The Grocery Store

Steven K lay on the couch in Dr. Ash Granger's office, recounting a dream. "It's like every night this past week. I'm at the grocery store and I'm shopping. Stock boys are putting goods on the shelves, other people are shopping. They smile as we pass each other. Their carts are full of food and household goods and I see some of them lined up to check out but I'm pushing an empty cart. Up and down the aisles. I'm checking items on the shelves, but I don't buy anything. But here's the weird part," he said.

You're wearing a tuxedo, and a top hat, Ash Granger thought, or rather, anticipated.

"I'm wearing a tuxedo, and a top hat," Kevin said. "That is weird, isn't it? I mean, I know we don't use the 'c' word in our sessions, Doc, but that's kind of, well, crazy, right?"

*****

Dr. Thomas Moran, Ash Granger's college professor, mentor, and friend had agreed to meet Ash for lunch in the faculty lounge on the campus of Conway College. It was just as he had remembered it; all dark wood paneling and stern portraits of the college's founding faculty. It seemed to Ash to be more like the scenery for a stage play than an actual room. Enter, stage left, he thought. Ash noted the familiar face seated at a table near one of the windows. As he walked over to the table he thought again how much his colleague looked like Albert Einstein - or perhaps a caricature of Einstein: The bushy mustache and eyebrows, kind eyes, the shock of white hair that seemed impervious to brush or comb.

The older man rose to hug his protege and the two men sat down to consider their menus.

"Is the food here still just as good as I remember?" Ash asked.

"I see you're still a 'glass half full' kind of guy," Moran said. 

"Is it just as bad as I remember?" Ash asked.

"That depends," Moran said. "How good is your memory?"

"I remember the turkey club wasn't too bad," Ash noted as he scanned the one page menu.

"So," Moran said. "How are Jen and Sam?"

Ash had considered sharing his feelings with Thomas. There really wasn't anyone else he could talk to about it. But what would he say? I'm having second thoughts about marriage, fatherhood, and life itself in a generalized, non-specific way? He decided against it. "Good, thanks," Ash said. "Jen's doing well and Sam just started third grade."

"Third grade," Moran said.

"And yes, Jen is already making plans for his college education," Ash said. "And you? How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," Moran said. "You know. I still miss Janet but I suppose that's going to be a forever thing for me. I wish I could believe I'd see her again someday but I guess that's the undiscounted price of empiricism."

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Ash offered, sensing his old friend could use a little cheer.

Moran smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment, dear Hamlet, but I wonder if you're trying to convince me or if you're trying to convince yourself."

Ash wondered if this was an opening to talk to his old friend about Jen's desire to have a second child and his own private despair at the prospect. Jen was everything to him. Sam was a good kid and he'd only benefit from having a younger sibling. And yet, the prospect of a second child had Ash thinking things he'd never thought he would think. He felt empty. The world around him unreal.

"I'm actually glad you called. I've been meaning to get in touch with you." Moran continued before Ash could finish sorting through his thoughts.

"Oh?" Ash asked, setting aside the menu for the moment.

"Nothing serious," Moran said. "But… curious, I guess would be an apt word. You see, I've been having this recurring dream. On the one hand, it's quite banal. And yet, I've had the same dream the last six or seven nights. Despite the mundane setting - I'm shopping for groceries in the dream - it's quite vivid. The lighting, the colors of the goods on the shelves…"

But here's the weird part, Ash thought.

"But here's the weird part-" Moran continued.

"You're wearing a tuxedo, and a top hat," Ash said.

"I'm wearing- That's amazing! I must've done a much better job mentoring you than I've given myself credit for. How did you know?"

The waiter appeared and took their order; the turkey club for Ash and the grilled cheese and tomato soup special for Moran. Ash explained his reason for calling on his friend.

"And they all have this same, recurring dream? My dream. Well, our dream, evidently. All nine of your patients?"

Ash nodded. 

"Six men and three women. A doctor, a lawyer-"

"An Indian Chief?" Moran asked with a wink.

"No but an Indian national, a network engineer. A retired airline pilot. A manager of a McDonald's franchise. Grade school teacher. Auto mechanic. An insurance salesman. A dairy farmer. And," Ash nodded to his friend, "a college professor."

