A green sweater

Maureen was annoyed as she was looking for a new sweater at the end of the season. Jack had asked her to go with him to the Saint Patrick’s Day parade on Sunday and since she didn’t have a green sweater, Maureen decided to get one. She didn’t really want to go as it was going to be a miserable day of rain and wind. Maureen had argued with him about it, but she hadn’t dissuaded him. Since Jack had been reading novels on medieval Ireland, he was into everything Irish. Immersed in her thoughts, Maureen continued sorting sweaters on the rack. “This is so frustrating,” she thought. “It’s the end of the season and soon we will be tossing our winter clothing and looking for shorts.” Yet there she was, trying something to please Jack and his almost new found enthusiasm to do things. This is something Maureen liked about him. As she checked a green sweater, that unfortunately had a Christmas motif, her thoughts began wandering again on how Jack’s personality had changed lately. She smiled thinking about her own contribution to those changes. “As sweet as he was, when we worked together, he was always behaving and sounding older than his age” she thought. “I like this new Jack. He is not like his father, old Jack, who is over the top. My new husband is a better version of my old friend and colleague,” she thought as she measured a light green sweater against her chest. 

Maureen disliked shopping in big box stores. She missed the little stores on Queen West or Kensington Market in Toronto. “I always liked shopping in local stores,” she thought. “Downtown Peterborough was like that before the pandemic,” someone had said to her. “There were several small cozy stores on George St.” At present the clothing stores in downtown were limited and not convenient. The downtown was taking a bit of time to recover. Even the Peterborough Square was half empty. “A sad sight” she said aloud without thinking. Frustrated with the lack of variety in the big stores, Maureen decided shopping in the thrift stores. “It’s for a rainy day and likely one-time use,” she thought as she arrived at one of the largest for-profit thrift stores near Chemong Road. 

Maureen began to sort sweaters looking for a green that fit her, when a voice beside her in almost a whisper said, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” 

Maureen instinctively stopped what she was doing her body tensed and all her senses became aware of her surroundings. It was as if she couldn’t control how she reacted to expressions like the one she just heard. A torrent of thoughts came to her all at the same time. “What is it that made me react like that?” she asked herself. “It’s my childhood in the buildings of Scarborough or my training as a paramedic or both?” 

It didn’t really matter the important thing was that her instincts kicked in as Maureen’s mind went into overdrive, or as old Jack would say, “from zero to a hundred in an iota.”

Reacting subconsciously to violent actions or her perception of potential violence was second nature to her. Her reactions were so ingrained, she functioned as a completely different person. The doctor who she had consulted about her anxiety had said that it was a natural reaction to the stimulation to the amygdala, the part of the brain controlling the “fight or flight” response. “A reminiscence of our reptilian ancestors,” the doctor had said. It was second nature to her to instinctively assess her surroundings and measure levels of threat. 

As Maureen began turning her face to the woman who had talked to her, her mind was already working in overdrive. She automatically counted how many people were around her: three men all wearing jeans and baseball caps and not one younger than sixty. There were five women, three older, including the one who had talked to her, and two younger. One woman was carrying a baby carrier and Maureen watched as a red-headed store employee walked toward them while talking on a walky-talky. Maureen noticed there was an emergency exit at the far end of the store and the main entrances were blocked by some advertising hanging from a rack. All the surveillances Maureen was doing happened in a fraction of a second as she was turning towards the person who had called her attention. 

The phrase had also a secondary effect. It transported her to prior situations, triggered by what the woman had said. It was an instinctive reaction something she couldn’t control. The memory popping into her head was the night she responded to an emergency in Malvern at the end of her shift. Upon her arrival, she had witnessed the aftermath of what the police sergeant in charge of the scene described as an “act of family violence.” “What a contradiction,” she thought “those words never should go together.” Then her thoughts came back to the expression she heard seconds before. 

As she turned towards the woman talking to her, Maureen grabbed her keys in her right hand, closing her fist around the largest. A defensive move she had learned in her youth and taught many times to her young apprentices. Growing up in a big city has taught her to anticipate anything. Her job as a paramedic had only reinforced it. 

As Maureen turned looked at the woman talking to her, an elderly woman elegantly dressed, with a short white hair partially covered by a colourful scarf, Maureen deliberately asked her interlocutor “I’m sorry did you say something?” Even though Maureen had clearly heard it. It was a technique to gain advantage manage time and be ready. 

The woman with a benevolent smile responded. “Of course, dear  I said, ‘listen to me very carefully.’ You see, today is ‘Discount Thursday’ all the items in the store are 30% off and if you are a senior there is an additional 10%.” Then looking at Maureen she stated,  “but you are too young for that one.” The friendly woman continued “the workers here never tell you. You must remind it to the cashier, and she will apply the discount  to your purchases.” Maureen thanked her and went back to look for the elusive green sweater, reminding herself to breath, aware of her pulse slowing down to a normal rate thinking  there was no need to be on edge.