Mine Forever

No touching.

No grabbing.

Behave.

Again and again. Those were the words, but they wouldn’t stick. Of course they wouldn’t. Words like that never do—not when she was already halfway to exploding.

Body wiggling. Hands waving frantically. Feet hopping like they couldn’t decide whether to run or stay still. Squeezing every muscle, holding it, releasing it—over and over.

This was her knowing tell. The signal that she’d break the rules the instant she stepped inside.

The brass glass doors slid open with a swoosh.

She was here!

At the place.

The land of all things.

Things and more things.

ALL the things.

So many smells. Good smells. Big smells. Smells spinning everywhere.

Bread. Warm and soft.

Fruit. Ripe and heavy.

Ice cream. Sweet and cold.

Lights buzzing yellow. Blue ones blinking like tiny stars. Colors leaping off shelves, spilling over, tumbling down like they couldn’t wait to be chosen.

Ice creamy. Fruity. Bready. Mine. All mine.

Strolling.

Up and down. Up. Down.

I wasn’t trusted.

Not after last time.

I had to use the cart.

A humiliating arrangement, though one she had no power to refuse. Rolling where the cart went,

not where I wanted.

I can't come back if I break the rules—false threats staring her down, stern, disapproving and warning.

No matter. She was here. This was the place where all the best things were. She wanted to touch, taste, and hold everything.

Strolling down each aisle of nothing-things.

Endless Rows. Things stacked high. Things piled low. Shelves with cans, stacked like towers. Boxes neat in little rows.

Things she didn’t know the names of but wanted anyway. Things she couldn’t touch—not yet. But maybe.

Too big for pockets. Too heavy to grab. Too wrong to take.

Things going in the cart.

Nothing for me… nothing… nothing I wanted.

Hungry. Getting tired.

Attention. that’s what she wanted.

She hummed, then sang. Not real songs—scraps of sound, words and notes stuck in her mind, looping continuously tumbling out like spilled marbles. Hands drumming on the cart to her inner beat. Soft at first. Then harder. Faster. Louder.

Clanging mixing with the distant sounds, squeaks of carts, the chatter of voices. A chaotic symphony bouncing off the shelves and polished floors.

“Stop.”

Oranges, Bananas. Peaches. All for me. Take them all.

Apples.

Red and green and yellow, Glossy. Gleaming.Fingers twitching to get closer, hovering over the very top one. Mouth forming a perfect O. Ready. To. Bite.

Oh No!

Apples, apples everywhere,

Exploding across the floor, rolling across the tiles, like loose cannon balls, thumping against shoes and cart wheels. Stampeding away, slipping under a shelves and dancing towards the sliding door.

Heads snapping. Eyes staring. Other shoppers and employees looking. Voices muttering bad words—rules she should have remembered. "No, no, no"

No touching.

No grabbing.

Behave.

Choking back tears. It was gone. That was mine.

Apples going in the cart instead.

I didn’t touch. I didn’t grab.

I was good.

Good means I get something. Good means my turn.

Nothing. Not yet. Not fair.

Frowning down, staring sadly at the ground.

I can sing another song again.

This aisle smelled sticky and sweet,

whipping her head toward the colors there. Even better than apples. Row and rows of Candy. Gum. Bags of chips.

There must be something here for her.

Snacks. Something to eat.

Her hand shot out. Quick. Too quick.

But a snap, pop and a tiny little wince. brought it right back.

I had to remember.

No touching.

No grabbing.

I was behaving.

Strolling. Strolling.

Up and down. Up. Down.

Frowning. Pouting. Fingers gripping the plastic bar tight. Drumming.

Cereal. Milk. Milk and cereal.

Why is that box so big? Why are there so many milks? Can I have—"No!" Why?

I don't like meat. I don't want to eat that.

Juice Please.

This place. This endless place. Always for things. Everyday things.

Laundry soap. Cheese. Not pizza cheese. I like pizza cheese…

She went back to singing and banging. not listening.

When am I going to get something for me?

She was being good. So very, very good.

I was behaving

Lipstick?

"No."

Sunglasses?

"No."

Why wasn't there something for me.

And then—there it was.

Sparkly. Dangling from a hook like it had been waiting for her all along.

She reached. She grabbed. A quick slide of hand. No one saw anything. She can be sly, taking thing that didn't have to go into the cart.

It sat in her hand, twinkling in the light. Wonderful. Beautiful. Hers.

The glittering yellow happy-face keychain grinned back at her.

Mine. Mine forever.

Clutching it tighter. Her fingers curling around the smooth plastic like claws. Sliding it into her pocket.

It was safe.

Hidden.

She could feel it in her pocket, warm and waiting. She could play with it later or maybe hide it forever.

An exhilarating secret. Just for her.

Quiet now. No banging. No humming.

Checkout. Bottles beeping. Bags rustling.

Things being paid for.

Laundry soap. Cheese. Juice. Apples.

Not my thing. Mine already. Don’t have to pay.

“Almost done.”

Rolling toward the exit. Fingers slipping into her pocket. Peeking at her prize. I can play with it now.

“Oh no, baby. You can’t take that.”

Gone. The thing plucked from her hand. Her keychain. Her grinning happy face.

Her wailing echoing across the registers and spilling down the aisles. Everyone was looking. The sound of loss, sharp and unbearable. So Embarrassing.

Body wiggling. Hands waving frantically.

Sobbing. Hiccupping. Crying. Feet kicking Not stopping. Tantrum raging.

Screaming—over and over:

It was mine. Mine forever.

Mine to hold. Mine to keep. Mine, mine, mine.

“Mommie’s sorry. But you can’t take things from the store without paying. Next time, we’ll get you something. Next time.”

“An apple, maybe.”

A small comfort offered as consolation, sweeter with each passing second.

Not gleaming or glittering like the keychain, but shiny red. hers just the same.

Turning it over. Frowning.

I can stop crying.

It's Mine? Not forever.

But mine to eat now.