It's a bitter night, with snow on the way. It's quiet in the grocery store, just one customer at a table. Up front, two little girls are standing at a shelf, facing a candle wrapped in cellophane. They're playing birthdays. It's a sweet little game, and they sing so softly, then all of a sudden their interest vanishes. The game is a dull old thing. It's time to run, & they hit the aisles, screaming with pleasure. It's fun to watch them letting off steam, but oh, now they've gone too far. It's time to leave, and they're sent to the back, each with a concha and a cup of milky coffee in hand.
I think I was given tea around their age. Weak, and sugared (with a ginger nut for dipping), it was a pale imitation of adulthood, but it felt important. Sip by sip, you knew you were on your way somewhere different.
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