April 13, 2004
A Tragic Tale
I read a newspaper story about 12 or 15 years ago about an old couple shopping in the M&M on Habersham Street. Having lived in the Chatham Apartments with The Bride in our earliest days I know the old M&M well, an urban greengrocer bordered by some tough neighborhoods, but also near some fine city dwelling across from Forsyth Park. But the Melavers, who owned the M&M's, perservered in bad neighborhoods as well as prosperous, and I like to think they brought some value to some folk who weren't exactly awash in cash. I believe Melaver sold out long ago, but they brought decent food to the peeps in their time, and there are no flies on that fact.
Back to my story: this elderly couple was checking out when the wife collapsed in the checkout line, and died. It seems she plucked her canteloupe from a pile that harboured an infant rattlesnake, which bit her on the finger. She probably never felt the bite, circulation and nerves being what they are at that age, and so the heartstop was all the more calamitous to her husband. Dead in the checkout line.
Death, and mayhem, and war don't bother me, at least in the metaphysical sense. Life, and death, happen. But something about that story haunts me. I fancy I will be elderly one day, forgotten by the moving masses and even grandchildren. The occasional call from an adult offspring. But let's face it: at that age, the olden only have each other. The odd actions triggered by years of habituation, the peculiar eccentricities, drive everyone else crazy. The olden only have each other. And to lose your significant like that, with no warning, must be tough stuff indeed. Bad enough to happen at home, but at a checkout line, by a baby reptile, innocent enough, acting in self defence? No reason for it at all? I doubt I should have much reason to carry on.
Again, these things happen all the time. I know that. But this story has hung over me for years, perhaps because I can't gin up an adjective to describe the feeling it engenders. I just felt so sorry for that old guy.