To Catch... His Eye

I had been joking with the cashier, trying my best to break up the routine of his job. I swiped my debit card through the machine and punch my code in and wait for him to finish ringing me up. I don't know why but I glanced up and over. Down three or four check-stands he stood there facing me mimicking my actions, swiping his debit card and entering his pin number. I don't catch his eye, they are staring at the card machine. I freeze. My cashier is telling me something, but I can't track with what he is saying. Has he seen me and is choosing to ignore me? He must have heard me laughing with Terrie, a co-worker I ran into in the nut aisle. Surely, he knows I am here and is choosing to ignore me. Goodness his hair looks lighter, more salt in that salt n' pepper hair. Has the new job made him go gray over the summer? All he is buying is wine. Not surprising. I wonder if he is having a party. Another party I would have heard about but never been invited to. My fingertips seem to remember how soft his hair is and twinge with an urge to feel it again. My head swirls with panicked indecision of whether or not to greet him. But I have done my chasing. I could not catch him. Much more chasing after this one man than any self-respecting woman should have done. No more. I finally understand that the cashier rang up my avocado as another gourd, but it is to my favor and so he hands me my receipt. Desperate to be out of the market I grab my cart with the bag of groceries and bouquet of flowers and head out the door studiously examining my receipt as to avoid eye contact with anyone.  As I lift my bag out of the cart and shove the cart into the holding area I recognize his car beside me and catch a glimpse of him coming down the walk way. I yearn for him to say "hello," to acknowledge me, that is what I've always wanted from him. I walk up to my car, opening up the passenger side door and placing my bag on the floor. Jangling my keys I walk around to the drivers side, glancing down to his white Mercedes where he is likewise putting his bag of wine in the passenger seat. Terrified of him greeting me and yet longing for it, one more chance, I hope to catch his eye. I slide into the drivers seat a mixture of relief and sadness.
(This is not the same grocery store incident as the previous post. Just coincidence.)

A fun writing exercise from The Gypsy Mama.