The Boy Goes Shopping

The jewelry store was a flop. When we walked thru the door we knew it wasn't the right place.

"Dad? Can I go down to GameStop? There's nothing here."

I let him go. And although there really was nothing there, and although it was he who was looking for a gift, and although I had no interest in the place, I couldn't bring myself to leave so soon. So I looked around and contemplated peridots and amethysts, which was about all I could find in that store of gaudy flash.

Things were different on the other side of the parking lot. He probably knew it from the moment we walked thru the door.

Phyllis was arranging some pottery when the tingling bell hanging from the door knob rang. She turned and looked at us. She smiled when she saw my face. (I had been in there only a few weeks before.)

Hello!" she said.

"Hello again," I said. "I've come back. This time with my son."

We introduced ourselves again. She looked over at him.

"Are you hear for a ... girlfriend?"

"No. For my mom."

She looked at me as she listened to him.

"His mom and I are divorced, so I'm kind of letting him do this on his own."

She smiled broadly and nodded.

She was good with him. She walked him around the place, asking questions and making suggestions. Getting a feel for his taste.

He asked if she had plates or something that could hold a candle. His mom had lots of candles, he said.

"Birthday or Valentine's Day?" she asked.

"Valentine's," he said.

So she showed him a translucent, waving, red glass thing that immediately caught his interest. I kept my mouth shut. She showed him some other things on another table and some things over by the wall. It was there that he saw what he wanted.

"This is perfect," he said, holding up a small rectangular ceramic plate with greenish-bluish patterns in it. "It will match the walls in the living room."

"If it speaks to you..." I said.

"It speaks to me."

Phyllis smiled, too. And she took the plate and set it on the counter, where she tenderly wrapped it in tissue and put it in a box.

Soon, with a receipt in my hand and the box in a bag in his, we were ready to go.

As I turned toward the door, he noticed the translucent, waving, red glass thing still sitting on the counter.

"What about this!?" he asked, thinking we had forgotten it.

"I don't think so," I said. "Not on my dime!"

It just slipped out that way. It's certainly not what I meant. That red thing, as wavy and translucent as it was, just wasn't the right gift for his mom. And it was not that appealing. And it's price wasn't right. But that's how it came out anyway.

Phyllis erupted in laughter.

9:03:34 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []