"Alessandria?"
Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
Am I so desperate to find her that I’ve conjured her?
Is she really here?
I’m unable to move, shocked at seeing her in the same room as me, let alone an aisle away.
Then the woman standing ten feet away from me stiffens.
I’m certain she’s real.
She’s in the middle of grabbing a box of pasta from the shelf when I call out that name. Pulling her arm back, she makes a show of reading the box before throwing it in the cart.
She’s pretending she has no clue I’m talking to her.
She turns slightly, showing me her back as her elbows spread out on the handle of the cart.
My training kicks in and I track her every breath and movement.
She's in a defensive stance, shielding something in her cart
Positioning herself carefully, she hides her face from my line of sight.
Her feet shift, and there is a subtle change in the way she’s standing.
She’s about to run.
Why? Why is she so determined to run?
It’s been a year.
Did it all mean nothing to her?
Did I mean anything to her?
Maybe she never really knew me at all.
"RIA."
I say it louder this time. Loud enough that I know she hears me clearly. Loud enough that she can’t pretend she didn’t hear me.
The set of her shoulders become more rigid.
Her movements are subtle, but I catch them. Not just because I’m trained to do so but because I know this woman better than I know myself.
I watch as she takes something out of the cart, carrying whatever it is close to her chest
She’s taking it with her so she can bolt.
I won’t let her. She owes me an explanation. A reason.
She owes us that much.
In my head, what once was confusion, heartbreak and borderline desperation turns into anger.
She’s bolting.