(cont.) in 1st

I unloaded to disgusting burdens and sought refuge from the heat. I parked at the pumps and walked inside. A man was taking a photo of the front of the building. I went in overly curious as to why he was doing that. I have worked with a couple of apps in which one might take a photo of a Wal-Mart entrance. I wandered the store keeping an eye out for the photographer as the curiosity ate me alive. I did ask. His reply was ridiculous. He was from out of state and had never seen a Wal-Mart of that size. I wished him a happy vacation and a safe trip and was on my way. Back out in the heat I pumped Twenty bucks into the take while I drank the Powerade I purchased.
Moments down the road their was a fire on the roadside. It appeared as though some Arschloch had thrown a lit cigarette out the window and with the dry heat it caught the grass on fire. The gas station across the street from the small fire had no less than 6 people standing around on their cells staring at it. I shook my head and drove on. Obviously someone was calling the local fire department but it seemed silly to me. The “fire” was four times more smoke than fire and no bigger than the ground space of my bedside stand. Had I remembered the 2 gallons of water in my trunk I could have put it out myself. Yet these bystanders just stood there. They did nothing. Not my job, not their job, we pay taxes for things like this, call the Fire department. On the way home no less than 3 regular vehicles with flashing red lights and sirens headed in the direction of the small grass fire. Volunteer firefighters itching to see some action no doubt.
I need to go to town to get my birth control and I am determined to have some Taco Bell for lunch. I will not be driving my car because no AC. She held the bodies of her loved ones and wore the memory of what home was on her skin to the memorial four days after the bombing. Many years later she looked over a worn book that she had written about those times. Stealing books. Hiding a Jew in a basement. Learning to love.
Hitler’s power came to an end nearly 35 years before my birth and yet I am oddly effected whenever I read even the most simple pains of people in those times. Would I be human if I was not effected in some small way. Today feels odd. Is there a word for exactly the feeling I have. I doubt it. My fathers father was German. I would call him my grandfather but I never met him. He was gone before I could know him. There is one photo of him holding me as a baby. Mom swears she saw him one night rocking my cradle after his passing. I know he fled a dangerous and horrifying Germany. He married a woman who was 1/2 Polish and they came here. I faintly remember my grandmothers accent. I just.... I don’t know.... felt the need to share the oddness of the day.
It is nearly 5 now. I have things to do.... sort of… I mean it’s not like I NEED to.