Black and Blue and Bright All Over

Paper Towels, check.

Toilet paper, check.

Paper plates, check.

Melissa finished scanning her shopping list, confirming for perhaps the third time that she had found all the groceries that she needed. Or at least—all but one.

She had been putting it off. This was always the hardest part of the trip. She hated the shopping trip just before Independence Day. She hadn't used to, but she did now. It was harder without Jim. This was his thing, and without him here, picking up this one thing for him always tore her up inside. But she still did it every year. For him.

The basket clattered loudly as Melissa strolled toward the small refrigerated section of Carmichael's Corner shop. As she reached the end of the aisle she could see that she wasn't the only person in the market for beer. There were several others here, loading up their baskets for their fourth of July celebrations. Down near the middle of the aisle though, that's where she needed to get to.

She worked her way past a heavy man in a tank top, sweating from the strain of lifting two twenty-four packs of cheap generic beer into his cart. She also managed to dodge the woman in the blue floral print dress who kept stepping back and forth comparing prices on the cold beverages, clearly unaware of the difference between good quality and bad, much less the difference between an ale and a lager.

Another man eyeballed her as she walked past, his leer carefully crafted to make her skin crawl. That was another thing she missed about Jim. He'd kept the weirdoes at bay. Perks of being so obviously a marine, she supposed.

At last she reached the middle of the aisle and found what she was looking for. A single six-pack of Dogfish Head Black & Blue remained. She was about to reach for it when a slim olive-skinned man lifted it up and turned to place it in his basket.

Melissa didn't care for beer herself and ordinarily would never trouble someone taking the last of something. There was always a substitute or she could do without. But this—this was important!

"Excuse me," she said quietly.

The man turned to her, still holding the six-pack in one hand. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked as though he'd been crying recently. The sight of his pained face gave her pause for just an instant and added a burden of guilt to the task before her.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, sir. But I really need that beer."

"So do I," the man assured her. He was still clad in the auto mechanic uniform he must wear to work. The name tag on it read Khalim. She frowned a little bit, recalling Jim's feelings on "those middle eastern types" and speculated on the irony of the situation.

"I'm sure you do," Melissa replied. This particular brand of beer was highly alcoholic and Khalim had the look of a chronic drinker to him. Not that he looked like a bad man, or even an unattractive one. He just had the look of someone that had fallen into a bottle one too many times. "But is there any way I can talk you out of it?"

He stared at her and Melissa knew that her expression was desperate. She hadn't intended to be so obvious, but she really needed that beer.

"I'll tell you what," he said calmly. "Tell me why you need it so bad. If you really do need it worse than I do, then I'll give it to you."

"Well I…" Melissa started, thinking to make up something ludicrous. She wanted to weave some kind of tragic sob story to convince the man to give in, but the real story was sad enough and something in Khalim's eyes spoke to her on a very basic level. There was loss there that felt like a reflection of her own, and that was something she could respect. She felt that she owed this man the truth.

"I need it for my husband," she said. Khalim shook his head and began to put the beer in his basket again. "No, wait! Let me explain." He paused and the beer returned to his side. "My husband died in Afghanistan almost five years ago. That beer was his favorite tradition." Khalim had an eyebrow arched now, but it wasn't quizzical or disbelieving like she had expected, just curious. "Every year since we were both old enough to drink, he and I would get a six pack of that exact beer and we'd sit out in the yard and watch the stars and the fireworks and…" she blushed crimson "…other things."

A ghost of a smile crossed Khalim's lips at the last bit, but he simply said. "I'm sorry for your loss." His eyes were filled with sadness, but a glimmer of kindness shone out at her. He smiled gently and lifted the beer into her basket for her. "Here you go, Miss. I hope it does you some good in keeping your husband's memory."

She nodded gratefully and was on the verge of turning away when a thought stopped her.

"Wait a minute," Melissa said as Khalim's basket began to rattle away. He turned to stare at her and she said, "Aren't you going to tell me why you need it? How can I be sure that I need it more than you?"

His eyes dropped to the floor for a long moment before returning to lock gazes with her.

"It's going to sound foolish after your story, but I need it for my bride."

"Oh?"

"It's for our first anniversary. Or it would be if she were still alive." Khalim sighed heavily and continued, "She died nine months ago. We'd only been married for a few short weeks when we found out that she was dying. Lung cancer." He managed to choke back a sob, but only just, and Melissa felt her heart breaking for this poor man. "It was her favorite. She found it during our honeymoon on the east coast and she was the one who suggested we should come back on our one-year anniversary to have it again." His expression was a mixture of fond remembrance and devastated recollection and Melissa knew she couldn't take this from him. At least her wound was an old one, painful yes, but healing. Khalim's was still fresh.

Melissa lifted the pack of beer from her cart and proffered it to him. "Take it."

His eyes fell to the beer and his hand reached out for it, beginning to grasp it, but then he stopped. They stood that way for a long while, both with their hands on the cardboard handle of the pack as the bottles tinkled lightly together.

"You know what?" Khalim said quietly. "Why don't we share it?" Melissa looked at him doubtfully but he continued. "There's a private park just a mile or two down the street. It's got a great view of the fireworks and there's not usually too many people there."

"I don't know. Are you sure?" Melissa asked, still uncertain.

"I know my wife was all about meeting new people and making friends, and she'd never have hoarded something all to herself if she knew that she could use it to make someone else happy. It seems like a good way to honor her memory by making a new friend. What do you think?"

"Well," said Melissa, biting her lower lip. "I don't know how crazy Jim would have been about sharing his beer with a stranger, but I know he would have jumped at the chance to share it with a friend." She smiled crookedly at the floor and then back up at Khalim. She nodded. "Let's do it."

Melissa and Khalim walked together toward the front of the store, both feeling immensely better about the future without having touched a drop. A few hours later, with the crackle and roar of freedom high overhead, they sat in the park and sipped at their beer and toasted to life and love, and just now, to new friendship.

"It isn't what you have," Melissa mused quietly beneath the stars, remembering one of her husband's favorite adages. "It's what you do with it that really matters."

"Wiser words have never been spoken." Khalim agreed.

They clinked their bottles together and lay back on the soft grass to let the heavenly light wash over them.