Holding Linguine in the Stretching Grocery Aisle

Holding Linguine in the Stretching Grocery Aisle

I was in the grocery store near work, the one with the bad fluorescent lights, looking for the pasta I always buy. The aisle kept stretching, like it was also the hallway of my old apartment. I ran into Mark from college, except he had my current partner’s voice and the same scar on his hand. We stood there holding the same box of linguine and he said he’d been waiting at the checkout for years. I felt that stupid flutter, then this cold patch of air between us like someone had opened a freezer. I wanted to kiss him and also apologize for missing his funeral, which doesn’t even make sense because Mark is fine. The cashier was my neighbor, and she kept ringing the same items. I woke up embarrassed that I still felt that pull.