Not Counting The Green
by: jaime ertel, spring 2000

Not counting the green-tagged items, there are twenty-three. Halfway through counting them for the 4th time, I break to let a husky woman step ahead of me. A second of thought, a push of the button, a scoop of the hand… pleased, she sighs and leaves me alone once again with my uncertainty. I push up my sleeves and start to count again. Twenty-three. But then I notice that behind one of the selections, the very last one counted, is something different. Something I may not have seen if I hadn't been counting. What kind of trick is this? Doesn’t each slot have it’s own specific item? How can two items share one niche, one as a substitute for when the first runs out? What if that one in the back is the one I crave, the thing I need? I stare at my one crumpled dollar. I would need four to get to the one in the back. But do I even want the secret one? Why not just one of the others? I count again. Twenty-four counting the hidden item. I realize that the woman who had stepped ahead of me earlier is still in the room, stuffing her face, crumbs cascading down her white knit cardigan. She belches loudly and pulls a wrinkled square of toilet paper out of her back left pocket. Offering me the square, she shuffles close enough to hand it over. My heart flutters as I accept this remarkable trophy of kindness. She leaves, shutting the door behind her.