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A Once In A Lifetime Thing

Tony Brown

    Even though not much of a wine drinker, as he approached the entrance to the A Touch of Grape store in the mall, he decided to go inside just to find out why so many people were crowded into such a small space. A man at the back of the store was standing higher than the others somehow, but the throng was jammed in so tightly that it was impossible to tell what he was standing on. Soon it was evident that the store was having a wine-tasting event, as he could barely hear the man describing various wines and their bouquets, the different types of grapes they were made from, the areas of France, Italy, California— and places locally from eastern North Carolina— that they had come from.
    He struggled to make his way nearer to the speaker because he had once been to Italy’s Tuscany region, and to Duplin Winery in Rose Hill, and had seen the wine-making process in person. A dubious group of people who seemed to be family members were milling about, not giving the first hint from their bedraggled appearance as to the possibility that any one of them might be an expert on the various nuances of wine; it being much more likely free alcohol was their sole interest. One of them, an extremely large woman with a baby carriage, apparently had recently given birth and was for all practical purposes ordering her breasts to expose themselves, since her loose blouse was not even close to covering them on either side and she had no bra on. There was no baby to be seen or heard, however.
    His brief moment of titillation was quickly replaced by annoyance that the woman would so carelessly allow herself to be seen like that whether she had recently given birth or not, especially with the thicket of long hair protruding from her armpits. She was a new mother, though, and perhaps she just didn’t realize she was exposing herself. He could hear very little of what the man on stage was saying because this one group of people were annoying the store personnel by picking up all sorts of items and saying they liked this, and they liked that about it, but this or that or the other was wrong with it...something needed to be different before they would purchase it.
    Obviously they had little intention of buying anything at all. Eventually, they massed at the outer edges of the place, sitting so close together people could only pass through with great difficulty. They were talking loudly about Jesus and how everyone needed to be saved and making rude comments about the people who were struggling to get past them.
    Finally he’d had enough.
    “You all need to allow these people a way to get past you,” he said firmly. “There’s no reason you have to completely block the exit.”
    They huffed and puffed and let out a great hue and cry, moaning out oh woe is us, we’re sitting innocent as can be, but still he persisted, knowing that the store clerks were helpless to deal with such obnoxious people.
    “You’re an adult woman, ma’am,” he continued, addressing the fat lady, “and you could take care of your baby’s needs without making all these people so uncomfortable with your breasts flopping out every which way but loose, and you‘re not even feeding your baby!”
    Several clapping hands could be heard behind him as he stood up for crowd’s rights.
    “Well, I never...” the woman sputtered, her upper body leaning away from him.
    Emboldened, he stood firm. “You all have been pestering these sales people with all sorts of stupid questions about stuff you don’t have the slightest intention of buying. I suggest that you either start buying or start leaving, and let these people get on with their business.”
    “Well, I never!” the woman said again as she tugged at her blouse to close the gap, glaring up at the increasingly large number of people who were standing with him, nodding agreement and clapping his every statement of fact.
    “Hmmph!” she cried as she stood. “Let’s get out of here and away from this rude man!” she told her companions. “We don’t have to put up with this!”
    As she started pushing the baby carriage, it clinked. The woman pretended not to notice until he moved over and blocked her way out. She bent over and revealed three bottles of the most expensive wine in the shop that had been posing as an infant covered by a pink blanket.
    “How ever in the world did they get in there!” she said, nervous tics causing her reddened face to twitch.
    “I just wonder,” he said, as he picked the bottles up and placed them on a counter.
    The crowd around her murmured at the revelation. “She didn’t even have a baby!” one lady said. “She’s just fat,” another woman said, while a gray-haired man in a business suit declared, “I heard about these people on the news! She was showing herself to distract attention from what they were doing. Somebody ought to call the law!”
    At the mention of the word “law” the group jumped to their feet and were gone before several people who had whipped out their cell phones could even dial “9-1-1,” but not before several more bottles of wine and various items from other stores in the mall mysteriously appeared, scattered on the floor in the area where they’d been sitting.
    Clapping broke out as several of the patrons clapped him on the back and shook his hand.
    “People shouldn’t have to put up with such nonsense whether a woman is pregnant or not,” one woman carrying a small child said. “Thank you, sir, for saying something. Most people just let folks like that get away with such behavior and they never even know that they’ve been so obnoxious.”
