Small Crimes

She woke up sprawled on the coach, her throat sore, the tv tuned to cspan. It was 10am. She dragged her frail body of the coach, walked to the sink, inspected the tipped over ice cream container and put it back into the freezer. She reached for a cigarette and nicked her finger on the matchbook staple. She read the back of the cereal box with her coffee but ate no cereal. Coffee down, cigarette stubbed, she took a shower hot enough to scold must skin. Then a quick switch to cold just for the feeling; wondering if it would make her heart flutter again. She dressed and since she had a date – a real lunch date today – she put on her dead husband's unwashed tee-shirt under the baggy knit sweater. She got in her beat up old Corolla and drove to Longs, the glorified drug store. She picked up her prescription refill even though she had at least a six month supply at home for previous hoarding and self medicating. She paid at the pharmacy counter. On her walk to the front exit she grabbed a purse without breaking stride and placed it into her own oversized purse. She did it so smoothly and effortlessly that it reminded herself of when she used to dance for papa. Back before she became a woman and papa died. She arrived home, took the stolen purse out of her bag, and placed $5 in it. She placed the stolen purse with the others, about 15 in total, and left for her lunch date. Bob was younger than her and seemed attracted to her strangeness. He was a bit too eager and somehow did not give out hardly any sexual vibes, which suited her just fine. He had a meatball sandwich. She had a cup of minestrone soup that she took occasional sips out of. With Bob, it wasn't hard for her to see him as a dog, hunched over and sticking his mouth in the bowl. Bob didn't seem to notice her not eating and just nodded at her frantic talk. He asked her what she was doing that afternoon and at first she thought he wanted to have some adult play time. But she quickly realized he was just making talk and the image of him dry humping her leg was only fleeting. She told him she wanted to drop some stuff off at Goodwill and that she might catch a move. Her drive home from lunch can only be described as frantic. For she was frantic and didn't know why. Hyper, crazy, wanting to get home as fast as possible but not knowing why. Chain smoking just because she could. This was not unusual. She got home, went to her closet and put all the stolen purses in a big garbage bag. She got back in her car, starting to relax, and drove to the Goodwill drop off. The attendant smiled at her, asked what she had today, and took the garbage bag. The attendant inspected the purses, each with the $5 bill inside, and said thanks. The woman drove home feeling relaxed thinking maybe she would sleep ok for once.