Personal Essay (untitled #2)

A recent essay I wrote. Like all of my writing, it’s still in draft mode, so read accordingly.

The K-Mart seems large, huge even. I don’t know the layout, and it’s all foreign. The store is in the town we just moved to. We didn’t move very far, but the town and its stores are still unfamiliar to us.

Before, when we had out-of-state license plates, my parents would get pulled over much too frequently in this town – the cops were known to be particularly obnoxious. And being that my parents were always a bit apprehensive around police anyways, and that oftentimes our vehicles weren’t inspected, meant that we tried to avoid the area as much as possible. But then by a strange turn of events we ended up moving there. And then we went to the K-Mart.

I’m in the K-Mart with my parents, following them around the store while they shop. I don’t know whether we’ll be buying anything, and if we do, I don’t know whether it will be for me or not. So I tag along behind. Suddenly, I realize what a great idea it would be to play a sort of hide and seek with my parents. As they thread their way around the circular racks of clothes, I slip into the middle of one.

It takes them a minute or two to realize that I’m not following anymore. I hear my mother calling my name from somewhere in the store. But to come out now would end the game prematurely. I’m going to wait until they find me. It’ll be fun for all involved.

I can’t see anything from inside the clothing rack – being surrounded by clothes, of course. But I can hear my mother, and now apparently some store clerks. They’re hurriedly walking about calling my name.

It’s been awhile, perhaps five minutes, and my mother still hasn’t found me. The game has gotten boring, and I’m not sure if my mother is having fun anymore. As I fight my way out of the clothing rack, a store clerk happens by and spots me. She tightly grabs my wrist, and begins dragging me somewhere.

I get scared, being taken somewhere by a complete stranger, so I begin to bawl, until I find out that the clerk is dragging me to my parents. On some level I rather wish that I was being abducted. It would have at least justified my sudden disappearance.

Apparently, my parents aren’t amused with the game – in fact, they even look a bit distressed. We quickly leave the store. Later that day, my mother attaches bells to my shoes, bells which stay on until I get a new pair of shoes the following summer. It was agonizing.

A few years previous, I find myself in our old house by myself. My mother has gone outside, and the greatest idea pops into my head – to lock her outside.

She’s coming to the door by the kitchen. I quickly run up and locked it. She gets to the door and after a second, calls out my name. I giggle nervously. She asks why the door is locked, she tells me to unlock it. I stay silent. There’s no real reason why I locked it, it just seemed like a good idea. But I don’t know if she would be satisfied with that answer. So I give no reply.

She begins banging on the door. She raises her voice, and I find the situation even more amusing.

Abruptly, I don’t hear her anymore. She must be going to the other door! I hadn’t thought of this prospect, so I quickly run to the other side of the house. I get to the door before her, and lock it. She arrives moments later.

My mother doesn’t sound particularly happy now. Actually, she sounds sort of angry. Now I’m having second thoughts as to whether this really was a good idea after all. Mother starts banging on the front door, but then stops. She gets a screwdriver or something, and begins to work at the door. It is inevitable, she is going to get in. And then I will pay dearly. I run upstairs to hide, and she is able to force the door open a few moments later.

I was scolded, but the punishment was not that harsh, as a result of my tender age. Certainly it wasn’t the torture that is bells on your shoes.

Other instances come to mind. The time that we were pulled over for having a light out on our car, and I kept saying, “uh oh, bops” – mimicking my parents – as the cop walked up to our car and gave us a ticket.

Or when my mother gave me a push towards the telephone to talk to my grandmother when I was unwilling. I got on the telephone and told her that I was being beaten.

Or when I got into the van that was delivering a refrigerator to us. I put it into neutral, and the van rolled backwards into the refrigerator.

Or how even today,whenever I am driving and my mother cautions me to slow down, I will invariably increase my speed.

There was no real reasoning behind any of these. All any of them did was agitate, anger or frighten my parents. Why does this seem to be a reoccurring theme throughout my childhood? Why did I – and still do – get such a kick out of it? I do not know. Personally, I’m just glad that my mother can’t tie bells onto my shoes anymore.