Sarah Beckett - Installment 2

Many afternoons, she would leave work and head downtown with her bread in hand stopping at the Green Market on Chambers Street near the Tweed Courthouse to pick up some sharp cheddar cheese and fresh cucumbers. Between the bread, cheese and cucumbers, she would be set for dinners for a week. She was not a consciously healthy eater. She just had simple tastes and frugal leanings. She would occasionally augment her diet with a cherished Blueberry muffin. She kept the muffin splurging to a minimum since they were $5.75 each. Often times, those splurges would occur on Tuesday afternoons.  Tuesdays were the day she made herself haul her art portfolio to almost any gallery who’s owner would agree to view it. In the course of 18 months of this exercise, she had received little in the way of encouragement and quite a bit in the way of brutal disparagement. Her work had been referred to as “naïve… and not in a good way”, “immature”, “not yet fully realized”, “stunningly derivative” and perhaps worst of all “cute”.  She would hold her composure through the Gallery owners’ critiques only by focusing on the promise of a fresh blueberry muffin when it was over. She would then leave the gallery and head to the subway, all the time chastising herself silently for not focusing on paintings smaller than 20x16, at least they would have been easier to schlep from gallery to gallery. She would take the subway south to 4^th St and rush to her favorite muffin shop. As she approached the counter each Tuesday the chatty girl with the vintage style cat’s eye glasses would see her coming and reach automatically for a blueberry muffin and bag in which to place it. “Here ya go Sweetie, $5.75 but you already know that.” Sarah wondered how this girl could remember HER out of the countless number of people she must serve on a daily, let alone weekly, basis. It never occurred to Sarah that she was a singularly unique figure with her 3’ by 3’ black vinyl portfolio carried over her shoulder by its strap, the tan and plaid LL Bean barn coat that kept the wind and cold at bay but was less impressive at blending in with NYC style and eyes swollen and red , not from crying but from the exertion of suppressing tears.  “I tell ya, if I didn’t know what day it was, and between you and me sometimes I really don’t, I’d always be able to tell it was Tuesday the minute you walk through that door.”  Sarah struggled for a polite response “thank you” seemed inappropriate and unwarranted, “wow” also seemed an ill fit for the moment.  Feeling poorly prepared for conversation, Sarah simply managed an “okay”. She winced the minute she heard the sound come out her mouth. She had intended it to be a sound that said “I hear you and acknowledge what you’ve said” instead it sounded more like “ Okaaaaay - Whatever YOU’RE about!” The chatty girl defended herself “Well, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, just that you’re pretty regular here”.  “I’m sorry” offered Sarah as the girl handed her the change from a $10 bill. “I just…” her voice trailed off as she realized that any defense of her response would take longer than the moment allowed she simply repeated, “I’m sorry. See you next Tuesday?”  The counter girl replied with a mimicking and exaggeratedly sarcastic “Okaaay!”