It had to be close to four in the morning, maybe even five and I was fading from exhaustion and boredom, my feet curled up on the couch beneath me, head on Jason’s soft shoulder. He had one arm around my back, stroking the long strands of my hair, talking to one of those Strangefolk guys about Frisbee Golf. I yawned, so hard it made my eyes water, and Jason must’ve felt it against his shoulder because he looked down at me and held my gaze in his for a moment.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as if my stomach had growled.
“Actually, yeah. I am.” Though I hadn’t realized it.
“There’s a twenty four hour grocery round the corner. Want to go get some food?”
“Yes,” I said. “That is exactly what I want to do.” And I realized it must be hard for him. Having to go to the grocery store to get some privacy. I pulled on my shoes and buttoned up my jacket and linked my arm in his as we walked through the parking lot. The air was a lot colder than when I arrived at their show earlier. Colorado’s weird like that. Jason looked down at me and my thin denim jacket.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” he said and held me closer to him, his body another coat.
“I hope not,” I said and the look in his eyes made me blush, bite my lip and look away.
I like grocery stores at night. During the day they just annoy me, too many grocery carts blocking the aisles, too many cranky people on missions with their coupons and in a hurry. Too many kids screaming from carts, too many ladies in white hairnets trying to get me to sample sausages or fill out some questionnaire on a clipboard. But at night it’s different. Everything has calmed down and is almost serene. Store managers walk slowly, college boys stock the shelves in T-shirts and jeans and never ask you if they can help you find something. Customers never use carts, just those baskets or they just fill their arms, every buy an impulse. At night, it’s almost as if people are at the grocery store because they want to be, not because they have to be.
Jason kissed me in the produce aisle, when no one was around, just the buzz of the lights, soft rock over the speakers. Then I stood and looked at him, hands in my pockets.
“Do you think it’s weird that I’m here?”
“What?”
“You’re not weirded out that I came or anything are you?”
He gave me this look and shook his head. “No. No, I’m happy that you’re here,” he said and widened his eyes in a way that made me believe him. “I was hoping that you’d show up for some more of the tour. Why would I think it’s weird?”
“I don’t know,” I said and waved it off. “I was just checking.” I mean he is married, has two kids, two little beautiful girls. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to threaten that. I guess I was expecting him to be less excited to see me, to maybe take me aside and subtly, nicely ask me to leave, explaining that he is married, that he can’t do this anymore, not that he doesn’t like me, doesn’t think I’m smart or sexy, he just can’t keep cheating like this.
Or I expected him to be more suspicious as to why I’d come, why I was there. I arrived in Denver fully prepared to answer that question. I’m just having fun, I’d say. I’m not expecting anything from you. I just want to love your band. I just want to have fun and I like hanging out with you. But he didn’t ask, not then anyway. We just walked through that grocery store like I would with old stoned friends from home, pointing out cans of strange food like dried wasabi chips, pickled pimentos, and Spam. Talked about how Velveeta was actually clear but they dyed it yellow because who would buy clear cheese? Then we bought it anyway because it really does make the best grilled cheese sandwiches and there’s only so much you can cook on a stove in a bus. I was amazed at how comfortable I felt with him at the grocery store, it just seemed like a place I would never be with a member of the Big Wu. Bars and backstage and the tour bus were the only ways I’d seen him. Sometimes I can forget that people on stages are just normal people after all.