    Another voice chimed in, “We all pay through higher prices when people shoplift like that. Let’s hear it for this man who spoke up when no one else said a word!”
    He was embarrassed at the accolades because it was so unlike him to do something to make himself get noticed, but still he felt pride in having expressed what the others had felt, but been too polite to say. He selected a bottle of brightly-packaged Carolina Scuppernong Blush from Duplin Winery and went to the rear cash register area to pay. The lone male clerk had finished his spiel, largely without those in attendance having the opportunity to hear him, and was accepting orders from the few people still left in the store after the confrontation.
    One of the female clerks sat on the low counter that served as a podium when the store was having wine samplings and was talking about the flavors of different wines that she liked. She had enjoyed his defense of the store and motioned him to sit beside her, since it was near closing time and the shop had now emptied except for him and the store personnel. They all sat scrunched together on the little stage-like area, women on both sides of him, smelling of different sweet perfumes, the odor of wine from little plastic cups they held drifting to his nostrils.
    “How much is this wine,” he asked.
    “Eight-fifty with tax,” the male clerk said.
    He started rummaging through his wallet, worrying that he didn’t have enough money, but a twenty popped out and fell on his lap, relieving himself from embarrassment over not having bought anything after his tirade. Everyone on the platform was squashed together with not an inch of space between, and he struggled to keep the twenty from getting lost in the tangle of bodies. He managed to retrieve it and handed it to the clerk.
    With the much-quieter atmosphere, a piped-in Musak version of “Surfer Girl” by The Beach Boys could now be heard. He leaned over to the pretty college-age girl next to him on the left and whispered, “I used to sing this for my daughter when she was very young.”
    “My name’s Kate. Sing it for me,” she requested, tugging on his arm. He shook his head, but she persisted, so he began singing it low into her ear, then a bit louder to overcome the chatter. The talking started to fade away as he sang.
    “Little surfer, little one...made my heart come all undone, do you love me, do you surfer girl.”
    Silence began overtaking the chitchat. “Sing louder,” Kate said, and so louder still he sang.
    “I have watched you on the shore, standing by the ocean’s roar...do you love me, do you, surfer girl.”
    Some of the others obviously knew the song, despite being younger than it was, and began echoing, “Little surfer girl, my little surfer girl” like the background vocals on the original, and pretty soon everyone joined in as he repeated the song over again, and the others who hadn’t known the words began singing along.
    One of the employees began lowering the mesh metal door, and he started to get up to let them close, but the others held him back, saying, “Let’s do it one more time; this is so nice.”
    The song had swelled into completeness now, as the others sang, “ah, ah ah ah,” to begin it. Like a folk-in from the sixties, everyone was singing together, with him— for once in his life— as the star. The “oohs” were where the “oohs” should be, and the same with the “ahs.” It was almost as if Brian Wilson himself were there, guiding their way through his song.
    “Little surfer, little one, made my heart come all undone. Do you love me, do you surfer girl” echoed through the entrance of the store and out into the mall. People closing their shops stood, and smiles came to their faces as they listened while the chorus swelled louder and louder. Some of them began to quietly sing along.
    The wine shop became a hootenanny from the Sixties right then, peaceful and as happy as a group of people can be, singing as one. The clerk handed him what change he had coming from the twenty as the song finally ended for the last one-more-time. Everyone patted him on the back, saying, “How wonderful this has been. We’ll never close this place again without thinking of you.” The steel curtain guarding the entrance began to slowly rise as if it were reluctant to let him leave. He hugged them back and wished this could last forever, but of course it couldn’t, no matter how magical the moment had been.
    “If you kiss me, Kate, I’ll know this is a dream,” he said. To his surprise, she not only complied, but did so right on his mouth, then brought him close to her with a hug. The other women began to kiss him on the cheek or touch his arm, and finally, the lone male clerk grasped his hand while holding his left shoulder with his other hand.
    “It’s been a blast, man! Thank you ever so much for telling those people off and preventing them from taking that stock...but most of all for sharing your song and a part of your life with us.”
    “Yes,” Kate said, “we all agree. Your daughter was a lucky girl to have a father who would sing to her like that. This is something marvelous that happens just once in a lifetime.”
    As he stooped to pass under the gate, he was filled with humility at having given those people a good memory and a piece of his past, but at the same time, melancholy at the fact that what had occurred was really what she’d said. Exactly what she’d said.
    Just a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

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