There is something about her. This woman in the grocery store you’ve followed from produce to dairy aisle to cereal lane. You want to hug her. The part of you that still, at age 31, believes in magic and touch, hopes that she will turn to you suddenly and say, “I need a hug.” And you will be there, thin shouldered, bow legged, orange suede pumas and the glasses held together by tape and faith that your son broke. You just want to hug her. But can’t figure out how to promise her that you are neither weirdo nor Jehovah’s Witness, just a body who has eyed the Cap’n Crunch which the same suspicion. A girl who has sighed heavily at the spinach wet and mocking with its freshness. You want to tell her that you know this is not about the rising price of breakfast foods. It’s about the wallet that holds bills you don’t have the yoga to stretch. Or the overdraft fees that rain over you like a rusty faucet. Maybe it’s about the man. Maybe it’s about the fact that he refuses to love you and you refuse to walk away because the staying means you’re fighting for something, even if the staying means you’ve forgotten how to fight for yourself. Or maybe it’s not about any of that. Maybe it’s just because Wednesdays are the most difficult days. Not as easy to blame as Monday but holds nothing like the anticipation of Friday that is Thursday’s lot in life. You know that this idea of nourishment confuses her. Convinces her that if she can not decide between high fiber and low sugar, how can she make any proper decision. She wants to package herself small. You want to offer her a pathway that promises a smile every day. But you have only recently mapped that out for yourself. For now, you can only stand a few feet away, watching as a stream etches wet across her cheek. She wipes it away. Looks up and finds you watching her. You decide not to turn away. There is no shame in the tears. You offer her a small smile. Hope it says, “I’ve been there. I know there. Get the Cap’n Crunch it will help you feel a little better. Make any choice that keeps you from crumbling. Tell him you love him. If it makes you feel better. If it doesn’t, then pretend he loves you and let him walk away. Either way, forgive him. Then forgive yourself. Quit your job. But don’t tell your boss. Just leave early. Come back in the morning if you need to. Write it down. Throw it away. Then write it again. Turn on the radio loud and then scream at the top of your lungs. Curse God. then apologize. Curse yourself. Then apologize… but most importantly, find someone to hug you.” But you say none of this or the thousands of other suggestions that race through your head. She stares at you a little longer. Offers you a faint smile in return. She picks up the Grape Nuts and holds them to her. You take your cart and your belief in magic, resist the urge to reach out. Just pass her and say, “When you get home, find someone who will hug you.” Don’t bother to wait or look for her reaction just go to frozen foods like you planned before you saw her. When you get there, you should probably remind yourself that you are neither weirdo nor Jehovah’s Witness. Then go back to the cereal aisle and get the Cap’n Crunch… it will make you feel better.