"An eclectic group," Moran said. "Any common elements to their pathologies?"

"Yes and no," Ash said. "I'm seeing all of them for anxiety, mild depression, self-esteem issues but aside from me the only thing they have in common is-"

"Tuxedos and top hats," Moran said.

"Seems statistically unlikely to be mere coincidence," Ash said. "More so now that I'm aware of a tenth dreamer."

Thomas Moran smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. Ash smiled at the familiar gesture, an indicator that Moran was thinking, analyzing, decoding. 

"Well, look," Moran said, "It's not like we're all dreaming about Armageddon. Or the Antichrist. Or one of the currently popular opportunities for an apocalyptic end of life as we know it. I personally favor a plague of some kind but who knows? Climate change could still be a dark horse. I'd hedge my bets - if I were a betting man."

"Yeah. I suppose the lack of ominous religious symbolism is the good news," Ash said.

"You saw what I did there, right?" Moran asked. "Apocalypse? Dark horse?"

"Yes," Ash said. "I saw what you did. I'm just happy you weren't riding a metaphoric pale horse."

"Death," Moran acknowledged. "Bummer." Moran paused. "I can't do the math off the top of my head but even if it is statistically unlikely-" he said.

"1 in 387,420,489," Ash said. "Roughly speaking. I'll have to redo the math to account for you, now, of course."

"So, you're saying there's a chance." Moran smiled. 

Ash smiled in return at their shared memory. "This isn't about my chances of getting a date with Karen Collins."

"You're right," Moran said. "Those odds were much, much worse."

Ash took a sip of water. "Why is it you never went into private practice, Tom? You could've made a lot more money-"

"I've got all the money I need," Moran said.

Ash nodded. "Okay. You would've had more time to write-"

"I think I said everything I had to say in my first book," Moran said. "The second and third books were probably a waste of everyone's time, including mine. Not to mention the trees."

"I'm sorry," Ash said, wondering if his question was really for his friend or for himself… To be or not to be? "I apologize if I'm prying."

Thomas Moran leaned back in his chair. "You know the old saying, that if you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas?"

"Yes," Ash said.

"Well, if you lie down with crazy, you get up with psychoses."

Ash smiled. "I believe that's a classic example of a false equivalency."

"Perhaps," Moran said. "The thing about academia is that it's all so, well, academic." He sighed. "Maybe I lacked the courage necessary to take on other people's problems. I'm safe here." He paused. "You're a better man than me, Ash."

"You're not often wrong, Thomas, but in this case…" Ash was unable to complete his thought, as he felt suddenly and completely consumed by the fear that had dogged him for the past week and the realization of what he was capable of doing, that he might actually have it in him to break Jen's heart and abandon Sam. 

"Are you okay?" Moran asked. "Something's troubling you."

Ash mustered a reassuring smile. "It's nothing."

The waiter brought their food and after determining there was nothing else they needed, said, "I apologize for intruding but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation earlier and, well, is one of you having the grocery store dream, too?"

"Grocery store dream?" Ash asked.

"Yes," the waiter said.

"Tuxedo?" Moran asked.

"Yes," the waiter said.

"Top hat?" Ash asked.

"Yes!" the waiter exclaimed. "Every night this week!" 

Ash and Moran exchanged a look. Ash wondered if his old friend was playing a practical joke on him. It would've been out of character, though, and more to the point, how could Thomas have known about his patients and the grocery store dream? 

"Well," the waiter said, "What does it mean?"

Ash pondered the implications of yet another grocery store dreamer. Was he the only person on the planet who wasn't shopping for groceries in dreamland while wearing formal attire? As Ash hesitated to respond, caught up in seeking whatever meaning was hidden in the dream-share, Moran provided an answer aligned with the far more parochial interests of the waiter.

"The symbolism in the dream indicates that you're feeling pretty good about yourself. You're all dressed up. And you're seeking new opportunities in life. Shopping, for them, as it were," Moran said.

It was essentially what Ash had told each of his patients. 

But unlike his patients, all of whom had seemed quite pleased with Ash's analysis of the dream, the waiter seemed perplexed. "Huh. That really doesn't sound like me. At all. I mean, this job has made me feel practically suicidal at times. The condescension. And all the off menu requests - demands, really."

