Twinkle Toes

She was cued up to buy flour. It used to be a cue for bread, but those days were long past gone. It was still dark, and cold, of course cold, always cold. The iron gate in front of the glass door came clanking open about 30 minutes ago. She did’t see it open. Couldn’t see it open from where she stood around the corner, but she heard the rattle and clank of the iron gate swinging open, felt the line surge forward a bit. Ten customers at a time. That was the rule.

She fingered the single cigarette in her coat pocket, wanting to take it out, hold it between her thumb and index finger and slowly bring it to her mouth. She wanted to feel the grit of the lighter as the flame sprung to cigarette’s tip. She could almost see the red glow, yearned for the warm inhalation of tabacco, feel the ease in her body. But no. Not now. Not when there was so much dark and day ahead; when almost anything could happen, but almost nothing ever did.

Suddenly she was nudged forward, pushed really, bumping her into the tall dude in front of her. He didn’t budge.

“Let’s sing!” came a lilting voice from somewhere behind her.

What the fuck? Nevermind. It wasn’t meant for her. Twinnkle Toes, which is what she instantly decided to name the lilting voice behind her, who was most likely aiming that demand to a small child. Yes, there were children in the cue, bundled in parkas, scarfs, and mittens—too young to be left home alone in their blanketed beds.

“Hey” Twinkle Toes lilted again and nudging her back a bit harder. “Let’s sing!”

This time she was irriatated and she whilred around to confront the smallish girl/woman round in her parka and snowpants—who beamed with a wide-assed smile and dancing eyes. God she was irriatating. “I don’t sing.” She said matter-of-factly. “But you go ahead. Sing. Go ahead.”

“Everybody sings,” she said as if this was a widely known fact.

She had already turned back to face the front of the line. No, everybody does not sing, she thought. Nor should they. The line moved a few feet forward. Light was beginning to find the sky. A shopper who had jusyt left the store walked hurriedly past holding a 5 lb bag of flour and 2 apples. Apples, can you believe it? So there is apples in the store today, she dared to wonder if there would be any left by the time she got there. The child the clunf to the mother’s coat tail had a Tootsie Roll Pop in her mouth, her little face alight with warm pleasure. Sweets, when available, were only for children—and were free.

From behind, someone, and of course she knew who, tugged at her hood, pulling itdown off her warm head—the damp cold hitting like a meteor, and she instantly whirled around, furious.

“Sing, Sing out loud, Sing out strong…” Twinkle Toes sang with what appeared to be uncensored joy.

And then before she could struggle away, before her outrage coud burst through her mouth, she found herself singing. Singing. Loud and with inherited joy. The two of them belting out the song. Maybe they sounded good. Maybe the didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter. Before long others joined in. A whole chorus of cold and tired strangers cueing up for flour—and maybe apples. Singing with gusto, with actual smiles.

Did the time pass more quickly? Did the line speed up? She did’t know, but there she was at the store’s glass door, the next to go in. She turned and spoke to the girl/woman, Twinkle Toes. “I’ve never met anhyone like you before.”

An older man bearded and hunched, left the store with his 5 lbs of flour and held the door open for her.

As she entered the store, she heard Twinkle Toes from behind her say, “you should be grateful for that.

There were no apples.