How I Almost Went To Jail

What are friends for

I had no concept of money when I was young. I didn’t understand the relationship of my mother’s job to our manner of life. I knew my grandparents lived in a nice apartment with beautiful furniture and valuable art hanging on the wall. We lived in a studio apartment several streets away. My older sister slept on a regular couch against the wall while my mother and I shared a single bed near the windows. (My grandparents must have outfitted us with their old furniture since we’d recently arrived in the country from China.) We slept on the floor in the summer to stay cool. I heard the words “money” and “rent” but my mother spoke Chinese to her parents so I didn’t understand any of their conversations. No one explained anything to me because I was just a child. I was told what to do, to be polite, to ask for permission to eat a banana at my grandparents’ home, to not jump or run after eating. I only knew not to ask for toys or candy because we didn’t have enough money. I didn’t feel cheated or unhappy. I just noticed differences and accepted them.

I didn’t question why we ate Campbell’s soup or Spaghettio’s or Swanson’s TV Dinners every night. I loved them! Meatloaf! Mashed potatoes! Apple sauce! My main source of information was television shows. If I had a dolphin who uttered warning cries, I’d know what to do. Alert the Coast Guard! If I had a talking wooden puppet who lied, I’d know what to call him. Knucklehead! My greatest pleasure was going to the library where I would borrow 5-6 books each day, read them and return them the next day to borrow more. School was an obligation and another fact of life just as girls wore dresses and boys wore pants (so inconvenient on snowy days). School is where I met Alexandra* in second grade.

Alexandra lived nearby and seemed to know many mysterious things. When we walked home from school, she would dart into a large building, stick her finger into a small fountain in the wall and touch her forehead & shoulders. Then she would enter a dark cavernous room with incredibly high ceilings and kneel. There were rows of seating so I would slide into the nearest one to the back while she walked down a carpeted aisle. A man in an elaborate white gown and hat would be standing in front in the light giving little white discs to other people gathered near him. I felt a momentary pang that they were offered what looked like peppermint candy but not I. Despite not knowing why they were there, I felt I couldn’t participate. Then my friend would return and we would continue walking home. She would do this every day after school. I only realized it was a church when I was in high school because I had no religious background. (People would ask me later if I was Buddhist. I’d answer, “No, we’re artists.”)

One afternoon, Alexandra and I stopped in a small stationery store on the corner of the opposite block. It was filled with papers, notebooks, pens along its narrow aisles. I was carrying my school briefcase, the old kind with a latch on a short strap that locked over the opening where the two handles closed. As I idly gazed up at pads on the back wall, I felt a tug on my briefcase. When I looked down, I saw with horror that it was open and Alexandra was tossing items into the gaping bag. I whispered, “What are you doing? We didn’t pay for it!” She softly answered, “Don’t worry” as she continued throwing items in. But but but! I didn’t know what to do. She started walking out of the store literally leaving me holding the bag. I numbly followed, petrified of being caught, looking at the sun shining outside the glass door. A few more steps and I’d be free. But the owner stopped me and sternly asked, “What do you have in your bag?” As I opened the briefcase and saw him removing the stationery one by one, even though I’d never heard of shoplifting, I knew I was going to jail! He would call the police, he would tell them I was a thief and then they’d take me away. I was quaking in my shoes and feeling miserable. He must’ve overheard our whispered conversation because he let me go with a warning to never steal again. I solemnly nodded my head and ran out. My friend just laughed when she saw me. What a lark! Fright had swallowed my anger at her stunt, relief at not being locked up as a criminal quickly swallowed the fright and we went to her place to play.

Alexandra, who looked like an angel with blonde hair & wide blue eyes, must’ve been a precocious girl. Later, she pilfered a package of cookies from a supermarket and ate them outside the store. Her mother was divorced but had a good job and was planning to remarry. They weren’t poor but somehow, this kid had developed the habit of taking what she wanted and sneaking it out of stores. She thought it was funny and that she’d pulled a good joke. When we moved to the Westside the next spring, I lost contact with her. Many years later, I discovered through an internet search, that she had become a respected and capable professional helping people in crisis.

*not real name

Thank you so much for your support and patience! I have had several colds slowing me down and then a technical glitch. All your continuing interest is appreciated!