This morning something made me think of the poem "This Is Just To Say" by William Carlos Williams. I learned it in high school and have always liked it. This afternoon, at our new neighbors' housewarming party, I saw it framed on their dining room wall:
This Is Just To Say
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
William Carlos Williams
Have you ever stolen something? Did you fail to regret doing so? Or have you ever had something stolen from you? What happened?
This story still makes my stomach hurt when I think about it - it revolves around the summer of the eighth grade and my friend, Lori.
During that summer Lori and I would take the bus to Tampa Bay Mall. We hung out there, window shopped, ate hot dogs on a stick and picked up boys. It was kind of like an eight hour work day - waking up, getting all dolled up, taking the bus, and working it all day long to see who could get leave with the most phone numbers.
It was summer, in Florida, what did you want me to do, go outside?
But Lori and I started to get tired of being at the mall all that time with no money to spend. So we started to shoplift. It started small, like a Wet ‘n Wild lipstick here, a pair of earrings there. Then we moved on to bigger items, like clothing.
It was so easy! We were literally walking into Contempo Casuals or Rave with empty bags, filling them up and walking out. We were so good at it we started to get cocky.
One day while in Lerner New York, Lori and I were doing our usual routine. I held the bag while she shoved leggings, headbands and tube tops into it. I was generally the bag holder, not the one putting the stuff in the bag – that somehow made me feel better about the whole thing, a little less guilty.
We casually headed for the door. As soon as our feet touched outside of the store we had hands on our shoulders. A deep male voice said, “Girls, would you mind coming with me?” A man in a police uniform was behind us. I felt sick. This was it, the big shakedown. I knew it couldn’t last forever. How could I get out of this without my parents finding out? I started to shake and sweat. I thought I might vomit as the policeman escorted us to the back of the store while everyone watched. He of course absconded our bag of goodies and led us away.
Lori and I were then handcuffed together and made to sit behind the cash register of Lerner New York so paying customers could gawk, laugh, and make an example of us.
“See little Susie, you never want to steal because that is what happens to you, you will go to jail like those two bad girls.”
Oh God, I thought, am I going to go to jail? Will I make it to jail before my father kills me? Lori and I held hands and cried during our public humiliation while we waited for our impending doom.
They asked for my parents' phone number so I gave them our home number, of course, knowing my mom could come pick me up and try and help to diffuse the situation with my dad as much as possible. I guess my mom wasn’t at home that day so they called my dad at work. I also guess that my dad wasn’t at his desk, so my dad’s secretary paged over the loudspeaker something to the effect of:
“RICHARD, YOUR DAUGHTER WAS PICKED UP BY THE POLICE AND YOU NEED TO GO TO TAMPA BAY MALL IMMEDIATELY TO PICK HER UP.”
What a shitty secretary. She must not have had teenage daughters.
I heard from the policeman that my dad was on his way. I wondered how I could get the handcuffs around my neck so I could off myself before he arrived.
When my dad got there he was beet red, and I knew I was in deep trouble. Probably the most trouble I had ever been in. I remember vividly him saying to me “Say goodbye to your friend Lori, because you’ll never see her again!” I wanted to say, “But we have the same teacher for ninth grade, I’ll see her in a month,” but I decided it would be best to keep my mouth shut.
The car ride home was awful, all of the yelling. He was so disappointed in me. My mother was also so disappointed in me.
What could the punishment possibly be? Obviously I was no longer allowed to communicate with Lori. I was also on restriction and not allowed to go out with friends for the rest of the summer. But the worst punishment was my dad giving me the silent treatment and asking my brother to pass the salt at the dinner table when the salt was sitting right in front of me. Ouch. After what seemed like a lifetime of being ignored I remember falling into his arms as he sat on the couch sobbing hysterically, “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, it was the first time I had ever done that (lie) I’m so sorry…aaaahhhhh.”
He cried too, and then life went back to normal.
Except I wasn’t allowed to see Lori anymore.
Or go anywhere without my parents. We saw lots of movies together that summer.
I also had to go to a juvenile detention hall hearing and was sentenced to community service. I volunteered at the humane society, hanging out with smelly dogs and changing poopy litter boxes for a few months.
I never ever had the desire ever again to take something that didn’t belong to me.
Being handcuffed behind the cash register at Lerner New York will have that affect on you. For the rest of your life.
