into the rain

Distracted, I nearly hit a man, with my grocery cart, as he slowly made his way across the opening of the aisle, on his motorized scooter.

“I’m sorry.” I smiled — a sheepish apology. I had used this trick successfully before, so I felt unsure when he didn’t smile back. The minor accident check list always works. Admit guilt, check. Smile, check. Wait for a forgiving smile in return. But he didn’t. I studied the look on his deeply wrinkled face — like a puddle that had spent an entire season without rain. He looked perturbed. His thickly furrowed brow furrowed even further and without another word we headed in different directions.

And then it happened again. 

My daughter pulled the cart along at the check out as she hurled all of the easily bruised groceries into any available space on the conveyor belt. 

“Clink.” The cart hit the cart in front of us.

“Sorry,” I laughed. The lady smiled, understandingly. 

And then I saw him, right in front of her, paying for his groceries. 

“Hello, again.” I smiled — twice rejected.

“Do you generally make a habit of hitting people with your grocery cart?”

“Not generally, no.” I follow it up with an awkward laugh. 

“Hmph.” He said before departing into the cold mist of the day.

“Good riddance,” I thought to myself as we continued checking out. We paused for a moment to pull on our hoods before slowly venturing into the rain.

I saw the man in the distance. A cigarette nestled in his yellowing fingers, fighting against the elements. He saw me too. 

“No one smiles anymore.” He stated. “No one has time for small talk either.” He said as we wheeled a little nearer. The mist coated our clothing, his unkempt hair and settled into the thirsty crevices on his face. Almost pleasant out of doors — we stayed and chatted for a minute or two — there in the rain. Perhaps it was more than his skin feeling thirsty.