A visit to the general store

I rummaged in the cooler, poking packages of local beef in an effort to remember which ones were good for grilling, as if my finger could tell the difference between a chuck and a cross rib. Even after reading and adoring Julie Powell's Cleaved, I still don't know which ends of a cow are worth chewing on. I picked one of each, and some hot dogs for insurance. Someone had stopped beside me, and suddenly said breathlessly, "Is that really you?" I looked up, "Huh, who am I?" Maybe I was a starlet on an all-meat diet. I hoped I was Claire Danes. More likely, Helen Hunt. A middle-aged woman with grey hair in a loose bun and a batik sundress was looking at me very hard. Her eyes sort of crumpled in disappointment."You looked like someone who used to live here, but she left... a long time ago... Someone pretty!" she added with a laugh, but she didn't look happy. I nodded and closed the meat fridge, feeling a bit guilty. It would be a terrible thing to see someone well-loved and long-gone, only a few feet and a whisper away, and have them turn to look at you with a stranger's face.