Kristine:
recently i returned
home from a two week vacation to a small stack
of utility bills. i am
the kind of gal that prefers to pay cash. i pay
my bills at the check
cashing joint down on the corner so on my way to work
i stopped at my bank
and got a couple of hundred dollars for the bills.
now i have worked at
my place of business for over 18 years and although
i have been given a
locker (it is full of shoes!) and a lock i never lock up my bag
but just toss it up on
a shelf in the coat area-hell with the size of my bag and all those
shoes there is not
really room. That evening i arrived home and opened my wallet to
sort out my payments.
i opened my wallet to nothing. nada. a black hole. and i was
pissed. i wanted to scream
and yell. i wanted to tell my friends my sad story but it was too
late to call anyone
so i posted my unhappy
tale on facebook-it helped a little.
the thing is it is
money-just a little over $200 but the emotions are complicated.
now $200 is plenty of
money and i am glad that it was not my rent money but why would someone take
this from me? is this a person i like and talk to every day? did they
really need the money?
well i should have
locked it up-i am too trusting. NO, they stole from me! and the distrust and
anger and guilt
swirl around.
last week i received
a check and a card in the mail from some very dear and lovely friends. an
email had been sent
that spoke of my
facebook post, that requested everyone to send $10-$20 to be collected
"with love from all...
it is not just a
matter of the cash. when you get robbed it is a violation of your person. it
would be nice to remind kristine
that she is a person
to us-a very special one." wow.
the love and kindness
of friends makes me feel very lucky!
what you give...
what you take...
Anna:
this little ditty is about meeting a best friends baby for the first time. Enjoy!
Stolen Heart
You stole my heart
Good and true
Just one look
And I've fallen for you
Your smile, your eyes
That dimple just there
I can't help myself
I must avert my eyes, else I'll stare
My breath is taken
So sweet your smell
How much I adore you
No one can tell
This moment now
Just you and me
I will treasure
From here to eternity
Emily H:
It
is a fact that in the spring of 1990 I picked all the cherry blossoms off my
next door neighbor's tree. One might sub the word "stole" for
"picked," it's the fine details that distinguish this story from a
childhood tale or a crime novel (take your pick). Upon picking all of the
petals, I made a giant petal pile on my family's side of the fence. The fence
was relatively short depending on who's perspective you took (tall enough
for a small child to stand on to reach the tree blossoms, and short enough for
a tall adult to easily see on the other side). After the blossoms were
picked and piled, I went into the house and got a fitted sheet to cover the
petals (covering them, and covering the evidence). Naturally the next thing I
did was lay down on top of the new founded flower bed and read a book (since
the petals were currently hidden, I assumed no one would think anything of
their sudden departure). Our neighbor Mike (he was a mailman, and the type of
tall adult mailman who could easily see over the short fence) poked his head
out the door and yelled (at this point in the story please imagine Mike in his
mailman uniform, the shorts version with the plastic hat), Mike yells at
me "DID YOU TAKE ALL THE BLOSSOMS OFF OF MY TREE (his voice extra loud because
it was billowing through the vacant branches)?!" At this moment I knew I
could have been caught, I knew I had to think fast before I gave myself away...
I merely said "nope" and continued to lay on my flower bed enjoying
the day, as if it had been there all along.
Steve:
Ernie wasn't exactly a drag queen, he was an eccentric East Village character who wore remarkable and strange combinations of clothing and jewelry and pieces of fabric when performing, modeling for photo shoots, or going out drinking. In the mid-80's he lived in an apartment on St Mark's Place with a mattress on the floor and belongings scattered everywhere. I never knew him very well but one night we were out late drinking and I wound up staying at his place, sharing the mattress. Probably the next morning, and probably when Ernie was in the bathroom, I spotted an earring on the floor, a pink china flower with a screw-on backing. For no reason that I knew then or know now, I took it.
Why did I steal it? Did he ever miss it? Did it mean something to him? I still have it.
Heather:
I had my childhood stolen while I was living in the hospital between heart surgeries & then not able to participate in much play while home growing & healing. Now, my heart is doing well as am I & my play is happening now via zip lining, white-water rafting, swimming with dolphins, traveling, wrestling with my husband, and living each day to its fullest...even if it’s just sewing quilts for homeless or designing a photo collage for a stairwell. Unless it changes my birthday, it’s not worth dwelling on or worrying about: )
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