just a few things that made it home from the market…
I cried on the way to the market. I was in the middle of the street, when I noticed I was steps from my dad’s ‘I-only-have-the-kids-on-the-weekend’ car. I’ve only seen a few Datsun 280zs since I was little. For an instant, I was in the backseat with my black Barbie, making up stories, on the way to Benihana. But, just for an instant. The wave of recognition washed over me and the tears came with the warm tide. It was the fifth anniversary of his death.
I was in my head deep at the market, on auto-pilot. I slowed to inhale the incense and oils for sale by the old man drifting off in his chair. I weaved my way through the people lined up for seafood, to get to the stall run by the Asian family selling my yu choy and ginger. Rejoining the flow, my eyes darted quickly from left to right trying to gauge my interest and intent against the pace of the crowd. Within minutes, I was overwhelmed and determined to get out. There are always too many people, but this day was different. Holding back the tears and hoping to dull the ache, I knew I still needed to get tomatoes and greens, but, then I could leave.
Comforted by Spotify on shuffle playing songs I loved, I donned blinders to rush through the intersection of produce and prepared. I didn’t even realize Marisa from Food In Jars was there doing a demo. I must’ve walked right past her.
The end was in sight. I’d made it to the herb stand where I pick up my collard greens. But, yeah, no. Grandma boxed me out as she chatted with her granddaughter; meanwhile, the mom fingered my greens; and dad came over to pay with one hand full of cash, the other full of kale. I was bouncing on sneakered feet, antsy. I love black folks and all, but come on my people, keep it moving.
I was stuffing greens into my waxed canvas tote bag and preparing to re-enter the flow like a double dutch champion, when he caught my eye. I looked up to see a beautiful, deeply chocolate man, in all his Chiwetel Ejioforian fineness, staring. I was so caught off guard.* I was still stuck and struck, unsure of how I was supposed to feel about my dad. For the first time, I wasn’t a full-on, red-eyed, ugly crying, hot mess, but I still got freaked out by a 35 year old car. I guess, I needed to get out of my head. And in that moment, surprisingly, all it took, was for a dude to get my attention when I wasn’t paying any.
I did another half lap up Ivar and back, smiling all easy and broad, then headed home. I brought back food, a better mood and a few slugs that came along, on the greens, for the ride.
Every year is something different. And every year, you’re still there. Thank you, Daddy.
n♥
* so, yeah. we exchanged smiles. awkwardly. mine was all hesitant+black+nerdy.
okay, like seriously, there were more black people at the market than i feel like ive ever seen.
I’m so sad we missed each other at the farmers’ market, but it sounds like you were in other space that day and had the experience you needed. I’m glad for that.
Those dumplings look like newborns sleeping. Absolutely precious, and you just want to gobble them up.
Uh, okay. Do you have Trader Joe’s in the Chicagoland area? n♥