Like a Baby taking Candy

Something about stepping through that sliding door and into that rush of plastic-y, dense, drug store air seemed to flip a switch in my brain. I was no longer there to tag along while my mother ran errands. I wasn't there to browse the aisles, to beg for a shiny new toy, to play games. I was there to make off richer. No longer would children like myself have to leave their wealth to adults; I would acquire my own wealth and I wouldn't have to wait until I was an adult to do it. No one was going to tell me when I could eat candy; I would get my own candy, and I wasn't asking.

There's nothing like your first crime. Nothing beats that rush, and you spend your entire life trying to beat it but you can't. I'm convinced that's where a life of crime comes from; not from necessity, but from the chase. There, in the candy aisle of that quiet small town drug mart, I felt something inside of myself taking to the starting line; the chase had begun. I had to catch the feeling of getting away with it, of being so bad it started to feel good. I looked to my mother browsing the magazine rack: could she be my partner in crime? She'd sure let me watch a lot of true crime shows lately. No, lack of TV censorship aside, she's a straight shooter, this one. I may be allowed to catch the first 15 minutes of the Sopranos, but I was in big trouble that time I borrowed that Barney toy from the babysitter's house. I guess I'm going in alone, and she's not going to be my wing woman, but she was going to be my best shot at a cover.

I spotted the goods, right there beside my mom, right under her nose. They were glimmering and so beautiful under those buzzing fluorescent lights, almost like in the commercials they pounded into my ears on Nickelodeon each afternoon. Cherry airheads. There must have been at least twenty five of them lined up on that shelf. Like a diamond in the rough, they stuck out from the rest of the candy and called to me: this is the moment that will change your life. My mother still browsed the magazine rack beside me. As far as I knew, my dear mother didn't know I was heading for this fast and furious life, so she wasn't going to suspect much. I quickly thought of a way to really ice that cake; I had to show her I was still the obedient, rule following sweetheart that she thought she knew. I ran my hand along the smooth, shiny wrappers and gently plucked one from the cardboard box, displaying it to my mom cradled in my two tiny hands.

"Mom, can I get one of these airheads today?"

"Not today."

"Okay."

I had to think fast. This was my shot and I was going to take it. I touched the airhead back to it's bed of wrappers to sound like I had let it go, except I didn't let go. I stuck it up my sleeve, holding onto the bottom so as not to let it fall out.

"Let's go," my mother crooned as she made her way toward the register "time to pay for our stuff!"

Oh no. What stuff? Did she know? I looked at her, awaiting her knowing gaze, but instead she walked straight ahead and placed her basket on the counter. This was it. I was almost home free. This was what it felt like to pull off a job. I was already addicted. The clerk rang my mother's last item through.

"Is that everything?"

"You bet."

HA! But it wasn't! I had $0.79 worth of something up my sleeve and they were none the wiser. What a bunch of FOOLS! As we walked to the door I thought of all of the next jobs to come....sweet tarts, lifesavers, hell, maybe even a Toblerone! The candy aisle was my oyster and I could fit a lot of pearls in these oversized pullover sleeves. I could see myself on a bed of candy in my room, selling sweets by the piece from a trench coat on the playground, building the add on for my playhouse by 2nd grade. This was it. This was my life now.

We stepped back out into the world of natural light and (somewhat) normal smelling air and suddenly the world felt different... but not how I thought it would. It was only in the 10 steps from the register to the outside world that I felt like a genius, that I saw my bright and candy affluent future. Now I felt like a target. I didn't see a bed of candy, I saw a tray of mystery meat from the prison cafeteria. I didn't see a trench coat, I saw the orange jumpsuit I would live in. I didn't see the playhouse, I saw the big house. It was like everyone in the world could see it written across my forehead in red marker: I'm a candy toting criminal! Throw me in jail! Break my family's heart! Lock me up to keep me from striking again and again! Your candy isn't safe!

I climbed into the back seat and thought about the hours to come. The police surrounding our house, guns drawn, ordering me to come out with my hands up. They can't do that to me, can they? I'm just a cute little blonde girl, a victim of targeted commercials on children's television! I nervously piped up to my poor, clueless mother.

"M-mom?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Um... I have a question that I'm just wondering about."

"Sure. What's that?"

"What...ummm...wh-what happens to kids who steal?"

"OH! Well they go to JAIL of course! The cops come take them away."

I violently burst into tears. Suddenly I wanted my old life back. I don't know why the life of crime chose me. I wasn't ready for jail. I hadn't even learned how to defend myself on the playground yet. I was only in half days at Kindergarten! I confessed to my mother and pulled the hot, melting airhead from my sleeve. She seemed to be stifling a cry as she slowly pulled a U-Turn, probably wondering why her baby girl had resorted to this life. We pulled up in front of the drug store and, from behind her stifled sobs, my mother said, "now, we need to go take that back and apologize." I slunk out of the back seat and marched back into the store. This time the smell of plastic and buzz of the lights wasn't rush inducing, just nauseating. I slid the airhead toward the cashier and as much as I tried to remain calm, the tears began to pour again.

"I stole this and I'm really really sorry please don't phone the police and have me taken to jail I promise I will never steal ever again!"

The clerk smiled. "Oh honey it's o--" she stopped and glanced at my mother, who was probably just as embarrassed and ashamed as me. The clerk re-started. "Well, stealing is very very bad. Thanks for bringing it back, but you better run along before you get into more trouble."

I was once again buckled into my booster seat, silent, relieved to no longer have the start of my new life hidden up my sleeve. I guess the life of crime wasn't for me. But I still have never forgotten my first and last crime.