Supermarket - Bobby Hall Page 0,9
lot of foods that are great for the brain—walnuts, flax seeds, and avocado because of their omega acids and nutrients—but bananas have been digested by us since we were swinging in the fucking trees, man!” He was absurdly passionate about this banana.
“Damn, man, you really know your shit,” I said with a smile.
“Well, one of us has to take care of your brain,” he said as he grabbed another banana from the pouch in his black apron, the one he wore over his tan company-issued button-down. He threw the banana to me. “And you can take care of the lungs,” he said, waving a finger at me, mimicking a nagging old woman. “You see, bananas can also help with your mood in addition to your brain. Eating them can help you remember things.”
By now we were inside walking through the store. “I mean, without memory, who are we, you know?” he asked. “Just a shell of who we once were . . . with no memory, there’s no self, there’s no ‘I’. Is there consciousness without memory? Is there language? Experience? Without memory are we just living in a loop? Is memory the only thing keeping us sane? Without memory we’re just walking around like that guy in Memento, scribbling shit on our arms, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“Ummm,” I said. “You’re giving that banana a lot of weight, man.”
“Think about it, Flynn! The mind is a powerful thing!” Frank said, walking us around the store.
We turned down the cereal aisle, where I saw a man wearing a white doctor’s coat. He seemed to be a physician, but why he was shopping in his full getup, I had no idea.
“Did you know one standard-size banana provides approximately .4 milligrams of B6, 450 milligrams of potassium, 30 milligrams of magnesium, 30 grams of carbs, and 3 grams of fiber?” Frank continued as we walked. I looked over my shoulder and noticed the doctor wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore—he looked just like a regular customer now. I figured he must have placed his jacked inside his basket and carried on his merry way.
“The facts on bananas are damn near endless,” said Frank.
“Who the fuck would remember all that?”
“Somebody who eats a lot of bananas, somebody who cares a lot about their mind,” he said. That’s when I realized Frank was perfect. I mean, he was the ideal candidate. It was as if fate had brought us together in this supermarket. I pulled out my Moleskine and went down the list.
On the left side of the page it said:
Store/Layout—medium size, checkout and customer service in front, produce section on the left, bakery, coffee shop, and pharmacy in the back
Company Uniform—black pants, black shoes, light brown button-down T-shirt, black apron, and name tag.
Possible Characters—Becca, Rachel, Ronda, Ted, Ann, Kurtis
I added another name.
Frank
Types of Customers—man who always drinks coffee; let’s call him Joe. Wacko out front playing chess by himself, mystery doctor, moms, grandmas
Different Kinds of Food—canned goods, juice, pasta, cereal
Store Gossip—
Love Interest—
On the right side of the page, another list. I went down it, checking items off, as Frank incessantly spoke in the background.
Protagonist
Kind of funny—✓
Good with women—✓
Smart-ass—✓
Prick—✓
Talker—✓
Normal dude in twenties—✓
He is perfect! I thought, biting into a banana as I strolled down aisle nine with Frank by my side. Frank finally stopped talking, looking pleased about his deep knowledge of fruit.
The crazy part about this list is that these things were all expected to come from different people, and I could use other people’s attributes to create a composite person! One person who was funny, another who was a smart-ass, another who was a bit of a womanizer, but hell . . . all these characteristics within one guy was a dream come true. It was all I could hope for when using a real-life person as the foundation for a fictional character!
Oh, wait, damn, I’m sorry . . . you must be confused. I’m a writer. I know my methods are unconventional, but that’s what I was currently doing . . . finishing a book. A book, which I planned to base entirely on Frank. And I wasn’t afraid to get weird with it.
Actually, this seems even more confusing now. I think we should take a moment. Step out of aisle nine and take you back to the inception of all this.
Give you a proper beginning.
CHAPTER 4
A PROPER BEGINNING
“It’s over, Flynn.”
My girlfriend Lola looked at me, her eyes welling up with tears.
“I love you, but I can’t