Ash considered the small plastic cup of guacamole he'd ordered "on the side" for his turkey club. Apparently, the $2.50 upcharge wasn't sufficient to offset the waiter's peculiar sense of the economic injustices inherent in capitalism and its class system of haves and have nots. Well, maybe his anger is justifiable, Ash thought. The waiter would be lucky to pocket a nickel of that $2.50. Hard to shop for a new life on five cents.

"Serving the ruling class while living on the bitter crumbs of my own self-loathing," the waiter continued. "And do you have any idea what terrible tippers college professors are?"

Better go 25% today, Ash thought.

"Oh! Sorry," the waiter said as his pager went off. "Just got buzzed. Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen!" And with that, he left for the kitchen.

"He should probably seek professional help," Moran said.

 *****

The following Monday, Ash went to his office. It  was his administrative day; no appointments, just bills, scheduling, and so on. There really wasn't that much to the inventory and ordering for a small office like his and Monday's were typically a half day of light, mindless work. 

This Monday, though, was more about getting away from the house, from Jen and Sam, from obsessing about the seemingly immutable predictability of his life, a future that seemed to be writing itself without him. 

His thoughts turned once again to the mysterious, shared dream of the grocery store. His conversation with Thomas Moran the previous Friday had not provided a breakthrough, let alone insights. Nor had his weekend, spent considering - and ultimately dismissing - various theories to explain the phenomena. The closest Ash had come to an explanation was more of a rationalization: His patients, Thomas - and their waiter - were all "in the dream" and Ash was not. He was an observer, not a participant. 

Ash wondered. Am I diagnosing my patients or myself? 

Had he always sought out the problems of others to distract himself from his own?

Ash noticed the red light signifying a message on his office phone. He grabbed a pen and notepad from his desk drawer and sat down to listen.

Every single one of his current patients had called over the weekend and left similar messages. They didn't just cancel their appointments this week, they were done with therapy. They felt good. Cured. They credited their time with him for their newfound peace of mind, their growing sense of self-confidence, their excitement for the next stage of their lives, whatever that might be. 

Ash wondered what was on beyond bewildered because that's where he found himself. He should be happy for his patients, shouldn't he? And yet, he was filled with a sense of dread, foreboding, anxiety - his frontal lobe was losing the battle with his amygdala and he felt that his sanity was about to be overwhelmed and overthrown. He wished he was dreaming so he could just wake up. 

He noticed the time. 3:35pm. How had it gotten this late? Apparently, he thought, time flies when you're caught in the grips of a paranoid delusion. He took a deep breath. Sam would be home from school and Jen would be wondering where he was. He texted an apology to Jen for running late, adding that he'd be home soon.

*****

Ash parked his car in the garage and entered the house through the mud room, offering a cheery "I'm home" as he entered the kitchen. "Sorry I'm late!"

"Hey, Dad!"

Ash followed the sound of his son's voice out to the front room where he saw his wife and son, each one dressed in a tuxedo, and top hat.

"Hey, Hon!" Jen said. "You almost missed us. We were just about to head out."

"To the grocery store?" Ash asked.

"Yeah," Jen said. "We just need a few things and I thought we'd just buzz out before dinner."

"Oreos!" Sam exclaimed.

"Yes, Sam. We're desperately low on Oreos. I thought if they had a decent looking steak maybe we could grill tonight," Jen said.

"Sure," Ash said. "Sounds good."

Jen nodded. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine," Ash said, as a choir in his head sang out, Not okay! Not okay! Not! Okaaaay! 

"Okay," Jen said. "I'll see if they have corn on the cob and maybe some potato salad from the deli, too. Come on, Sam. Let's go." Jen gave Ash a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll be right back. Love you!"

"Love you, too," Ash said. "You… you look really nice." He nodded to Sam. "Both of you."

"Thanks," Jen said, taking Sam's hand. "We do look nice, don't we, Sam?"

"We got the drip, Mom," Sam said.

"The drip?" Jen asked Ash. "I don't know what that is."

"It just means you look good," Ash said.

"Swag," Sam said.

"Cool," Jen said, and with that, they left.

