The shop sells all the everyday things of life, which are eventually thrown away, recycled or flushed. Items that are nothing but everything: lint rollers, deodorant, greeting cards, magazines, school supplies, vitamins.
The time I had a headache, or a sore throat, or that other time my husband’s allergies flared up after we drove through Central Park in a cab when the pink double-flowered cherry trees were in bloom, he had his head out the window like a golden retriever. who glows with joy, but one person. My person.
My husband and I separated in 2016. We had no children, no property or much money. Our marriage was glorious until it wasn’t anymore. We ended up not even sharing meals. But one thing that has stuck is our shared Duane Reade rewards account, the kind that gives you discounts and points. It’s one of those artifacts that are so small, so insignificant, I never even think about sharing it until seconds before I pay. Then, boom, beep, and the receipts are mailed to me.
He now shops at his Duane Reade near where he lives, not with us Duane Reade, because there is no more “our” (except our shared reward card). I can tell from his itemized receipts that he bought three rolls of Christmas tissue to wrap presents (not for me), teeth whitening products (to smile at someone else), hair-taming cream (for his unruly locks), and the five were charged to him. -cent shopping bag fee (because he apparently forgot).
My therapist would tell me to close the account, but I didn’t see her again a few years ago. My ex-husband and I are still in touch, and when I reminded him of our shared account, he said he knows I love Duane Reade and gave me permission to use his points (even giving me permission to transfer to write all this).
