I Wish I Could Go to Costco With My Parents

Alexandra mcKay

If I could wish one thing
It would be to go to Costco with my parents

I called them today 
They were there, 
Shopping for broccoli and cheddar dishes,
Roast chickens en masse,
Telling me what they’d discovered
Losing each other in wonderment
Finding each other in the chip aisle

They are small people, my parents
But they love big

I wish I could go to Costco with my parents
So we could forget life in favour of its vastness
Convincing ourselves we could use
Five pounds of ham—for the winter months
120 protein bars—for hikes and car rides
Meeting beside a palett of pasta
Comparing too full carts
Brimming with promise

Did you get the snacks you were looking for?
Do you need shampoo?
Do you still like quinoa? they’d ask, 
Holding out a bag too heavy for their ageing arms

I don’t like quinoa 
I never did 
But I say yes
Because I want to be big-loved by them,
Cared for in the big store,
One with its grandness
No longer separate from simplicity
Complicit in what they have to offer:
Everything you could ever need
In bulk only

I want me and my small parents
Vowing to split vats of salsa down the middle
Buying packs of socks to share
Topping it all off with a giant hot dog
Knowing, knowing all too well
That we aren’t there because we need
Any of it
We are there because we want all of it 

The big store,
The big love,
And us, small people
With nothing but the world in front of us
Hugged by the walls of a warehouse
Where we are always lost
But forever we are found

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Alexandra G. McKay is a freelance writer living in Toronto. Her story, "Everything Belongs," won second place in Prairie Fire's MRB contest for short fiction. Her writing has appeared in various North American print and online magazines since 2011.

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