run me my lemons
A visit to the produce section · 11/05

The twitch of his eye pulsated before entering the grocery store. He went through four other supermarket's before dashing through Whole Foods on a continued mission. It wasn't just any mission. This was specialized ops. A beginning for a pleasant evening. Banking on a single most important ingredient. Mr. Conservation almost checking out to becoming a killer hippie who enjoyed his share of granola and trending health foods. All of which he knew was a contributing factor of affecting super food origins in their native environment. He'll deal with the consequences, moral on some scale another time while scouting the aisles for what he need. It was what was required to bring a simple dessert to life as all of his other mocked up ideas for dinner were planned out. In his head he outlined the first, third, fourth courses following dessert. Dessert was always the ending. It tailed the meals for reasons that concluded a good evening.

He needed a good one. A decent one that wasn't marred with devaluing himself of hung up on the gambling that self-depreciation filled. He was ready to walk in small steps towards making it right. The whole of a relationship that was splitting into pieces, was salvageable. There was means to his madness and one of which was going to save the bits left to make anew. With a recyclable bag tossed over his shoulder, he hauntingly walked the floors. Squinting with one eye between the shades that hide both well, including the atrocity that was his right eye. He narrowed his gaze at an elderly woman, who was fumbling with coupons, including the circular paper from another grocery store. He didn't feel much to tell her she was in the wrong store. It wasn't his grandma and he didn't care. All it would be another distraction from his mission.

The old and broadening on senile were piling in his way at each turn when he only wanted to get to the produce. Pick up a few herbs along with the one ingredient he was now fixated on. The colors around hummed with brightness. The chatter that bounced off from person to person, Customer to clerk, all clouded his hearing in a way. He looked at the dangling earbuds hanging from around his neck and immediately plugged them in its audio input via his phone before his ears picked up on the crooning of Thom York. He breathed a little easier. Saw a little sharper. Dedicated to viewing the shadows to see where his impairments were lacking to move around. He knew all of these ways of movements as instinct and the bright peel of a lemon unlike normal basic lemons. Hinged on with an orange tint, shaped proudly on its own. Someone recommended this version of Whole Foods that knew the shipping manifest from day to day of produce.

He almost dared to smile. Half curling his lip that was hidden behind a forest of hair. Gnarly in its nature it framed his face without the trim. Nate was going to zero in on the prize and soon as the selection of citrus came into view. A quick scan and he stopped. Hand ran over the oranges. A bag of clementine. He saw the limes. A small organic selection. Nothing popped up in his view resembling a lemon. A specific lemon he wanted for a perfect donut. Not a fan of them himself he knew she would like them and not have a hard face over the suggestion of concentrated lemon juice. The smirk he wore turned into thin lips into a snarl. He looked over the selection again. Running a hand over the grapefruits. The oranges. Pomelos and other exotics no one common person has ever seen. He saw the basic lemon off on its own containmenting his senses. The bitter sour flavor sitting at the tip of his tongue.

Disgusted that memory of a stupid lemonade stand one crafted by his dad, did poorly with the likes of basic lemons for lemonade he knew was supposed to be a hit. Tart was his expression while looking around for a produce clerk. He immediately went over to the guy, who was probably a young punk just biding his time until his shift was over. Nate's deepened raspy tone dipped an octave addressing the clerk without hesitation.

"Where's the meyer lemons at, kid?"

"Meyer lemons.." The greasy haired young adult shook his head while holding a crate of apples. " Uh looks like we're all out of them, sir!"

"What do you mean you're out of lemons?" He asked not believing. "A guy I trusted said there would be meyer lemons here. Why aren't they here?"

"They're a popular bunch…so there are sold out. Sorry, excuse me, sir." The clerk dropped the crate on a dolly, ready to leave after feeling a threat looming. Nathan breathed in and let out a burning exhale, before he could yolk the clerk by his shirt. He was stopped by a reaching vision, opening up the produce section around him about ten minutes out. Grappled in slow motion, eye sorted through the destruction of the center of the area. Eruption of clerks thrown off of his shoulder after lifting the poor produce clerk with one hand in the air. Yelling in his face about Meyer lemons and the choices that led up to that moment. Sirens in the background and the cocking weapons of two rookies plus a lieutenant heading towards the main entrance. The wave visuals cleared after a few blinks and his face tightened up.

He looked around slowly, seeing as the customers were picking out their fruit and vegetables while he clutched his fist tightly holding back from striking so soon like a agitated cobra. Nathan breathed in slowly and out he let it go, backing away. Not before picking the basic lemons and tossing enough of them inside of his canvas bag. The kid who packed away another cart looked over to Nate with a wary expression before he quickened his tasks to move out of the man's space. All to avoid the heat, Nathan backed away and bumped into a few people without saying any apologies. He still needed the herbs before checking out. Thinking about the meyer lemon and the too many trips around town to various other grocery stores, he wasted time. Time spent starting dinner and time spent working out a recipe that required the right lemons for a glaze. Quietly muttering to himself he waited in line. To mask the crazy look in his eye and the brink of losing his wit over a sour fruit.