“Ditch her,” they yelled.
As the only girl on my block, I heard that a lot from the passel of boys in my neighborhood. One moment we would all be playing war—me, the weaponless caregiver to the wounded—and the next moment I’d be watching them all hightail it to the upper dunes screaming triumphantly when I was unable to catch up to them. Dejected as the last remnants of their whoops and hollers reached my ears, I would return home and head to my basement playroom to play make-believe on my own. As an only child, I was used to being by myself, but being ditched by the boys was a blow nonetheless.
It is no wonder, then, that what happened one afternoon at Shopper’s World—a precursor to the Super Wal-Mart of today—forever scarred me with a sort of phobia of being left behind, forgotten, or not included. Ditched.
The Shopper’s World flyer with its brightly colored photos of sales items arrived with the Wednesday New Dispatch. Mom thumbed through it clipping the coupons as she went, and then filed them alphabetically in her metal index card box. The next day she picked me up from morning kindergarten, fed me some lunch, and then hustled me into the car to drive out to the highway where the large store stood. The building seemed enormous to me. There were rows and rows of parking spots, a large sign with the store’s name and logo globe, and what seemed like a mile of shopping carts. It was an overwhelming sight.
Mom said, “Keep up with me and don’t wander off.”
I grasped the bottom part of her slacks in my right hand to try and keep tethered to her. She placed her index card box in the cart’s seat where I usually sat, grabbed onto the cart handle, and off she strode with determined purpose into one of the wide aisles. Up one aisle, down the other she went. Every once in awhile she’d stop and pick up an item to scrutinize closely, read the label, check the price, look at her coupon, and then would either put it in the cart or place it back on the shelf. One time she stopped so suddenly I plowed right into the back of her leg. A scowl and scolding followed and I let go of her slacks so that it wouldn’t happen again.
I stood waiting for her to start moving again, and noticed that there was something very interesting on the shelf right next to the cart. It was a little package of teeny little umbrellas. Each one was a different color. Next to the multi-color package of umbrellas was a package of all pink ones, and next to it a package of all blue ones. One of the packages was torn and a yellow umbrella was poking out of the hole. I took a closer look and pincered the little yellow umbrella out of the hole. The umbrella opened up just like a real umbrella and there was a little piece of wood that would then hold it open. I was enchanted and looked around to see if there were any other colors. But as I turned my head I saw that the cart was gone and so was my mom.
I looked right. No Mom. I looked left. No Mom. I walked to the end of the aisle and looked into the vast universe of Shopper’s World. No Mom. I ran down to the other end of the aisle to look into another vaster universe of Shopper’s World. No Mom. I started to cry. I was sure I had been ditched.
I was in complete despair thinking I would now have to live at Shopper’s World forever when a woman wearing a bright red badge came up to me and asked, “Are you lost?”
As the only girl on my block, I heard that a lot from the passel of boys in my neighborhood. One moment we would all be playing war—me, the weaponless caregiver to the wounded—and the next moment I’d be watching them all hightail it to the upper dunes screaming triumphantly when I was unable to catch up to them. Dejected as the last remnants of their whoops and hollers reached my ears, I would return home and head to my basement playroom to play make-believe on my own. As an only child, I was used to being by myself, but being ditched by the boys was a blow nonetheless.
It is no wonder, then, that what happened one afternoon at Shopper’s World—a precursor to the Super Wal-Mart of today—forever scarred me with a sort of phobia of being left behind, forgotten, or not included. Ditched.
The Shopper’s World flyer with its brightly colored photos of sales items arrived with the Wednesday New Dispatch. Mom thumbed through it clipping the coupons as she went, and then filed them alphabetically in her metal index card box. The next day she picked me up from morning kindergarten, fed me some lunch, and then hustled me into the car to drive out to the highway where the large store stood. The building seemed enormous to me. There were rows and rows of parking spots, a large sign with the store’s name and logo globe, and what seemed like a mile of shopping carts. It was an overwhelming sight.
Mom said, “Keep up with me and don’t wander off.”
I grasped the bottom part of her slacks in my right hand to try and keep tethered to her. She placed her index card box in the cart’s seat where I usually sat, grabbed onto the cart handle, and off she strode with determined purpose into one of the wide aisles. Up one aisle, down the other she went. Every once in awhile she’d stop and pick up an item to scrutinize closely, read the label, check the price, look at her coupon, and then would either put it in the cart or place it back on the shelf. One time she stopped so suddenly I plowed right into the back of her leg. A scowl and scolding followed and I let go of her slacks so that it wouldn’t happen again.
I stood waiting for her to start moving again, and noticed that there was something very interesting on the shelf right next to the cart. It was a little package of teeny little umbrellas. Each one was a different color. Next to the multi-color package of umbrellas was a package of all pink ones, and next to it a package of all blue ones. One of the packages was torn and a yellow umbrella was poking out of the hole. I took a closer look and pincered the little yellow umbrella out of the hole. The umbrella opened up just like a real umbrella and there was a little piece of wood that would then hold it open. I was enchanted and looked around to see if there were any other colors. But as I turned my head I saw that the cart was gone and so was my mom.
I looked right. No Mom. I looked left. No Mom. I walked to the end of the aisle and looked into the vast universe of Shopper’s World. No Mom. I ran down to the other end of the aisle to look into another vaster universe of Shopper’s World. No Mom. I started to cry. I was sure I had been ditched.
I was in complete despair thinking I would now have to live at Shopper’s World forever when a woman wearing a bright red badge came up to me and asked, “Are you lost?”
I stopped crying for a moment and choked out an answer. “No, I’m at Shopper’s World,” I said.
The woman’s eyebrows scrunched together and she said, “I mean, have you lost your mother?” I thought about this for a moment and reckoned that perhaps that is what had happened. I had lost my mother. So I nodded. She then kindly took my hand and we walked up and down the aisles until we found my mom.
Mom gave me another scowl, thanked the woman, and we continued shopping.
Being ditched isn’t any fun and even today I get anxious about getting separated from someone I’m with. So when in big crowded areas or large space, I usually keep a very close eye on my companions so I don’t lose them.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2016
The woman’s eyebrows scrunched together and she said, “I mean, have you lost your mother?” I thought about this for a moment and reckoned that perhaps that is what had happened. I had lost my mother. So I nodded. She then kindly took my hand and we walked up and down the aisles until we found my mom.
Mom gave me another scowl, thanked the woman, and we continued shopping.
Being ditched isn’t any fun and even today I get anxious about getting separated from someone I’m with. So when in big crowded areas or large space, I usually keep a very close eye on my companions so I don’t lose them.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2016
Oh, Deb!!! I'm sorry. That made me sad--powerfully written and evocative as it was.
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