Celery

Response to Prompt # 19: Grocery List Flash Fiction

Celery
by Laurie J. Kemp

Fucking celery. That was all she could think to put on that striped strip of paper on the magnetic grocery list pad that hung on the refrigerator door. No one to cook for and too many extra pounds to shed since having her baby. Ten years ago. Now he was gone, and so was his father. Olivia felt so alone.

She pulled up to Publix and shuffled through her purse to find the list. She stared at it while she waited for "Pretty Woman" to finish playing on the radio. She always loved Roy Orbison. "Celery. I need a fucking shopping list for celery?" she said out loud. All those empty lines on the list stared back at her. If things had been different, her list might be filled with juice boxes and Oreos, maybe steak and veggies for salad and the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Instead, it was empty. Like her life.

Her eyes began to well up. It wasn't just celery on her list. The celery was a symbol, for tomato juice, hot sauce, and a shit ton of vodka. The celery was just a garnish, a symbol of how she drank away her life and all that was good in it. "At least I'm not guzzling it straight from bottle anymore," she quipped at the word on her list. Baby steps. Ah yes, baby steps. Just the word baby was enough to launch her into an all out sob. She fumbled around for a tissue, a napkin, anything to wipe the snot and the tears. When she finally gave up, she looked again at the list through her tears. Celery. She blew her nose in the striped strip of paper, crumbled it up, and tossed it out the window.

"Fuck celery!" she shouted, and she drove away without ever getting out of the car. Instead she drove down one more light to the plaza at the next intersection. She pulled up to the spot right in front and stared hopelessly into the window. The bright red neon sign flashed on and off calling to her, "LIQUOR. LIQUOR."