I handed the clerk my prescription. She held it up to within a few inches of her face and squinted at it.
“Where are your glasses, Bethany?”
“They’re down there gettin fixed,” she said canting her head in the direction of the vision clinic.
“Well, are you sure you can read that?” I said. I was used to seeing her behind the Pharmacy counter with glasses that made her gray eyes look like two full moons.
Bethany gave me a rueful little smile. “It’ll be ten to fifteen minutes. You wanna wait?”
I shrugged, turned, walked to the side and sat down on a bench, glad for the chance to sit for a few minutes.
A woman wearing a loose-fitting hoodie, jeans, and work boots was sitting on the bench. She smiled at me, wrinkling the age lines around her eyes.
“They are a tad busy this morning,” she said.
“Tuesday,” I said.
“Oh, yah?” she said, puzzled.
“The day the retirement homes bring in their people to shop and pick up prescriptions.”
“Oh, yah,” she said. “They do that on Mondays in Saint Cloud.”
“I thought I noticed an accent. You from Minnesota?”
“Born and raised,” she said. “But we don’t have an accent.” She gave me a crooked smile.
“Are you living here, now?” I asked.
“I moved out here in '73 with my husband. He was a dry land wheat farmer."
I raised my eyebrows, “That’s a hard life.”
“Before that, I lived on a farm near Saint Cloud, so I was used to farm living. We raised eight kids, two boys and six girls."
She began digging around in one of her shopping bags.
I checked my watch and glanced at the pharmacy counter.
“My father raised chickens,” the woman said, a piece of candy or mint stuck in the side of her mouth. “We ate a lot of chicken.”
She held the roll out to me.
I took one and smiled. “So, where are your kids now?”
“Mostly in Minnesota, but one son lives in Alaska. Both boys hunt and fish. They get together now and then. They were gonna ice fish last year, but it was too warm. The vans were falling through the ice, don’cha know.”
“Global warming,” I said.
She grimaced and shook her head. “Just warm,” she said.
“So what kind of hunting do your sons do?” I said, not wanting to get into a discussion about how warm the earth was getting with a person from St. Cloud, Minnesota.
“Deer, moose, stuff like that,” she said.
“Moose?” I said.
“Oh, yah. I ate some once or twice. Gives me gas.”
I saw Bethany motioning to me.
“Looks like my prescription is ready.” I got up. “Nice talking with you. And by the way, be sure to check that you get the right medication.”
The woman smiled up at me. “Check out the sign at the sushi counter,” she said.
“Uh?”
“The sushi counter,” she said, pointing over towards the deli section.
I nodded, wondering what the hell she was talking about.
I checked the label on the green and white box, while Bethany was running my credit card.
"Tamoxifen Citrate 10mg tab."
Despite just wanting to be home, I went by the deli on my way out and checked out the sushi counter. They had their usual assortment of sushi and sashimi in neat little throwaway boxes, with pickled ginger and wasabi. There on the counter was a display of their California Roll. Next to it was a sign that said,
“For your own safety, please don’t eat our display.”
Okay, I can still smile.
