Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/659479
42 wholelifetimes.com T he mother attempting to pay at the register seems bone weary. I notice how her sweater is worn around the sleeves and she has bags under her eyes. Even the baby she holds knows crying is all that is left to do. At the same time, the woman ahead of me notices the mother's WIC benefi ts card, spits out a quick huff and begins tap, tap, tapping her foot. I watch. The woman in front of me, standing between the mother and me, swipes her iPhone unlocked with manicured acrylic nails, huffs again. The mother hears her, lowers her head, and sighs a weary, "I'm sorry." The milk has to be 2%, and the cheese has to be the right brand, and as the WIC card is fi nally swiped, the mother whispers to her crying baby, "Shhh... we're almost done." The woman ahead of me shifts her hips and tap, tap, taps with her black high heels. The card won't scan. The mother looks behind her at the waiting line, and her eyes change from apology to anxiety. The baby's arms fl ail. The clerk turns the blue light on at her register, checks her phone while she waits. The woman in front of me turns to me, complaining, "I always get in the wrong line." I watch. The mother shifts forward and backward, trying to rock the infant, but her body begins to move more quickly and loses its lulling softness. The baby cries louder. The clerk pauses from a text message to look up and roll her eyes. The woman lets out an audible, "For God's sake." The mother puts the baby into the carrier in the cart, and she herself starts tap, tap, tapping. What on earth could be the delay? The baby's cries get louder. The mother fumbles for the pacifi er, and her wallet falls to the fl oor as she lets loose, "Really? This is... " And she mumbles under her breath with rising anxiety. The tapping woman asks the clerk if she can quickly cut ahead and pay for her items while she waits for a supervisor. The clerk shrugs, "Sorry. I'd have to void everything, but you can fi nd another line." The woman shrugs back and mimics her, "You can fi nd another line... yeah, right." I watch the woman with the baby turn, and I see how she wants to scream. I hold my breath. Here it comes. "I'm sorry," she says with gritted teeth. Then, something happens. The mother pauses. She gets her baby from the carrier, pulls her into her arms, and says, "I'm sorry," to the baby, too. She smiles. And she lets it go. Her shoulders fall. The crease in her forehead loosens. She settles in to wait for coming help, fi nds patience and resolve again. I am moved. She has chosen to fi nd peace in a moment of chaos and I was blessed to have watched it. Pulling a notebook from my purse, I quickly make note of this infi nite treasure, the power of reaction. I want to tell the mother she will ink the words of my heart, and allow me later on to bleed openly in a new truth. The supervisor comes and the card goes through, groceries fi nally placed in the cart. The woman in front of me is still tap, tap, tapping her high heels in rhythm with her audible sighs, just as a younger woman, barely more than a girl really, approaches in a wheelchair. "Thanks, Mom, I had to wait for my insurance to get approved for my medication, but it fi nally came through." The woman I thought was the mother hands the infant over to her true mother, who is clearly disabled; she lays soft kisses on her baby's cheeks and the infant calms instantly, soothed by her mother's love. The woman ahead of me stops tapping at last. backwords GROCERY LINE REVELATION By Courtney Frey Life lessons on the way to the cash register