There are fewer places more depressing to be nowadays than at the gas station. Especially around here, where those tiny hybrid cars are known as “roller skates” and spoken of in the same mocking tones reserved for liberal politicians and terrorists. Everyone has an SUV here. Or a jacked-up truck. Or both. Having to spend close to a hundred dollars to fill up your tank does not make for a pleasant experience.
It also invites certain periods of discomfort and outright sadness when waiting in line at the cash register. Which is what happened to me the other day. And strangely enough, it had nothing to do with gas.
There were five of us, all lined up in succession in front of a somewhat shaken seventeen-year-old high school cashier who no doubt was tired of being held as the person responsible for the $3.85 per gallon price. That did not stop the farmer at the head of the line from asking how in the world he was supposed to plow his fields with the price of diesel so high, diesel being even more expensive. The cashier shrugged, said “I dunno,” and then offered a qualifying “Sorry, mister.”
Their short conversation would have likely been an interesting one, but my attention then turned to the mother and son in front of me. Both wore the dull layer of weariness common to a hard life, she in her baggy sweatpants and flannel button-up, he in a pair of too-short jeans and a Wrestlemania T-shirt. The mother sighed often—I think it was the deep, tired sigh that drew my attention away from the farmer and the cashier—her hand gripping a twenty dollar bill as if she were trying to squeeze out the ink.
Bored with standing in line, her son wandered away to the candy aisle. Mama’s eyes followed him and then drifted to me. “Hello,” she said. I helloed back.
The boy was back—“Ma, can I have this?”
He held up a bag of Big League Chew, the grape flavored. Not my first choice, as the regular flavored was much better, but still a valid request. Every boy worth his salt is a Big League Chew fan, my own son included. I thought at that moment that maybe I should grab him a bag, too. He’d like that.
“No Jimmy,” said the mother. “That stuff’s too expensive.”
I stole a look at the tiny orange sticker that had been placed just under the batter’s chest on the bag–$1.29.
“Please?”
Rather than answer, mama gripped her twenty harder. But Jimmy wasn’t about to let silence be her final answer.
“Mama?”
The line moved forward. Mr. Farmer Guy was gone now, as was the lady behind him and the man behind her. It was now an elderly man’s turn to excoriate the poor cashier on evil oil companies and corrupt government officials. Mama and Jimmy were next in line, and the question of the Big League Chew was still in the air.
“Mama?”
“No,” she said, and with a sharpness that revealed the hidden facts she was trying to keep from her son. Just one word, one no, that really meant, “Don’t you see that we don’t have the money, that this twenty dollars will maybe get us enough gas to go to the store and back home and you to school tomorrow and then I’ll be on fumes again? Don’t you see?”
But Jimmy didn’t see.
“But Mama…”
“No” again. Then a very sad and very final, “We ain’t got the money.”
The elderly man left—“Damn oil companies” was his parting shot—and mama and Jimmy moved to the register.
The cashier sighed in a here-we-go-again way and said, “You get some gas, ma’am?”
“No,” she said. Jimmy had by then managed to sneak the bag of bubble gum onto the counter in a desperate attempt to somehow leave the store with it, but mama’s eyes caught it.
“I said NO.” She grabbed the bag and held it out. “Take this back,” she told her son. “And do it before I tan your hide.”
I could see the tears in Jimmy’s eyes and thought there were perhaps tears in his mother’s as well, and I thought then that the four of us—mother, son, cashier, and me—were being privy to yet another example that life is unfair. That no matter what we do or how hard we try, some children will always want and some parents will never be able to provide.
“Ma’am?” asked the cashier.
Mother’s attention snapped back to the moment, sighed again. She held out her twenty and said, “I need a pack of Marlboro lights and fifteen Powerball tickets.”
This post is part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival: Road, hosted by my friend Peter Pollock. For more posts about this topic, please visit him at PeterPollock.com
Oh, my. My heart fell.
Mine fell too. And I gasped. What a long road he has. Not at ALL what I was expecting. Wow.
Oh man. You got me. I read it right through to that last line. Dang!
Ouch. Makes me so sad.
Tingling. It’s all about what we choose to invest in. Sad choice here.
Now that I got my breath back …
DAMMIT!
It’s like you walked in with a video camera and shot a scene with it. Wonderful observations and the twist in the end is heartbreaking. Is it a true story or fiction?
