Shopping for molasses

A few months ago I needed an ingredient for a recipe, so I went into one of the mini grocery stores a short drive from my house. On that Saturday afternoon, I was the only customer in the store.

As I walked down the isle looking for molasses, a dark skinned man wearing a blue plaid shirt began yelling at the woman behind the register. I didn't understand the language, but it was clear what he was saying. His angry screams filled the store.

I peaked over at the woman; she listened, but didn't respond. Her long, black glossy hair pulled low on her neck in a pony tail, her skin matched his. She looked tired. And it seemed to me she had been through this before. If she was angry too, she hid it well. A little girl played quietly between the man and woman.   

I found what I needed and went to the register to pay. By this time, the man had disappeared into the back storage area and the store was finally quiet. If I was going to say anything, it would have to be quick. 

Are you okay? Do you need help? Does your husband hit you?

I didn't ask. I was afraid. I didn't want to embarrass her and I wasn't sure how much English she
spoke. Maybe it wasn't my business. So I just took my change and left.

This morning I found myself back in that same store. I hadn't shopped there since that Saturday, but I
think of her when I drive past. When I remember, I pray she is alright. She wasn't there today; a man worked the register this time. I don't know if he's that same man from before, I didn't get a good look at his face. Where ever she is I hope she is okay.

This is an original post to New Jersey Moms Blog. Monica Brand lives in Hunterdon County, New Jersey. Visit her personal blog, Paper Bridges.