the grocery store. All he really needed at this point.
Aiden parked the car in the small lot, got out and locked the doors.
“You’re not from around here, are you,” came a deep voice from behind him.
Aiden turned around and saw a tall man getting in a grey pickup truck.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You locked your car,” the stranger said. “Nobody locks their cars here.”
“I just got here today,” Aiden responded, “still getting used to ‘the island way.’”
The stranger rolled his eyes to the side. “Fearful mainlanders always lock their cars and look over their shoulders. They’ve got a stressed-out mentality when they come here.”
Aiden was taken back by this guy’s brashness – his first encounter with an islander in over 17 years.
He couldn’t think of a response before the stranger shut the driver-side door and drove away.
So much for island hospitality, Aiden thought.
Even in a safe island community like Cielo, he lacked the trust to leave his car unlocked.
Not out of prejudice or anything personal against the island culture itself; he had just developed street smarts over the years.
Aiden would rather lack direction than walk through life blindly, as it seemed the locals did so carelessly.
At times, it struck Aiden how trust was lacking in most areas of life. Be it personal security, romantic relationships and even platonic friendships.
Even when it came to a beat-up Civic with nothing valuable inside apart from McDonalds coupons and a few CDs.
He couldn’t bring himself to care, so he walked through the store’s automatic double-door entrance, picked up a shopping basket and made the rounds. At this point all Aiden really cared about was dinner so he started at the meat and produce sections. He picked up a sirloin steak, a handful of mushrooms, a couple bell peppers and potatoes. There were some fresh herbs on sale, and he picked up thyme and basil.
Rounded the corner and found the spirits aisle. Scanned the wine selection and noticed a local section, with “Cielo Vineyards” gracing the matte label. He chose a bottle of merlot.
Aiden may have lost his sense of trust and wonder but he picked up a sense of taste.
Cooking gourmet meals was his creative outlet. Thanks to Dad’s inheritance, Aiden pursued that hobby more through an increased grocery budget, meaning more alcohol for cooking. Wine has a way of drawing flavor out of anything it comes in contact with.
Following Dad’s death, though, alcohol was a side-effect of Aiden’s deepening apathy and depression. He didn’t care to fight the cravings.
He grabbed a second bottle off the shelf.
While the Borough was far more subdued than the city life Aiden was used to, it did guarantee short check-out lines. He walked up to the cashier and placed the groceries on the conveyor belt. The cashier, a lady who looked to be in her 50s, scanned the items.
Quick and painless.
“$52 even, please.”
So much for painless.
“$52? For just these groceries?” Aiden asked in shock.
“Yes, sir. The bottles are $18 each, the steak $6 and the produce comes to $10.”
“Isn’t that a little steep for produce?” he asked.
“Not when you buy local,” the cashier responded. She looked Aiden in the eye, then softened her gaze.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“You’re the second person to ask that in the last 10 minutes,” he said.
“Sorry, not trying to pry,” she said. “Just a little insight into how things work around here: a box of local produce isn’t just a box of produce. This is the heart and soul of the farmer. Time and energy are poured into the craft.”
Here comes the hippie island rhetoric, Aiden grumbled to himself. “So I’ve heard. It’s ‘green,’ I get it. It’s just steep price to pay for a meal.”
She held his eyes with hers. “You consider yourself an investor?”
Aiden didn’t have time for this; his rolling eyes made that clear.
“I like to make my money count, and I enjoy quality. That what you’re looking for?”
The cashier, seeming to have lots of time on her hands, went on. “Islanders live...they live within the environment, for lack of a simpler phrase.” She spoke gently, but with conviction. “People invest themselves deeply into bringing out the best of the island, be it farming, construction, painting, cooking – you name it. When the island’s at its best, nothing can compare with its beauty. But if neglected or poorly attended to, the island loses its luster. It becomes barren.”
Aiden struggled to connect the dots, but he pressed on. He may get socially withdrawn from friends and family, but dialog with strangers was something he could handle.
“I’m failing to see the connection between a ‘barren wasteland of an island’ and overpriced groceries,” he said.
She looked at him again with the same relaxed but strong expression. “That’s what happens when we start importing cheap crap from the mainland. Like it or leave it. That’s just how things are on Cielo.”
“Well Granola it is,” Aiden responded with a mix of sarcasm and disdain. He gave her his Visa card, signed the receipt and turned toward the exit. If his first two interactions were any indication, idle hands aren’t the devil’s playthings but rather a state of being on Cielo.
3. DEFLATION, DIRECTION
Canoe drive felt different when driving east. Aiden couldn’t pin down whether it was the sights, the sounds or the pavement itself.
Whatever it was, it was quickly overshadowed as the passenger side of the car dipped down and a respective grinding noise grew louder.
Flat tire, he realized, slamming his right hand against the well-worn steering wheel.
He pulled to the side of the road, got out of the car and surveyed the damage. A broken bottle 20 feet back, and a deflated passenger-side tire.
He kicked the tire and swore. No spare tire in the back. Less than a quarter mile out of the Borough, Aiden’s annoyance hit an even higher level.
Not only did he not want to be on this island, but now he was stranded in the countryside.
Aiden started walking back to the town, past a few homes and farms. His eyes remained on the road rather than the surroundings. His walk had a single destination; scenery would only deter him from getting back to some solitude.
