A Weekly Routine at Register Four
A man in a worn blue jacket pushed through the automatic glass doors of the supermarket and headed straight for the produce aisle.
His eyes swept past the stacked wooden crates of citrus and melons, stopping at the display of bright red apples.
He reached out, lifted a single red apple from the stack, and turned towards the front registers without picking up a basket or adding anything else to his hands.
At the register, the store clerk scanned the lone piece of fruit across the optical scanner screen.
She watched him slide his payment across the counter, noticing the quiet demeanor that accompanied his visit every single Friday afternoon.
As he took his receipt, she rested her hands on the edge of the counter and looked directly at him.
She asked him why he came into the store every week just to purchase a single apple.
The man paused with his fingers wrapped around the smooth skin of the fruit.
He glanced down at the counter surface, his jaw tightening slightly before he whispered that the apple was not intended for him.
He turned and walked back out through the sliding glass doors into the parking lot, holding the single apple tightly in his right palm.
Following the Footsteps Outside
When the following Friday arrived, the store clerk kept her eyes trained on the front entrance of the market.
The moment the man purchased his single apple and stepped out into the afternoon light, she stepped around her register counter and followed him out the door.
She maintained a steady distance behind him, watching his blue jacket move along the residential sidewalk.
He walked past neat lawns and under mature shade trees, never once looking back or changing his steady, quiet pace.
Eventually, he turned off the main walkway and stepped onto a wide stretch of trimmed grass surrounded by trees.
The clerk slowed her pace near the trunk of a large tree, watching from a short distance as the man approached a flat bronze marker set flush into the ground.
A Place on the Grass
The man crouched down on his knees beside the rectangular brass plaque embedded in the lawn.
He carefully placed the red apple on the grass right beside the engraved letters, letting his fingers linger on the fruit before pulling his hand back.
His shoulders sloped forward as he lowered himself completely onto the grass, sitting with his legs crossed in front of the marker.
Water pooled in the corners of his eyes as he stared down at the bronze metal plate.
The clerk stepped out from behind the tree trunk, her sneakers moving quietly through the green blades of grass.
She approached him from behind, her apron still tied around her waist over her green uniform shirt.
Sitting Together in Silence
She lowered herself down onto the lawn beside him, crossing her legs on the ground right next to his blue coat.
Without speaking, she reached over and rested her palm gently against the upper sleeve of his jacket.
The man turned his head towards her, a faint shift appearing at the corner of his mouth before he turned his eyes back toward the ground.
Neither of them said another word as the sun shifted behind the branches above them.
The single red apple rested on the green blades of grass, settling directly alongside the flat brass plate set into the earth.
Share this with someone who knows the comfort of a friend during quiet moments.
