I slipped in through the back door and hung up my coat, jamming the medallion into my pants pocket as I opened the refrigerator, uncertain what might be inside. The house was quiet. Saturday was always an uncertain day when it came to food. There were two or three inches of Velveeta cheese haphazardly wrapped in aluminum foil – one edge exposed to the air, a couple slices of baloney in a half-opened package, one bruised apple in the fruit drawer, and some Kool-Aid (a sniff said grape) in a plastic pitcher. Way in the back on the top shelf was a jar of pickles – but they weren’t very appealing. Not much for a late lunch. Maybe there were other options in the cupboards.
The selections there weren’t much better. Two cans of tomato soup (yuk), a box of spaghetti with barely a serving of the stiff pasta (no sauce), a mostly empty box of Shredded Wheat (nope), three stale soda crackers (I shoved them in my mouth and tossed the wrapper), and a plastic bag with two old heels of bread – one bluish in the middle and the other curled like a catcher’s mitt. I sighed. Looks like a grilled baloney sandwich with cheese. I pulled out a frypan and ran my fingers across the stick of margarine on the counter, transferring the oil into the frypan, reaching over to turn on the flame, laying the slices of baloney side-by-side as I licked my fingers.
“Matt, what ya making?”
Alice appeared alongside me at the stove, her hair pulled into pigtails, a barrette on each one.
“Baloney sandwich. Did you eat yet?” She shook her head. “I’ll make one for you.”
I sighed and sliced a piece of cheese for each one, tipping up the edge of hers with the spatula to see if it was ready to turn. Alice grabbed a pair of cups and plates and put them on the table. I gave her the good heel, folding it in half and setting the sandwich on her plate.
“Where’s mom?”
Alice took a bite while I poured the Kool-Aid.
“She’s asleep.” I sat down beside Alice at the kitchen table while I pulled a pickle from the jar, munching as I talked.
“Where’s Ashley?” Alice just hunched her shoulders. I hadn’t seen Ashley for three or four days. “Look what I won.” I took a huge bite of the meager sandwich and leaned sideways, pulling the medallion from my jeans pocket as I swallowed. Her eyes glowed, a smile spreading across her face.
“Read it out loud.” She turned it over and eagerly read the etched words.
“1st Place Freshman race – 1973 Columbus Cross Country Invitational.” Alice looked at me and grinned. I shoved the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and chewed.
“Get your coat. We gotta get some more food. I’m still hungry.” Alice put the plates in the sink as I swallowed the remainder of my Kool-Aid. “Make sure you wear the raincoat.”
I tip-toed into the living room, sighing as I glanced at dad asleep on the couch, turning towards the TV to see who the Cubs were playing. I grabbed his wallet from a coat on the only chair in the room, pulling out a $5 bill, and sticking it in my jeans pocket. Alice was in her yellow raincoat, grabbing my hand as we walked out the back door and down the alley, both of us waving at neighbor kids shooting baskets with an old tennis ball, my little sister talking about her day as we walked towards the A&P.
When we arrived at the grocery store I studied the signs in the front window for sales – four cans of corn for a $1, eggs thirty-nine cents/dozen, a quart of A&P ice cream seventy-nine cents, bananas ten cents/pound. It looked like there were some good deals. Alice knew the routine as we shuffled around the store, tossing items into the cart. Six bananas, four cans of corn, one loaf of white A&P bread, a box of Sugar Pops, a dozen eggs, one bag of potato chips, two pounds of hamburger, and a gallon of milk.
I glanced up and down the aisle as Alice faced away from me, lifting the back of her coat and stuffing food in the make-shift pocket I had sewed inside – a package of baloney, sloppy joe seasoning, a can of tomato paste, and a small bag of Hersey kisses. I had a package of bacon in the back of my jeans, hidden by my coat, an apple in the left pocket. We shuffled towards the checkout.
Alice went up on her tiptoes to pull the items from the shopping cart, setting them on the conveyor belt, watching intently as they moved towards the cashier. The woman smiled at Alice after she rang everything up.
$4.52.” I handed her the five dollar bill and she gave me change. “Thanks for shopping at A&P.”
I balanced the paper sack on my forearm as I hugged it to my chest, Alice talking a mile a minute about her best friend, holding my free hand as we walked. When we entered the alley behind our house I set the A&P sack on the ground and reached under her coat to pull out the baloney, seasoning, and tomato paste, placing it in the sack, tearing open the bag of Hersey kisses so she could have a treat before supper.
I knew what I had done was wrong. But my shoplifting wasn’t like that of the boys in my class who stole on a dare, afterward, throwing items in the trash because all they wanted was the thrill. My only desire was to sate the hunger in my belly. Provide sustenance for me and my little sister. We had no food and I didn’t have enough money to pay for all we needed. I could take $5 from dad’s wallet without him knowing, but taking more was a huge risk.
We paused at the back door before going in, listening for any activity. I set the grocery bag on the kitchen table, turning towards Alice. Dad was still be asleep in the living room. I didn’t see any signs of mom. I whispered to Alice.
“I have to rake leaves out front and a little at Mr. Johnson’s. So put the food away and we’ll eat in about an hour.” I handed her another Hersey’s kiss with a vertical finger over my lips. “Be quiet. Don’t wake dad.”
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table when I came back forty-five minutes later. She was still in her housecoat, staring at a cup of Nescafe that had gone cold, only the wisp of a smile on her face as I said hi. Alice entered the kitchen, wrinkling her nose.
“You smell like smoke.”
“I was burning leaves in the alley. Are you ready for supper?” She nodded.
I set the foot stool beside the stove so she could watch, showing her how high to turn the flame, and the way to break up hamburger with the wooden spoon. She paid close attention as I scooped the grease into an empty soup can; added the thick tomato paste, seasoning mix, and water; constantly stirring the mixture as it reduced. An inviting aroma filled the kitchen.
“Matt, make sure to save some for your father.” They were the only words out of her mouth in the past ten minutes.
I’d become accustomed to her taciturn behavior. The lack of conversation. Although there were still times when she seemed happy, her days were filled with depression and moodiness – melancholy a constant companion. It didn’t make any sense. When I was little she always so happy. So carefree. Filled with the wonder and inquisitiveness of a child. But things had changed. The fun-loving mother I remembered was no longer around, replaced by a woman almost devoid of emotion. A zombie. What had happened?
My good memories still lingered, but it was hard to hold on to them. I must have been seven or eight years old, mom holding my hands as we danced on the kitchen floor in our stocking feet, the Beatles “Twist and Shout” loud on the record player in the living room. The smile on her face made me so happy. It was as though she were a carefree teenager – her vibrancy, her beauty, the aura of her tender soul forever etched in my mind.
Alice and I sat at the kitchen table, filling plates with potato chips and spoons of corn, scooping the sloppy joe mix onto white bread. I showed Alice how to use the heel, folding it into a U so she could eat it without making a mess. Three sandwiches, a banana, lots of canned corn, a second glass of milk, and I was full.
We talked about the art project her fifth grade teacher assigned while we did dishes. Mom sat at the table and listened to our interaction, quietly enjoying the moment. I kept glancing towards the living room, worried dad would wake up before we finished, encouraging Alice to move a little quicker. She looked up when she put the last of the silverware back in the drawer.
“Matt, can we fly my kite?” I smiled and she continued. “I need you to help me make a tail.”
“Sure, I’ll find some old rags in the basement and then we can head over to the park.”
Ten minutes later we walked down the alley hand in hand, Alice giggling as I tied the cloth tail around my head like a pirate, talking as they did in cartoons – “Arr matey, shiver me timbers!”
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