strength to address it. She stared out at the familiar market she had been in a thousand times and yelled, “Get out of the damn car, Eliza!”
Still nothing; the fear was mounting, not retreating.
At this point in her life, Eliza knew the Stop & Shop so well that she could direct someone to aisle nine for beverages and aisle five for Preparation H as deftly as the store manager could. She knew that if she could just get midway down aisle four to her old friend, a box of chocolate-covered Entenmann’s donuts, she could ingest enough sugar, and derive enough comfort, to hold the panic at bay for the duration of her shopping. Growing up, she had kept a similar box under her bed, hidden from her mother, who didn’t allow sweets in the house. Whether she was suffering from anxiety, rebelling, or just looking for a remedy for the teenage blahs, they always did the trick.
Eliza closed her eyes and pictured the familiar blue-and-white box, with the clear window on top, visualized herself opening the side tabs and scoffing down one, or two, or four. She imagined her first bite—the distinct segue from the hard chocolate shell to the soft, vanilla cakey inside, channeling her mind and spirit into the exquisite sense of anticipation.
“Focus. Focus on the donut, Eliza.”
Before she knew it, she was out of the car and standing in aisle four, three donuts in. They had the desired effect, and she took a few deep breaths to seal the deal. She pulled the socks out from under her armpits, threw them in her purse, and yanked out her shopping list. She was good to go.
Half an hour later, with her cart overflowing, Eliza stepped in line at the checkout counter. There she was instantly distracted from her fear of exiting the store by a lively conversation between two young mothers ahead of her. One, who had a baby strapped to her chest, was helping the other, who had an unruly toddler strapped in the seat of the cart, unload her groceries. As the toddler’s mother placed one item on the belt, the toddler took another off and threw it back into the cart. It was entertaining, and Eliza was in no rush to go back outside.
The mother of the baby said, “I was up all night reading that epic thread on the local chat group. Did you see it?”
“Of course I saw it. It was like a train wreck.”
“I just don’t understand how these women spill everything. I mean, ‘My husband has erectile dysfunction, please help’?”
“At least she wrote that anonymously. All those women who answered with their expert advice, you can only imagine that their husbands have issues in that department as well. I mean, my God, my husband would kill me.”
They both laughed. Eliza did not. She found their conversation very alarming. Eliza reviewed and approved every post that went on the Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board, and the one that these two were discussing was unfamiliar to her. She redirected her anxiety and butt right into the women’s conversation.
“Not to be nosy, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Are you referring to the Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board?”
“Oh, no. That dinosaur bores me to tears,” the woman with the toddler answered. The insult registered on Eliza’s face and the other woman seemed to notice and proceeded to sugarcoat her response. To Eliza it felt more like arsenic.
“That one is more for your generation. There’s a new site called Valley Girls that’s more relevant, you know, for us.” Her high ponytail did a pirouette as she motioned to her just-off-to-the-gym outfit.
Eliza looked down at herself. She was wearing the shirt she had slept in and sweatpants. She couldn’t remember the last time she had on leggings, let alone jeans. She vowed to shower and blow her hair out before the kids arrived home. And to put on an actual outfit.
“Valley Girls?” she asked. “When did that one start?”
“A few months ago. More dirty laundry, less how best to wash it.”
Eliza pulled back her cart and slid it toward an empty register. All thoughts of her recent panic were temporarily banished by new fears. Was the bulletin board becoming irrelevant? Would it wither and die? She couldn’t let that happen—especially not right now. Checking those posts and watching the attention they received had become her biggest connection to the outside world and, as pathetic as it felt to admit it, her only emotional high, save a