degrees on the Wet Bulb measure is enough to stop the Military from training troops outdoors. 109 degree Wet Bulb was not enough to stop him from his walk to the grocery store. Only lightening could stop him from walking there. Why? Because she was at the grocery store.
At first glance, you would not be able to discern why she waited, and he walked. After all, she is tall, willowy, young…and he…is not. He is short, fat, bald and old. Hardly what one would consider fertile ground for a friendship that was more than that, but less than True Love, but not by much. Her whole future was in front of her, his past was longer than her future was likely to be. If she lived another five decades, she would still not cover the time he had already lived. Time, it would seem, was not their ally. But it was.
Fifteen minutes. That is all the time they had together. Any longer and her work would not be done well, not to mention her job might be forfeit. Fifteen minutes, for him, was about as long as he could talk with her, before he might say something stupid, or run out of things to ask about. It was a compact fifteen minutes. It held time to hold hands, for hers were always cold from the freezer and handling wet vegetables, while his hands were always warm, because, well, he always was. So their hands first met to provide a service- warmth.
Eventually, their hands found each others even when that service wasn’t needed. Their hands just kind of slipped around each other, pressing, folding, gripping, sliding, almost like children playing a park, as the adults watching nearby would glance over hardly noticing the games being played, but certain everything was okay. Their hands were like that, playing comfortably so as not to distract from the fifteen minutes of conversation. Once in a while, one or the other would glance down and notice that their hands were entwined, a smile would shyly acknowledge the privilege while the eyes shifted back to getting their fill of the other.
After a few months, if they stood too far apart while talking, his hands, or her hands, would dangle impatiently, frustrated, unable to understand why their playmates weren’t coming over to their yard. It was as if their hands would tug at them to come closer- so they could clasp an old friend- and they did.
Within a year the hands were allowed to play every time they met, but not longer than fifteen minutes. It was fine. After fifteen minutes, the hands, like the people attached to them, were ready to slip back into the rest of the day. Satisfied. Complete. Happy.
The girl often looked up to check and see if he had come in the store. She liked seeing him. He always supported her dreams. He listened well. He made her laugh. He made sure she understood that the world was a better place because of her. He meant it. She knew it. It made her believe in herself. On bad days, she knew she could tell him her fears, her hopes, or her troubles- with no walls, no hesitation, and best of all, no judgment or malice. He would take all that she could vent, make it go away in a wisp of friendship releasing her inner turmoil freeing her good nature, good cheer, and good mood.
He would look to see if she was working out front, or in the back. Just seeing her wave back- made his inner child show a drawing that he knew would hang on her fridge. He was safe talking with her. He could blurt out his thoughts, no filter necessary. He could tell her about feelings, emotions, events, without censuring the thoughts, or examining their impact. She was patient with him, and it made her smile to make him laugh. He wasn’t shy around her at all. For fifteen minutes, only she existed in his world- and for fifteen minutes, he took her out of her world - without even leaving the store. They never asked each other for more time, for fifteen minutes is all they needed of each other.
A couple of years after they first met, it dawned on them- they were friends. True Friends. They had separate full lives, she had her Fiancé, and he -his wife. Those were the pillars of Love that sustained them in real time. Their fifteen minutes was more akin to a Vitamin... like Vitamin C- where you need just that specific vitamin to stop from having scurvy. Well, they needed fifteen minutes of each other to stave off any melancholy thoughts, the wounds of a bad day, or the nicks and dings of a full time relationship.
They ended their talks with a hug, a smile, and gratitude for the break in routine.
She turned back to her work, with a little song hummed gently in her throat, her day a little nicer.
He left the store with a youthful skip in his step, his day a little nicer.
They had fifteen minutes.
It was enough.
Fifteen minutes.(Kevin Hughes)
She continued to stack the salad boxes in their neatly assigned: “Organic Only” racks. Occasionally she would look up to smile at a customer, check her phone, or respond to a Manager’s request, or continue checking items for expiration dates. An ordinary girl, doing an ordinary job (but doing it well, and with quick precise steps) in an ordinary store. Nothing extraordinary at all. Except for him.
He walked in the mind boggling heat. The Amazon -it appeared- had decided to take root (at least for this summer) in a tiny little hamlet in the Carolina’s, or maybe all of the Carolina’s. For he heard many folks complaining about the heat and humidity. He even looked it up on the computer- and what they said was correct: “If you combine the air temperature with the humidity factor, it feels much hotter than the dry heat of dry air.” That is for sure. Your sweat didn’t dry out, or cool you down, no sir, it just lay there on your skin with as little desire to move as you yourself have in this heat and humidity. It wants to go indoors and cool off, warning you that you probably should too.
The Wet Bulb Temperature (which is the combination of the air temperature and the humidity into a number) is (once again) well over 100 degrees; and ninety degrees on the Wet Bulb measure is enough to stop the Military from training troops outdoors. 109 degree Wet Bulb was not enough to stop him from his walk to the grocery store. Only lightening could stop him from walking there. Why? Because she was at the grocery store.
At first glance, you would not be able to discern why she waited, and he walked. After all, she is tall, willowy, young…and he…is not. He is short, fat, bald and old. Hardly what one would consider fertile ground for a friendship that was more than that, but less than True Love, but not by much. Her whole future was in front of her, his past was longer than her future was likely to be. If she lived another five decades, she would still not cover the time he had already lived. Time, it would seem, was not their ally. But it was.
Fifteen minutes. That is all the time they had together. Any longer and her work would not be done well, not to mention her job might be forfeit. Fifteen minutes, for him, was about as long as he could talk with her, before he might say something stupid, or run out of things to ask about. It was a compact fifteen minutes. It held time to hold hands, for hers were always cold from the freezer and handling wet vegetables, while his hands were always warm, because, well, he always was. So their hands first met to provide a service- warmth.
Eventually, their hands found each others even when that service wasn’t needed. Their hands just kind of slipped around each other, pressing, folding, gripping, sliding, almost like children playing a park, as the adults watching nearby would glance over hardly noticing the games being played, but certain everything was okay. Their hands were like that, playing comfortably so as not to distract from the fifteen minutes of conversation. Once in a while, one or the other would glance down and notice that their hands were entwined, a smile would shyly acknowledge the privilege while the eyes shifted back to getting their fill of the other.
After a few months, if they stood too far apart while talking, his hands, or her hands, would dangle impatiently, frustrated, unable to understand why their playmates weren’t coming over to their yard. It was as if their hands would tug at them to come closer- so they could clasp an old friend- and they did.
Within a year the hands were allowed to play every time they met, but not longer than fifteen minutes. It was fine. After fifteen minutes, the hands, like the people attached to them, were ready to slip back into the rest of the day. Satisfied. Complete. Happy.
The girl often looked up to check and see if he had come in the store. She liked seeing him. He always supported her dreams. He listened well. He made her laugh. He made sure she understood that the world was a better place because of her. He meant it. She knew it. It made her believe in herself. On bad days, she knew she could tell him her fears, her hopes, or her troubles- with no walls, no hesitation, and best of all, no judgment or malice. He would take all that she could vent, make it go away in a wisp of friendship releasing her inner turmoil freeing her good nature, good cheer, and good mood.
He would look to see if she was working out front, or in the back. Just seeing her wave back- made his inner child show a drawing that he knew would hang on her fridge. He was safe talking with her. He could blurt out his thoughts, no filter necessary. He could tell her about feelings, emotions, events, without censuring the thoughts, or examining their impact. She was patient with him, and it made her smile to make him laugh. He wasn’t shy around her at all. For fifteen minutes, only she existed in his world- and for fifteen minutes, he took her out of her world - without even leaving the store. They never asked each other for more time, for fifteen minutes is all they needed of each other.
A couple of years after they first met, it dawned on them- they were friends. True Friends. They had separate full lives, she had her Fiancé, and he -his wife. Those were the pillars of Love that sustained them in real time. Their fifteen minutes was more akin to a Vitamin... like Vitamin C- where you need just that specific vitamin to stop from having scurvy. Well, they needed fifteen minutes of each other to stave off any melancholy thoughts, the wounds of a bad day, or the nicks and dings of a full time relationship.
They ended their talks with a hug, a smile, and gratitude for the break in routine.
She turned back to her work, with a little song hummed gently in her throat, her day a little nicer.
He left the store with a youthful skip in his step, his day a little nicer.
They had fifteen minutes.
It was enough.
- Share this story on
- 3
COMMENTS (0)