There Is No Peace

I stopped at the liquor store in the small beach community on my way out of town to the Baja. I’d only been there twice before under similar circumstances.

This is a typical corner liquor store – it has just about anything you might need, maybe even a little hardware. One thing I like about it is that you can pull right up in front and then right back on to the street when you go.

Another thing I like about this particular store, mostly just like so many others in so many ways, is the beautiful eastern European (perhaps Russian?) woman who owns the place and all the times I’ve been there, has been working behind the counter.

American Spirit non –filter cigarettes, which she assured me she is never out of, and bottled water are the items that I bought this time, and all the other times as a matter of fact. This time, as I was standing in front of the many choices of bottled water, actually wondering if one could possibly be any better than the other, remembering a book on labeling that I had just finished that reminded me that fancy doesn’t necessarily mean better, I thought of the days when there was no bottled water. There were just those stainless steel water fountains with the foot pedals that dispensed really cold water, and if you were lucky, the water stream was strong and far away from the place where it came out of the fountain.

As I stood there contemplating the water, a more contemporary thought, or rather question, came into my mind – why don’t the terrorists just put poison in the bottled water? Everyone drinks it; it could have a devastating effect. Just infiltrate the bottling company plant, add the unauthorized additive when no one was looking and voila! I voiced this aloud to the beautiful woman behind the counter – we were the only two people in the store.

The woman seemed shocked and quite taken aback. She vehemently said, “Why would they do such a thing? There are many different people living in America. They would also then be killing innocent bystanders, maybe even some of their own kind!” She spoke passionately, her eyes searching mine, her accent seeming to add ancient struggle to her words.

“Why would they want to kill anybody?” I asked, looking at her beautiful, animated face.

We looked at each other for a few moments and I watched as the expression on her face changed from shocked indignation to realization to resignation.

“There is no peace,” she said softly; she looked so sad.

The tinkling of the doorbells brought us both back out of our reverie. I paid for the water and cigarettes and started for the door.

“Think positive! Think positive!” the beautiful woman cried out as she raised her fist strongly into the air. I smiled at her and said, okay! and walked out into the sunshine.