Free Wouldn’t Change a Thing by Stacy Campbell Page A

Morton’s Kosher salt.” She hands me a twenty and I give it back.
    â€œYour money’s no good here.”
    Whiplash barks and scratches at the door.
    â€œI’ll be right back, girl. Stay put.”
    I head inside and am greeted with hellos and smiles. Lamonte promised me that when we retired, we’d move to a small town and purchase a gigantic house in the country with a wraparound porch.
    I shake away that memory as I stop at the tomatoes. “Lamonte is no more. Lamonte is no more.”
    â€œDid you say something, Sugar?” an older man standing in produce asks me. He steps closer and I admire his blue linen leisure suit. He tinkers with the black-and-silver Medic-Alert bracelet on his left wrist and smiles, releasing a fresh burst of Listerine.
    â€œI said tomatoes galore, tomatoes galore.”
    â€œThey sure are pretty this time of the year. You can make some real good chow-chow with these green ones.” He lifts one for me to inspect, then places the tomato with the others and extends his right hand. “Name’s Battle. You from around here?”
    â€œI’m just running in for my Aunt Mavis.”
    â€œLawton?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThat’s your aunt?”
    I nod.
    â€œI been knowing May and Ray for years. They’re good people.” He considers my branch on the family tree and touches my shoulder. “How your Mama and ’nem doing? Been a while since I’ve seen Greta.”
    â€œEverybody’s fine.” I swallow hard and do what I do best. “I am on my way to see her today.”
    â€œTell her Battle said hey for me, okay? Me and Ray go way back. Fought in ’Nam together and everything. I knew he was gonna be something in the military. He always did have good leadership abilities. Your daddy, Paul, made the best cabinets in the South. Had the market cornered ’til he moved up North. Matter of fact, tell ’em all I said hello.”
    â€œI will, sir. Thank you for your kind words.”
    â€œYou ain’t got to be so formal. Call me Battle.”
    â€œOkay…Battle. I’ll tell them you said hello.”
    I slink away in hopes no one else stops me for small talk. I could do this all day. This is what I longed for in Atlanta—a place to call home where someone knew me, knew my people. I make it past the honeybuns and breads and my stomach growls. I stop at the sound of raucous laughter between women one aisle over. As soon as I find the Sure-Jell, I will creep behind them to find the source of their joy.
    â€œIt’s like I said, Norma, you can’t beat good home training. These young folks don’t know a thank you from a please. Forget about ma’am and excuse me . I don’t know who’s raising them, but that’s been lost in the school system.”
    â€œMmm-hmmm. Sure is.”
    I nod my amen and think of some of the youth I encountered while mentoring.
    â€œWhen I was teaching, there was a respect code the kids had to follow. None of this sagging pants and earbud, head-bopping mess I see now. I don’t know how these young teachers do it. I would have been on the news for slapping the taste out of their mouths.”
    â€œShirley, quit. You have more tact and couth than that.”
    â€œNorma, did you hear who the cat dragged back into town?”
    â€œShirley, I’ve got to get my commodities and watch my stories. Make it quick.”
    â€œThat ole’ prodigal daughter of Greta and Paul’s.”
    â€œHush yo mouth!”
    My legs are driftwood. I stay on my aisle, but inch closer to the bottles of salad dressing.
    â€œYou didn’t see the story in the AJC ?”
    â€œGirl, no.”
    â€œYou taking this unplugging from society too seriously. You know that girl left here years ago and nobody had seen hide nor hair of her until they did a story on the state of mental health in Georgia. But I knew where she was because of the lowdown