Six

People in your Neighborhood

For a second today, I got a glimpse of the future. Or so I hope.

After my haircut, I wanted to get something to eat for lunch. In a bustling little corner of Richmond, commonly referred to as Libbie and Grove (the primary streets that cross there), lies a perfect tiny, old-fashioned grocery store called Libbie Market. I like it so much because deep-down I fancy myself as a big-city girl, and when I walk inside Libbie Market I can imagine that I am walking inside a corner grocery in New York City. Libbie Market is bigger than that, but just barely. Packed with yummy pre-made foods, all sorts of sundries (organic and not), and local neighbors, it just feels good in there. 

Part of the reason is that the people are just so gosh-darn nice. Busy, but nice. Both employees and customers, who represent an assortment of the nearby neighborhoods and schools: preppy teens from the nearby girls’ school, sharp looking gents from the boys’ school down the road. A couple of business folks wander in for lunch and out of their small offices that are typically old, converted homes. And pristinely dressed old people. Lots of adorable, friendly old people who look like they’re out on their day’s adventure, with nowhere else to be any time soon. They linger in the aisles and in the small cafe, seated in some of the handful of tables, reading or chatting with neighbors or just sipping their coffee. 

They are my favorite customers to watch while I wait for my sandwich to be made. While I am tempted to check my phone for texts or open my email to be productive in my few minutes before I head back to work, they are not tethered to such devices or obligations. For a moment, I think of times gone by, and it makes me nostalgic for a grown-up life I never led, just observed. My grandparents sitting and talking at their kitchen table or my mom reading and watching soaps for hours on end. What would it be like to be without all of this modern technology that leads my life? To have to stay home if I’m expecting a call? To have to reach out to folks for actual conversation instead of a brief text that disappears into nothingness with a single “delete?” I imagine it would be a little something like walking into the Libbie Market.

As I hustled out, I walked through the tiny cafe area, through a crowd of lunchers. Suddenly I heard singing, and it took me by surprise. I turned to see three or four tiny tables pushed together and a group of older women, perhaps in their late seventies, huddled closely in the crowded room. The eight or so women were singing a soft rendition of “Happy Birthday” to a blushing woman who sat in the middle of the table. She shook her head in embarrassment, which caused girlish giggles from the occupants surrounding her. The ladies were dressed in their birthday-lunch finest, hair perfectly coiffed, smiling broadly. One even clapped in time. 

They were close, you could tell. How much had they been through together? How much had they seen, done, felt, worried about, celebrated, lived? In that moment, I thought of my friends, those who make up my world today--neighbors who bring a little bit of love into every passing in Food Lion or school parking lot or Friday night wine session. It made me happy to hope for future lunches with my silver-haired friends.

I walked through their party and into the rush of cold air outside, feeling a bit warmer.