Hey Everyone!
I've decided to share a personal experience story I wrote in my early teens while enrolled at The Institute for Writers. Enjoy!
The summer following third grade, I had enough freedom to go grocery shopping with my grandmother. Upon arriving, I noticed the parking lot was full of life and energy. Determined sea gulls dove to pick up fast food fries thrown out of car windows. The comings and goings of squirrels thrilled me because their dangerous behavior resembled that of an untamed child and was unlike my own. They would frolic across the roads and then race away as gleaming cars approached. These gleaming cars also seemed possessed by some uncontrollable force pushing them to conquer a specific goal. In this case, that goal was a parking space. An outsider, unaware of imperfection and only versed in the goodness of humans, would have been appalled to see such wildness exhibited by members of civilized society.
The smell of the fresh foods lining the sloped center aisle in the store caused my mouth to water. There were acidic oranges, tangy grapes, and green bananas. Crisp lettuce separated the cucumbers and tomatoes. Behind swinging doors with small plastic windows I could see hanging meats when my grandmother started forward. Their death and destruction did not have meaning. I was completely unaware of the flaws of others and myself and therefore never had a need to critically analyze anything. After what seemed like hours of the food hunt, my grandmother decided we had collected enough of what she referred to as “catch” (with a wink), and was ready to stand on line.
We waited for another eternity behind mothers with wide hips and children with candy-filled mouths. Upon reaching the line’s end, I was tired, anxious, and contemplating pulling my caretaker’s sleeve. Before I could do so, I noticed something peculiar.
An elderly man entered through the sliding electric doors farthest from the registers. His body language generated my suspense and consequently I directed all attention to his being. His legs walked steadily and rapidly despite their age. They evoked images of the Coyote sneaking up on the Roadrunner. His arms, held closely to his sides, barely moved. Black grease covered his rugged flannel shirt like barbecue sauce wiped on an unsuspecting napkin. I could see the outline of his thin, frail legs beneath a deep blue pair of Dickeys and wondered why he was dressed that way. ‘Does he work on cars?’ I thought to myself. The intentions of this seemingly strange man were unclear until I noticed the intense fixture of his dark, bloodshot eyes.
He never looked in the direction of the registers because his eyes were occupied with the beauty of a certain object; a beauty he was about to shatter by a horrendous act of the human mind. The plump green oval must have shone like gold. Its attractiveness left it undefended and this man was to be its captor. Although I was naïve, I recognized the wrinkles of deep concentration. He was imagining the sweetness of his soon to be prize. He was thinking of its juicy flesh being consumed by a hungry tongue and its existence disappearing beneath a roof of canines capable of immoral things, just like their owner.
The committed act was quiet and hardly noticed by the busy inhabitants of the store. He was cautious with his leather like fingers, searching, prowling, and eventually gripping. In an instant, his hand had committed an unspeakable crime, punishable in some present-day societies by amputation. Everyone was too busy with his or her own lives to notice. The chatter of business people, teachers, truckers, and cashiers filled the air while mothers tried to calm their angry children. The man left in the same manner in which he came. There was a brisk movement of the legs and then an exit. The only difference was a watermelon craftily tucked under his left arm. He physically neither hesitated nor stopped, and probably not mentally either, for his plan was premeditated.
I viewed this incident with great precocity and a heart torn between what I had been told was wrong and what I knew might be right. I tried to convince myself that the man had paid for the fruit, but had left the store forgetting to pick it up. I soon realized that could not be his defense. The next conclusion I came to was less fulfilling. I thought about the possibility of dysfunctional cashiers. Maybe the man had been upset at the inefficiency of the workers and decided to return them the favor. I believed the man shouldn’t have taken the food for that reason. My final consideration was the man’s condition. His appearance made it clear that he didn’t have much money. He could have been starving or had a family that needed food. Although his actions might have been unjustifiable, I decided against interfering in his affairs. As a result of this event, I began to understand that sometimes all people, including myself, make wrong decisions for the right reasons.