Browns

I think there is something immortal about Browns Pharmacy, at least it feels that way to me since I've only worked there for five years of its 150-year existence. I feel as though I am standing right at the pulse of the town, when someone strolls in and asks where they may buy a paper, or when someone calls and asks me to tell their sister to buy onions when she comes in. Sometimes I think I could stay there always, looking out the big arched window at the old folks walking by, with Glenn Miller happily playing around me. I never get tired of telling people it's the oldest store in New York (even though I'm not sure that's true.). I never get tired of telling the old stories about the various crazy people we've seen throughout the years. Somehow, the simple and sometimes even ugly of Deposit becomes so beautiful there. I love hearing the old ladies talking about how they play pinochle with their friends, or Mrs. K. telling me she saw my name in the paper for the president's list and how she said to her husband, "Lee, that's our Hannah!"... "we claimed you."
I think my family somehow does belong to the people of Deposit in a different way than most people belong. And they belong to us. We belong first out of necessity, but also out of love and a knowledge that a small town can only be understood by those with eyes open and humble enough to see the roots under our feet.