SUBWAY

Sharon Stevens

I found a receipt from Subway in my purse today.

This was nothing new, of course. I am always finding bits and pieces of flotsam that I have saved for some reason or the other. Most times there are scribbled notes on the front and back as to what I was feeling at that exact moment, but there was nothing to signify why this scrap of paper was saved.

Our home and work is filled, AND I DO MEAN FILLED, with billions of notes .  As a writer I never know when I might come across that one perfect notation that will lead to the greatest story. Even better is when I come across something that reminds me of rainbows or sweetness, or pain and ugliness. Oftentimes a scribble takes me right back to that moment in time and enriches the story I am trying to write.

Funny there are so many things I remember that connect. Take for example the kid who usually waits on us at Subway’s, he also happens to come in to buy textbooks at our bookstore. I know his mom and grandmother, his aunt used to care for our daughters at day care. He is a good kid and works hard.  But I don’t think that’s it.

My receipt reminds me that I purchased our sandwiches at the beginning of April during lunchtime so it had to be for the lunch break at our store. Why does this matter?  I have no idea, as I didn’t write anything to signify the rhyme or reason.  This is killing me! Surely there was some special occasion that caused me to tuck the receipt in my purse. You would think so wouldn’t you?

Loula Grace Erdman writes in “A Time To Write” that she always instructed her creative writing students to mark down their inspiration. She had one gentleman that had an epiphany. He went to his knees to thank God for this stroke of insight. By the time he arose from his grateful prayer he had already forgotten what it was he was rejoicing in. Erdman says to always write it first and then thank the Almighty.

Oh well, I have spent way too much time trying to figure out why I saved this one piece of paper. Maybe I wasn’t meant to covet it in the first place. Maybe I just put it in my purse along with the change that went with it. Maybe the story was in the ten dollars and five cents I received back. Maybe one of those bills was a “Where’s George”. Who knows, and better yet, who cares. If I can’t turn away from this one single bit of recyclable issue then I have more problems than that to worry about.

I am looking back over my receipt one last time to try to make some sense and find the clue of why I saved it. Nope, nothing there, nada, zip. It’s no use, no Divine intervention, no Heavenly voice intercedes.

It’s only trash!

But then again, this did help me write my blog for this week. I guess there was something written there after all.