There’s a woman with long grey hair that comes into the bakery every Tuesday and Thursday. She is heavier than her knees want to handle, and she limps to her left. I smile at her, try and reach across the counter to lean in close and help her. What can I get her? Every week she asks for a loaf of Sunflower Whole Wheat unsliced. Her thin lips barely say the words – if I did not recognize her, I would have to ask her to repeat it week after week. I have never seen her smile. The only free sample she will take is Sunflower Whole Wheat, week after week.
Every week I will check the shelf and grab her an unsliced loaf if we have it. More often than not, however, we are out. The problem with bread is that you cannot un-slice what has already been sliced. So I have to tell her we are out of stock, that I am so sorry, what can I offer her instead. And every week when I disappoint her, her eyebrows above her wire-rimmed glasses will well with tears and she will swallow a lump in her throat and say she can’t believe it. Every week, I offer to take her name and phone number, to save her that unsliced Sunflower loaf in the morning the minute it comes out of the oven, but she refuses. I don’t know why, I don’t understand. She is near tears whenever I have to disappoint her, but she refuses to let me help her prevent her disappointment.
I have no way of knowing her name to do this. Her card, when scanned on the computer, holds no name, just a series of numbers and an expiration date. I want there to be so much more. I want to know her name. I want to save her that loaf of unsliced Sunflower Whole Wheat. Want to make her smile. Joke with her about the weather, or the absurdity of parking spaces in The Village. Ask her what she bought from McGuckins. Hold her hand as she walks in and out of the bakery every time with that left-leaning limp. I think she looks like a Roberta. I’ve never met a Roberta, but somehow it seems to fit in my mind.
Roberta with the unsliced Sunflower Whole Wheat. Roberta in the navy puffy coat, with the simple black leather handbag, with the long grey hair. Roberta with small grey hairs growing over her thin top lip. Roberta, Roberta, Roberta.
The lamp’s always on
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