Hampshire’s Drug Store

Funny, it took me until my thirtieth birthday to learn that “No” is a complete sentence…

“Do you want to stay at this lackluster job that dangles just enough of a carrot to make you feel okay, but slowly sucks away at your life force?”

“No.”

“Do you want to stay in this one-sided friendship that has you running laps around situations they create as if you’re some overlooked, deus ex machina, housewife in a fifties TV sitcom?”

“No.”

“Do you want to stay in this relationship that you only just realized has the guise of love, but not real love because you only just began to realize what that word, feeling, a relationship based on that could be?”

“No.”

Today is my thirtieth birthday. Today I realize: “No” is a complete sentence and I am moving on from the programming of my past.

…

Plain and simple, I was raised by neglectful parents. I was left alone, a lot. Left to my devices while simultaneously given the responsibility of their judgement and expectation. Paradoxical, I know, but the adults’ in my life had the distinct assurance that I’m “an old soul.” I could entertain and care for and love myself because they decided early on, I didn’t need the same attention they gave the others.

This is all because I was, “different.” I was, “special.” They didn’t know how to answer my questions. They didn’t know if I should even ask questions like that. They often ignored the things they didn’t understand. They left the rest of me undiscussed, subtly screaming in the corner with the effervescence of a gigantic pink elephant in the room (meaning: they didn’t know what to do with me). Or, they were too self-absorbed, addicted, and lacking in emotional intelligence because of how they were raised to know what to do with me; so, they left me to myself for the most part.

…

When they were in the mood to acknowledge my existence, they both called me “My lil’ slice of chocolate cake.” On special occasions, when I had done something that caught their attention (meaning: gave them a reason to brag about their “special” child) they would come in from work or call me on the phone and their first words were, always, “Well hello there, my lil’ slice of chocolate cake...” Then they would take their turns taking me to get a vanilla bean milkshake and a single slice of chocolate cake from Hampshire's Drug Store.

…

Hampshire’s was a hold out from another time. It was a drug store built in the early 1940s. It stood as an aesthetic portal to a world my parents were raised in; one their parents created for them, and it conscientiously maintained an original soda fountain environment throughout my life in that sleepy suburb.

By the time I was old enough to go, the place was a historical landmark for all intents and purposes. As I grew up, I watched the buildings around it transform with the times. Blockbusters came in, only to be replaced by 7-11s, only to be replaced by “urban renewal” apartment spaces (meaning: gentrification). All the while, Hampshire’s stood as the altar I knew my parents would take me to for celebration, validation, important things. Like a vanilla bean milkshake and a slice of chocolate cake, when I had done enough to impress, done enough to deserve to be acknowledged, or they wanted to “break some news” to me.

At Hampshire’s I celebrated making the honor roll, doing well on my standardized tests, my parents getting their divorce, my scholarship to college, my engagement, my dad getting remarried, my mother getting remarried, my graduate degree, my mother getting divorced, my fulfilling job: you know - the “important things” to the people that raised me.

...

It is at Hampshire’s where I currently stand, hand on door, ready to walk in because today is the day. My thirtieth birthday. The day I realize that because I was “special,” I was made to feel wrong. I was made to feel like a burden for my blessings (meaning: a childlike curiosity for all things why and an insatiable demand for integrity that was suffocated by my family’s individual insecurities/unwillingness to ask and live, vulnerably). Today is the day I realize that because of this past programming, I never ended up actually asking the whys and therefore hadn’t yet lived with integrity.

I did my best in school because it was easy and, conveniently, the only “special” thing about me that garnered consistent attention from my parents. I got the degrees and went into the field I’m in because I knew that would be the only grade-like “special” way to galvanize them, once my schooling was over. I married my partner because I knew he would fit into their narrative and impress them; and that would in turn, get me the deserving attention of a vanilla bean milkshake and a slice of chocolate cake from Hampshire’s Drug Store.

…

It is at Hampshire’s where I currently stand, hand on door, ready to walk in because today is the day. My thirtieth birthday. The day I realize that: No, I don’t want to stay at that insipid job; the one with the steady siphon draining my life force; screw that, I’m out. No, I don’t want to stay in this unrequited acquaintanceship that has me perpetually navigating the Karpman Drama Triangle like a paid professional, without the pay; screw that, I’m out. No, I don’t want to stay in this partnership that I only just realized has the guise of love, but not real love because I only just began to realize what that word or feeling or a relationship based on that could be, should be; screw that, I’m out. I intuitively erupted with my goodbyes to the past that wasn’t mine.

It is at Hampshire’s where I currently stand, hand on door, ready to walk in because I decided to walk away from it all. One big swoop of adioses to the situations of my past, my previous self. I decided, I’m out. Time to discover what I want. Time to rediscover my “special” without judgement or expectation.

…

Ironically or sadly or as a habit, you decide the reason if you feel so inclined: The first thing I thought of to celebrate myself and my “No” knowledge, was in the way I was celebrated as a child. I wanted to celebrate being my own “lil’ slice of chocolate cake.'' So, I took myself up on my own devices, got in the car, drove the three and a half hours to my hometown... to the sleepy suburb of my childhood… to the Hampshire’s... where I currently stand, hand on door, ready to walk in because today is the day. My thirtieth birthday.

I take a deep breath, look up, smile, and read the sign, only to realize that… The Hampshire’s Drug Store... is now a Whole Foods.

Well, shit.

It is at Whole Foods where I currently stand, hand on door, ready to walk in because today is the day. My thirtieth birthday. The day I realize: No more need for milkshakes and a lil’ slice of chocolate cake to externally validate. Today I realize, I don’t even like chocolate cake; I’d prefer a slice of pumpkin pie with vanilla bean a la mode.

…

So, I ate my slice and scooped my ice and thought to myself:

“One day all of this will be a pasture, reclaimed by Mother Nature. Feel free to take her lead. Eat the cake. Celebrate your life. You’re fucking special.”