In Costco

It's funny, the ability to see a complete stranger, to peer into their lives, to know nothing about them, and to learn something. I balance on the lowest rung of the cart and drift slowly through the endless rows of Costco, propelled periodically by the one foot I let trail on the ground.

I've memorized the rows, the layouts, the regular faces.* Yet today, there's a different sound. Beautiful, familiar, haunting. I weave in and out of the crowded isles to follow it. Moonlight Sonata. I nearly cry out at the joy of recognition. A grand piano is on display, in the dead center of the store. The grandiose, sleek, black, shapes juxtapose the small man with wispy white hair coaxing the sounds out of it. He sits hunched on the bench, shriveled with age, yet his hands are graceful, energetic, and carefree. I abandon my cart to wander closer. There's talent and passion in his music, and a curiosity of what string of events has brought him here, to play Beethoven on a piano on a Costco display, gnaws at me.

Drifting farther, I'm captured by an argument near the cookies at the bakery. Two arguments, to be precise. A young man is standing on his cart like I am, and his pout is matched exactly by a young boy across from him, the two oblivious to each other. Both are begging for cookies, the big kind, with chocolate chips. A mother and a girlfriend play the bad guy to the young boy and man respectively, and neither gets cookies.

A small boy, ruddy faced, smeared with free samples and freckles dashes in front of my cart, quickly followed by a disheveled mother calling after him. Michael. His name is Michael, this grimy, delighted boy, having the time of his life avoiding his mother and hiding under tables. I smile to myself.

The rows of personalized cakes awaiting pickup catches my fancy, and I wander towards them, standing on my tiptoes to peek into the frosty cellophane box lids. I can make out an American flag. Suddenly, I realize that I'm staring at a going away cake, for someone in the army. I feel ashamed, like I saw something I couldn't have, and back away. I wonder who it's for. Will they be missed? Will they be safe? Who ordered it? Will they be lonely?


It's late now, and I leave, again struck by the lives of the other shoppers. An allegory of us all of us. Small truths, in light. In the endless rows of Costco.



*Clean- http://organizedchaos-reagan.blogspot.com/2010/11/clean.html