I shook my head in disapproval as he picked up two wheels of the mini Babybel cheese wheels from an opened bag of cheeses. We liked them, but I wasn\’t going to stoop to that level.
\”But they can\’t sell the bag now,\” he rationalized.
I walked away from him, only a few steps quicker to leave my personal break in moral codes. If I don\’t say anything, I am not involved. I heard him pause for a second behind me. Then he followed me.
We checked out at the cashier. Our two mini watermelons. The ones we had joked holding it up to our chests. I laughed and pointed, \”Look you have MELONS! Wait make sure the ends are facing out.\”
I don\’t think the people around us found it funny.
We walked to the car. He went quicker as I stumbled along, tripping over my own feet and the bark in the tree liners. It was warm, but not warm enough. It was cooler outside than his apartment.
In his car, I settled into the passenger seat lined with faux blue fur.
\”Where are we going now?\” I said putting my bag next to me.
\”Marshalls,\” he said and tossed the two babybel cheeses on top of my bag in victory.
\”Ay,\” I responded in caution but with a slight gleam of desire.
I took one wheel and unwrapped it. I first took a bite, then put the rest in his awaiting mouth. He let it sit in his mouth, taking a small bite. Then he made a muffled sound, motioning me to grab the rest of the cheese. I took the remaining piece and ate it. I crushed the wrapper into a smaller container.
When we arrived at the parking lot, I pulled my bag out. I felt something hit my foot. I realized it was the wrapper of that one wheel. But where was the other wheel?
\”I think I lost the cheese!\” I said looking in my bag and the ground.
He groaned. He complained. The cheese could stink could my car! he groaned. He made some other unhappy, negative noises.
I stood there sullenly, realizing that I made a mistake. But wasn\’t it supposed to funny? Who moved my cheese I remember was the title of a popular self-help book. I wanted to laugh to make the situation less serious than he was making it.
It was just a piece of cheese. I looked under the car. I checked my bag. I checked around my seat and did not find it. He groaned and finally we went in the store. I trailed behind him, now slightly upset that he was mad. Yet he held his right hand out without hesitation. In sorrow, I reached out my left hand and held it. We walked into the store holding hands.
He went into the return lines and softly pushed me, \”Go look for something you want.\”
I did as I was told, scanning the racks and walking up and down. But I did it unhappily without a purpose. I upset him and I couldn\’t get over it. I found a nice dark colored shirt and was looking at it for a minute when he came over.
\”Did you find anything?\” he asked.
\”No…\” I led him through the row of panties…trying to find funny boxers to lighten the mood. But instead, I led him out the store. We walked back to the car. In silence, we checked the car again to see where the cheese was.
\”Are you sure it\’s not in your bag?\” he asked almost angrily. I shook my head.
We drove out the parking lot and suddenly he put his middle finger up to something outside. I was surprised…\”What!\”
\”That\’s the cingular store that screwed me over!\” he responded.
We went back to his apartment. I immediately laid facedown on his bed, sulking. Five minutes passed and he came over. He laid down, putting his arm around me. I continued sulking, not moving. After several moments, he got up. I heard the TV. He was doing things in the kitchen. Then he went out. I fell asleep.
When I woke up probably less than 10 minutes later, I started thinking of how unhappy this made me. And what if this foretold the future? I started thinking how I could solve this. Walk out. Just walk out. But it\’s not what I want. Why play games when I don\’t. Just get up and say something instead of sulking. You made a vow that you wouldn\’t be passive aggressive anymore. Don\’t do things you don\’t want to do because you think you should…do it because it\’s what you want to do…say what you want to say.
But my mind wandered. If I grab all my stuff then I could sit at the caltrain. I would wait. Maybe I\’ll catch the 48. But I know I will be crying all the way back. Then I would end up at my place—face down tears streaming. Then he will know how hurt I was.
But instead, I walked out to the living room. I am upset, I said. I sat down on the couch and cried. I explained my worries. He tried to calm me, explaining that he needed time and look he\’s not even thinking about the cheese.
But how do I know! I said. And then suggested that I walk out now. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry. Sorry marked the air like a red marker, a stain that nobody wanted to notice.
He gave a sad face. \”I don\’t know what to say,\” he responded.
And then suddenly it was ok as we hugged.
\”Isn\’t it supposed to be funny?\” I said.
\”Yes, I sense the irony. I do.\” he responded. \”The cheese that wasn\’t mine got lost.\”