The Sun Is Shining
"The Dutch are going to the World Cup semifinals!" she thought, bouncing it around in her head like a happy soccer ball. "Woo hoo! Ha ha!" Those were real sounds!
Mom shuffled her way toward the supermarket, and she was alone in the car in the parking lot again. It was just like every other supermarket trip that they'd taken every week. The sun was shining in that harsh noon way in California. The concrete was baking. The parking lot was silent, except for here and there, a few strangers shuffled toward the supermarket.
She left the car to go buy some things. As her feet climbed off the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, she saw life begin. Right outside the doors of little shops stood middle-aged men in old t-shirts and khakis, smoking, standing, people-watching - like sentinels pacing a desert who have been and would always be there. She ducked into the little Liquor store to buy newspapers. The papers were all Vietnamese, the store was full of Vietnamese people. They discussed the Dutch vs. Brazil game - middle-aged working class men buying lotto tickets, women sitting around waiting for who knows what, the cashier behind the counter, everyone was aflame with loud Vietnamese comments. It didn't matter who was talking to who, because strangers can talk into the air about football and always hear an answer.
*Middle-aged man buying lotto tickets: "I can't believe Brazil folded, they have to know that at this level you can't do that".
*A voice behind me: "No, the Dutch were playing good defense"
*20-something year old girl working the register: "$5.00 please. But they should know the more they freak out, the worse they'll play."
*Several voices from the chairs around the shop: "That's right, yeah, there were 20 minutes left in the game. Just embarrassing"
She moved on, having bought her newspapers. Ten steps later, she saw a man in old clothes sitting against the wall, legs folded under him, strumming a guitar, a harmonica near his lips. She walked past a monk wearing a saffron robe, slowly taking measured steps like a person meticulously dripping solution into tiny test tubes. He was barefoot in this dirty strip mall. A few steps later, the world seemed to spill out from the stores onto the sidewalks, with flowers, fresh fruits for sale, ladies coming out to sing phrases advertising jackfruits in season or delicious mangos for $5 a box, come in, come in! $3 for all bouquets on the bottom row, daisies, chrysanthemums. Nevermind that the fruit shop's banner actually said, "Savory crepes shop" (where are the crepes?). She wanted to stop and smell and touch, but was a little embarrassed and afraid that she would get coerced into buying, unable to resist the ladies whose professions are to coerce people into buying things.
At the vermicelli shop, they called her "con" and smiled and said she could go ahead and sit while they make her order. She could smell vermicelli all around the shop, the different types all blending together in aroma but unmistakably something vermicelli. The order came. She smiled, the shopkeeper smiled and thanked her for her business. She pushed the door open and went back out to the world.
The jungle of flowers and tropical fruits had livened up, now browsers were mixing in with the advertising ladies. Jackfruits, mangos, bananas, guanabanas, lychees, all packed against and stacked atop each other in an unmistakably Vietnamese way. The colors of summer's yellow, orange, deep red swirled in her eyes alongside the melodic Vietnamese singing out fruits' names. The man with the guitar commenced playing a song about the countryside. Someone put a dollar in his cup. She did too, and he thanked her. The guitar held rhythm and the harmonica crooned the melody, climbing, singing, whistling. It was like Bob Dylan playing in a Vietnamese strip mall. The monk was still taking measured steps, holding his alms bowl. As she walked toward her car, a little girl skipped in front of her, having come from a recently parked vehicle. The girl chased after her little brother, clutching her little green hat so it wouldn't blow away, grinning like the world was full of happiness.
And it was!
Mom shuffled her way toward the supermarket, and she was alone in the car in the parking lot again. It was just like every other supermarket trip that they'd taken every week. The sun was shining in that harsh noon way in California. The concrete was baking. The parking lot was silent, except for here and there, a few strangers shuffled toward the supermarket.
She left the car to go buy some things. As her feet climbed off the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, she saw life begin. Right outside the doors of little shops stood middle-aged men in old t-shirts and khakis, smoking, standing, people-watching - like sentinels pacing a desert who have been and would always be there. She ducked into the little Liquor store to buy newspapers. The papers were all Vietnamese, the store was full of Vietnamese people. They discussed the Dutch vs. Brazil game - middle-aged working class men buying lotto tickets, women sitting around waiting for who knows what, the cashier behind the counter, everyone was aflame with loud Vietnamese comments. It didn't matter who was talking to who, because strangers can talk into the air about football and always hear an answer.
*Middle-aged man buying lotto tickets: "I can't believe Brazil folded, they have to know that at this level you can't do that".
*A voice behind me: "No, the Dutch were playing good defense"
*20-something year old girl working the register: "$5.00 please. But they should know the more they freak out, the worse they'll play."
*Several voices from the chairs around the shop: "That's right, yeah, there were 20 minutes left in the game. Just embarrassing"
She moved on, having bought her newspapers. Ten steps later, she saw a man in old clothes sitting against the wall, legs folded under him, strumming a guitar, a harmonica near his lips. She walked past a monk wearing a saffron robe, slowly taking measured steps like a person meticulously dripping solution into tiny test tubes. He was barefoot in this dirty strip mall. A few steps later, the world seemed to spill out from the stores onto the sidewalks, with flowers, fresh fruits for sale, ladies coming out to sing phrases advertising jackfruits in season or delicious mangos for $5 a box, come in, come in! $3 for all bouquets on the bottom row, daisies, chrysanthemums. Nevermind that the fruit shop's banner actually said, "Savory crepes shop" (where are the crepes?). She wanted to stop and smell and touch, but was a little embarrassed and afraid that she would get coerced into buying, unable to resist the ladies whose professions are to coerce people into buying things.
At the vermicelli shop, they called her "con" and smiled and said she could go ahead and sit while they make her order. She could smell vermicelli all around the shop, the different types all blending together in aroma but unmistakably something vermicelli. The order came. She smiled, the shopkeeper smiled and thanked her for her business. She pushed the door open and went back out to the world.
The jungle of flowers and tropical fruits had livened up, now browsers were mixing in with the advertising ladies. Jackfruits, mangos, bananas, guanabanas, lychees, all packed against and stacked atop each other in an unmistakably Vietnamese way. The colors of summer's yellow, orange, deep red swirled in her eyes alongside the melodic Vietnamese singing out fruits' names. The man with the guitar commenced playing a song about the countryside. Someone put a dollar in his cup. She did too, and he thanked her. The guitar held rhythm and the harmonica crooned the melody, climbing, singing, whistling. It was like Bob Dylan playing in a Vietnamese strip mall. The monk was still taking measured steps, holding his alms bowl. As she walked toward her car, a little girl skipped in front of her, having come from a recently parked vehicle. The girl chased after her little brother, clutching her little green hat so it wouldn't blow away, grinning like the world was full of happiness.
And it was!
posted by Quang Tran at 8:18 PM
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