My first reaction was sadness for the child, then a judgement of selfishness towards the mom. But then I realized that that’s what pain and suffering does to a lot of us. We numb ourselves at all costs. The hope that the nicotine and the lottery tickets would alleviate some of her suffering was the only thing she had to help her hang on another day. Too bad that that was the subconscious lesson she was passing on to her son. Can you imagine what he’d have learned if she sacrificed one pack or one ticket? That was such a great story!
Wow. That was heartbreaking. I, too, was assuming that she needed the money for gasoline, and that the twenty would be barely enough to get by a couple of days.
Shopgirl – Unfortunately, that’s a true story.
As usual Billy, beautifully written.
That story had me slipping back into old habits of judging others without being in their shoes. It took me a moment and then I said who the heck am I am to pass judgment on anyone else.
I feel sad for the child, because it is indeed hard when parents are so stressed and feel they don’t have enough money. Kids live and feel that stress.
Holy Smokes! Talk about about a surprise ending!
Screwed up priorities
This was so you, Billy. You’ve caught the scent of desperation that drives people everywhere but where they need to go, into the arms of Jesus!
Loved this, love you… you make me want to be a better writer.
Ive seen that alot growing up. Unfortunately, that is how the cycle is kept going.
i think I’ll say a prayer that Jimmy can over come the odds
Many thoughts ran thru my mind….price of gas, observing others actions/words while waiting in line, little Jimmy (all our kids asking for whatever) thinking you’d buy 2 pkg’s of bubble gum?, ….then I gasped ‘unexpectingly let down’ at the last paragraph TY for sharing and the interesting varying comments of others.
Oh, Billy. I see all the pieces of this scenario every time I go to Mini-Mart.
Excellent writing, my friend. I didn’t have time, but my first skim snagged me and I stayed to the sad, compelling end.
I don’t know, Billy? This is the kind of event I see so often that makes me angry at a level I don’t like. I know that there is probably “much” we don’t know here and I hate snap judgments. I do, however, make them far too often.
I think about all the times that “I” –
Buy one too many of anything, knowing that I don’t really need more. Or, when I look at all the “stuff” that surrounds me, knowing that half of it is never used.
This mother … works hard? Has a few things she likes that keep her going, that make her feel hopeful? That this little boy has a stack of toys, treats, things, that he buys and doesn’t want or need?
Who knows? Let’s not judge her too harshly until “after” we look in the mirror.
Wonderful Post and awesome ending, and so sad that this was a true story! I was about to buy the chews for the boy myself. When all the facts were out on the table, I could see that this was going to be a long hard ROAD for that boy.
So, how many bags did you buy for your son?
By the way, the mud flaps on my Dodge are bigger than those roller skate cars. I am thinking about putting one of those hybrids in the bed of my truck and calling it a low-bred car. (Does that make sense? If I’m the only one laughing, that’s okay by me 😉 Gotta laugh about something after that story, mister Billy)
Blessings.
Ouch. You weave a great yarn and don’t hold back the punch at the end. I see that all too often. I was formulating a reply about how God sometimes has to tell us no, but then I got to the end and realize that wasn’t what this was about at all. Priorities. Gas. Smokes. Big League Chew. On the other hand… Children. Joy. Sharing. I hope you picked your son up a pack.
Ever wonder if the mother wasn’t shopping for herself? Maybe for an abusive husband or picking things up for a boss?
Interesting to see the first reactions, and then the ones that come after thoughts and hope. What an unexpected, and yet all too expected, ending. As always, you found a way to bring us all into the station to witness that snippet of life with you. Amazing.
This makes my heart hurt, but I see it all too often I’m afraid.
Man, have I been in that same line before! The sad truth is, children all around us walk tough roads we may never know. Kind of hard to hold them accountable.
Glad to see the “Big League Chew” tradition continues with your boy. My oldest thinks it’s the coolest ever with the pouch and what not. But, grape wins hands down in a taste test:)
Read this yesterday. Couldn’t stop thinking about your words. Your a master of retelling a story. Love the insight into people…
Ohhhh, this type thing gets my “Coffey blood” boiling! I think I would have offered to buy the chew for him. My tongue would have been bleeding before I got out of there! Great post – as always!
A sadness and anger are bubbling upwards. May they both find the Lord.
~linda
Surprising ending that tugged at my heart but…..maybe we shouldn’t to be too quick to judge, after all bubble gum is not such a great treat for a kid to have ( despite the fact that most kids love it) if you care about their teeth. And as another reader pointed out we don’t know that the mother was making the purchases for herself. There are a lot of unknowns in this story.