Illusions

If shopping were an Olympic sport my mother would have held multiple gold medals. Mary Lou seldom paid full price for anything and yet valued quality. She new every bargain basement and discount outlet in our city of Chicago and workers at these establishments frequently knew her by name, giving her tips on upcoming sales and warning her off items that may not measure up once she got them home. To her, shopping was not a sprint but a marathon. She started early in the morning and went well into night and could easily spend 2 or 3 hours in one store. As a kid, shopping with my mom was tortuous. I dreaded being dragged from store to store while she thoroughly searched racks and aisles, going back to the same aisle multiple times as she made decisions about which items were worth her limited amount of cash and which were better left behind,

It was on one of these trips when I was about 12, that I had had enough. We had been shopping the better part of the day and stopped at a pizza place to eat before the final foray across the street to Service Merchandise. I was tired and cranky and began whining about how my feet hurt. It was an August scorcher one of those sweltering days where you could see the heat rising off the pavement. I wanted an Italian ice, my mom wanted to get to the store before closing. She was often the last person in a store, walking in 10 minutes before closing and spending 30 minutes shopping. We were escorted out by security officers on more than one occasion. I had had all I could take on that day and tears ran down my face as I refused to leave the restaurant. “Fine,” she acquiesced withdrawing a dollar from her purse and throwing it at me. “Get your ice and meet us in the store”. She corralled my reluctant 6 year old sister and headed across the street. I ordered my ice as I watched them disappear through the glass doors of the store.

The crying jag was completely forgotten and I was feeling pretty invincible. I had won an argument against my mother with minimal effort. My preteen self felt on the edge of adulthood. My mother was finally recognizing me as a competent decision maker. My adult status was sure to follow soon.

I had another 20 minutes before the store would close so I took my time savoring my new found power and the sweet, frigid dessert in front of me. Why rush when I was just going to have to follow my mother around. When I finished my treat, I looked at my Timex, 5 minutes to closing. I waited another 2 minutes sitting idly in the restaurant then crossed the street. As I approached the store, an employee stopped me at the door.

“ We’re closed”.

“But my mom is in there”

The employee stepped aside”Hurry we’re closed”

“Ok”, I responded as I heard the lock click behind me.

I started down the center aisle figuring I could just look to my left and right at each juncture and I would I find her quickly. But when I got to the end of the aisle, I was still alone. I decided to go down each individual aisle but still no sign of either of them. I went back one more time. By this time, there were no shoppers left in the store. It wasn’t the first time I had lost my mother. I had often wandered off thinking I’d return to where I left her to find she had wandered off herself. But she had never left the store and though it was a busy section of North avenue, the street primarily held small boutiques and bodegas with an ocasional shoe store or hardware. My mother shopped department stores, that’s where the deep discounts were to be found. I couldn’t imagine where else she had gone. Maybe while I was in the store she had finished and gone back to the pizza parlor. As I left, I thought briefly about telling the employee who unlocked the door for me that I had lost my mother but it felt infantile to admit I couldn’t find her. I was sure she would be across the street but no luck. I walked up and down the street peeking in the windows of various establishments but I knew she wouldn’t be there.

Up until this moment, positivity had reigned. Now I had to consider other possibilities. They must’ve gone home without me. My mom had been annoyed that I didn’t follow her maybe she finished shopping quickly and I hadn’t shown up and she decided to leave or maybe we missed each other and she had no choice but to head home since my sister was in tow. The problem was we were about 4 miles from home and I didn’t have bus fare. We had come this way often enough that I knew how to get home. I had been taking the bus alone since I was 8 but I was scared to get on without the fare. So I started walking. I made the first 2 miles pretty quickly but the heat was starting to get to me. My mouth was full of cotton and my clothes were damp with sweat. I cursed my mother with each step. Why couldn’t she just stay where she said until I got there. With every mile my fury grew.

I was so thirsty but all I had was 20 cents left from my Italian ice which would taste great right about now. I passed a small grocery, a sign in the window advertised lemons 5 cents each. I proceeded in and purchased 4. I was barely out of the store when I started to peel the first one. I divided it into sections, juice running down my arms. I plopped one into my mouth and sucked. It’s sour liquid soothed my thirst but made my eyes squinch up. I didn’t care, I ate section after section as I completed my trek.

Finally I arrived home. I stomped up the steps certain my mom and sister had made it before me, turned the knob but the door was locked. I rang the doorbell. No answer.

I sat on the front steps and finished my last section of lemon. I was still seething when Mrs. Larsen, our neighbor and my sometime babysitter approached. My mother had called her when she couldn’t find me. I was to wait at her house until mom got home. Now I was nervous. The tone in Mrs. Larsen’s voice told me that I was in trouble. I spent the next 40 minutes running scenarios in my head trying to decide how this would play out.

My mother didn’t claim me from Mrs. Larsen as she usually did, no tearful reunion,. The phone rang and Mrs. Larsen’s icy voice said, “Your mother’s home.”

I knew I was in for it the moment I hit the door. Her face was crimson as she detailed how she had looked and looked for me. “Why didn’t you come to the store?”

“I did. I searched all through and I didn’t find you.”

“What do you mean? We were there long after they closed waiting for you”

“ You weren’t there”

“Did you look in the basement?”

“Wait? There’s a basement?”

“Didn’t you see the stairs?”

“ Yeah, I saw the stairs, I thought they led to a storage area.”

“It’s where the clearance merchandise is. Hence the term Bargain Basement.”

“Ooohhh.”

“Well you’re grounded.”

“What ? For what?”

“ For not following directions. Even if you couldn’t find us you should have known to wait there. If I had left I would come back for you.”

“But the store was closed.”

“Well obviously, it wasn’t because we were still in there.”

“But I came back and it was dark.”

“If you had waited in front of the store we would have found you instead I had to drag your sister all over looking for you”.

At this point, it was clear I wasn’t going to get any where. I took my punishment and skulked off to my room. It was only a week. Truth is my 12 year old self preferred curling up with a book to just about any outdoor activity anyway. I would miss my friends but I knew continuing this argument would just get me in deeper. I had made my case, the judge had issued a ruling and best not to be found in contempt.