Ash didn't move, didn't blink, wasn't even sure he drew a breath for a few minutes. Finally breaking his bizarre reverie, he headed to the study. Jen had suggested they might convert it into a nursery for the baby and ultimately a third bedroom. He sat in his large, burgundy leather chair in the northern corner of the room as the lowering sun poured through the large window that looked to the west. He considered the books that filled the shelves that covered the southern and eastern walls from floor to ceiling. He had spent his life believing there was an answer for every question but now felt just as certain that if he took a book from the shelves he would open it only to find every page blank. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and drifted off...

*****

Ash Granger pushed the empty shopping cart down the aisle of the grocery store. He paused to consider the goods on the shelves, but unable to decide between the sweet and dill gherkins, he moved on. He rounded a corner and nearly bumped into his retired airline pilot. He nodded. "How are you doing, Steven?" Steven K was looking good. Can a man look bad in a tuxedo? 

Steven K tipped his top hat and said "I'm good, Doc. Look good, feel good - am I right?"

Ash nodded and smiled. He noticed that Steven K's cart was not empty. It was filled up with food, canned goods, baking goods, frozen vegetables, dairy, and toiletries. This was different, Ash realized, a change in the dream. "Well, I'm ready to move on," Steven K said.

"You mean, check out?" Ash asked.

"Sure, Doc," he said. "Whatever you say." Steven K nodded at Ash's empty shopping cart. "Hope you find everything you're looking for." And with that, Steven K headed to the front of the store to check out.

Ash looked at the shelves; cans of soup on his left, with cocoa, tea, coffee on the right and there at the end of the aisle stood the waiter from the faculty lounge, also dressed in tuxedo and top hat, considering the various brands of ground and whole bean coffee. Ash remembered Thomas' comment and decided to see if the man needed help.

He pushed his cart down to the end of the aisle but before he could offer his assistance, the waiter, who held a bag of coffee in each hand, asked, "Colombian or Sumatran?"

"What do you think?" Ash asked.

"I'm thinking I'd like to know which country is more oppressive in its treatment of coffee growers; Colombia or Sumatra," the waiter said. "And which country tips better."

"I, uh, I'm afraid I don't know," Ash said.

"Wow. That's really helpful," the waiter said without any pretense to hide the bitter sarcasm in his voice. The waiter considered the bags of coffee in his hands and his face brightened. "Colombian or Sumatran?" he asked.

"What's up, Doc?" said the voice behind him. Even before he turned, Ash knew it was his network engineer, Sridhar B, who had bonded with Bugs Bunny as a child in what would become a lifelong if one-sided friendship. 

"Sridhar," Ash said, noting the tuxedo and top hat, and nodding approvingly. "Looking good."

"I'm looking good?" Sridhar adjusted his top hat. "We could be twins, Doc."

Ash noted that while the waiter's shopping cart was empty, Sridhar B's - like Steven K's - was filled to the top edge with groceries. 

"I don't suppose you know anything about the geopolitics of coffee growing, do you?" Ash asked.

"Colombian or Sumatran?" the waiter added.

Ash took advantage of the moment to leave Sridhar B with the waiter and pushed his cart on to the next aisle. On his left were fruit juices and water - still, vitamin-infused, and sparkling; cereals cold and hot on his right. His doctor. Michaela J, in tuxedo and top hat, stared at the shelves. He pushed his cart down to where she stood.

"Hello, Michaela," Ash said.

"Can you help me, Dr. Granger?" she asked.

"I'll try," Ash said.

"Do you see any Rice Chex? I've got Corn Chex, Wheat Chex, Blueberry Chex, Apple Cinnamon Chex, I even see Chocolate Chex but I don't see any Rice Chex," Michaela J said. "I'd really like to complete the set."

Ash scanned the shelves. "I don't," he admitted. He saw that her shopping cart was filled with boxes of the Chex cereal she had listed off for him, lacking only the Rice variety. "I'll go see if I can find a manager."

"Thanks, Dr. Granger," she said. "And may I say this is a welcome change from the plaid shirts and khaki pants." Mihaela J tipped her hat to him and returned to her Rice Chex vigil.

"You look pretty good yourself," Ash said.

"Of course I do," Michaela J said, her eyes never leaving the shelves and her quest for Rice Chex. "Fashion is an attitude, not an outfit." She broke off her search and looked at Ash. "Well, in your case it's an outfit. In my case?" she said, "I make this look good."

"Yes," Ash said. "You do. I'll just go find that manager now, okay?"

"Thanks," Michaela J said.

One by one, Ash Granger ran into each of his patients, all dressed in tuxedos and top hats, all pushing shopping carts that were filled with groceries. Richard D, the lawyer, in the laundry supplies and household cleaners aisle. Mary M, the McDonald's manager, in the meat section, stacking packages of hamburger in her cart. Kelly C, the grade school teacher, looking over the pens, notepads, sticky pads and paper clips next to the narrow shelves holding magazines and crossword puzzles. Paul T, the auto mechanic in the households section, his cart filled with cleaning supplies. Paul T, the insurance salesman, monitoring the clean up in aisle 6. Ed S, the dairy farmer, who had filled his cart from the display of sliced cheeses in the dairy section. 

In the frozen foods section, he found Thomas Moran, with a door held open as he made stacks of frozen dinners in his cart. "Truth be told, Janet wasn't much of a cook, but as terrible as her Swedish meatballs were, I still miss them." He looked at Ash. "I guess you don't know what you'll miss until it's gone." Moran tilted his head. "Are you listening to me? I'm talking to you, you know."

"I'm listening," Ash said.

"Good," Moran said. "They're in aisle 3. Jen and Sam. Cookies and crackers."

"Thanks," Ash said.

Moran turned back to stacking frozen dinners in his cart. "Tell me something, Horatio. Do I dream the Swedish meatballs or do the Swedish meatballs dream me?"

"Let me get back to you on that," Ash said, as he turned his cart, and headed off to aisle 3.

Jen and Sam, in their tuxedos and top hats, stood by their empty shopping cart in front of the shelves of cookies, their eyes fixed on the Oreos on the top shelf.

"Hey, there!" Ash called out  as he drew near.

"Hey, dad," Sam said without looking away from the packages of his beloved, cream-filled chocolate cookies.

"Hey, babe!" Jen said. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and slipped her arm around his waist. He felt himself relax for the first time in what seemed like days. He smiled and she smiled back."I've got a question for you," she said. "What moron would put the Oreos on the top shelf?"

"A tall guy who wants to keep all the Oreos for himself?" Ash suggested.

"Now you're just being silly," Jen said, holding him just a little tighter. It felt good. He felt good. 

"Let me," he said. He reached up and took a package of Oreos off the shelf. He put them in the shopping cart. "There," he said. "Problem solved."

Sam pumped his fist. "Yes! "Thanks, Dad," he said.

Ash looked at Jen and said, "I've got a question for Sam."

"What is it, Dad?" 

"I know you love Oreos. I'm just wondering if you'd be willing to share them, you know, if you had a little brother or sister?" Ash asked.

Sam pondered the question. He looked up at the top shelf and the packages of Oreos. "If I had a little brother or sister, maybe we could buy two packages," he said. "One for me, one for them."

Jen laughed, her eyes welling with tears. 

Ash said, "I like the way you think, Sam." He reached up and took a second package of Oreos off the top shelf, and put it in the shopping cart.

*****

Ash awoke. Sam stood before him, dressed in blue jeans and a Red Sox t-shirt, his arms above his head, holding a package of Oreos.

"Sam?" Ash asked, still a bit groggy from his nap.

"Double Stuff!" Sam exclaimed. And with that he marched from the room to the cadence of "Double Stuff! Double Stuff! Double Stuff!" 

As Sam marched out, Jen stepped into the doorway, wearing shorts with big pockets and a short-sleeved blouse, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Dinner first, remember?" Ash noticed the sadness in her face as she looked around the room. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Good," Ash said. "Refreshed."

Jen nodded. "I did get a steak, and some corn on the cob, if you're still up for cooking out."

Ash stood. "Yeah. I am definitely up for that. Maybe I'll open a bottle of wine. I thought later we could talk about turning this room into a nursery."

"Maybe we shouldn't drink if we're going to talk about that," Jen said.

"Did I say... talk?" 

Jen smiled. 

"Okay," she said. "I'm looking forward to... talking, later." She turned to go but stopped. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ash said. "I'm sure."