Ana Robbins
Things changed when my mom met her boyfriend Kevin. What had once been the holy grail of unattainable luxuries (the local KFC buffet) was now a weekly ritual. A trip out to Wal-mart once a month, spent walking behind Mother, eyes downcast, staring at the linoleum? No more! Now, Kevin would come over every other day and want to take us somewhere. Mom always said yes, no matter if it was the middle of a homeschool lesson. I basically didn’t have to go to school for all of fifth grade. If his pockets were open, we were out the door.
It was like any other day of that year: Kevin shows up, asks if we’d like to go to Walmart, Mom says yes and we end the school day. Of course, I was pumped. Any time out of the house and with my new dad was always welcomed. So, we jumped into his big light purple van, nicknamed Wilhelmena, and made the two minute drive to air-conditioned paradise.
Once inside, we walked around the store, Kevin in the middle, and mom and I on either side of him. As they talked, I enjoyed not having to be within arm’s reach or direct eyesight of Mother, and took in all of my surroundings. I drooled over the candy, fantasized about actually owning the stuffed animals and toys we passed. Even the cleaning aisle held interest, since all we ever had in the house was Dawn dishsoap and makeshift Windex. Everything in the store was the unobtainable. I had stars in my eyes.
After about a half hour of meandering, we ended up walking through the ladies’ clothing section. I heard Kevin and mom joking about wanting to see more attractive ladies in town. Kevin said he would give mom a dollar for every attractive girl she could spot and point out.
I don’t know what made me open my mouth. Maybe it was my love for this nice person in my life. Maybe it was my need to make him happy. Maybe it was the fact that I had never and would never be allowed to handle money by my mom. According to her, children are what make you poor. So I always knew I was the reason everything in that store was off-limits most days. I had never had a dollar of my own.
And I loved him.
“What about me??” I piped up eagerly. “If I find a pretty girl, do I get a dollar?” Kevin and mom paused their conversation and looked at me, though neither broke stride or slowed down. Kevin looked at mom. I saw initial mild displeasure on her face, but after a moment of looking at him, she gave an “eh, whatever” look and looked straight ahead again. Kevin looked down and grinned. “Alright, you find a pretty girl, I give you a dollar! But remember, you have to point her out.” I grinned back. “Okay!” I started dreaming about finally buying a second dress for my little black-haired Kelly doll. She was my favorite, but I only had one child outfit. I felt she deserved better.
All of two minutes passed. As we walked past the pots and pans aisle, I saw my opportunity. “Kev, Kev! Look!” I whispered to him excitedly. I don’t even remember what that first woman looked like. I think she was around mid-twenties, nicely dressed, limited makeup. It was a blur. Kev smiled, and said that that worked. He dug in his pocket, and with mom standing next to him, looking at a new set of measuring spoons, he handed me my first dollar.
Six months passed. Things progressed.
It was an unusual outing from the start that day. Instead of Walmart, Kevin had suggested that we go to the grocery store Town & Country. I couldn’t remember going there since Walmart had first moved into town seven years prior. He seemed to want to hit all of the smaller stores that day: Town & Country to start, then moving on to Dollar General, The Dollar Tree, Aldi’s, and finally K-mart. As we had done countless times before, Mom grabbed her purse, I dropped everything, and we piled into Wilhelmina.
The old half-abandoned strip mall seemed to come out of nowhere. Over the hill, the reddish brown structure hit my senses. It was long, and shaped like an E without its middle. On one end, Petals and Lace Bridal stood proudly, and on the other, Town & Country’s sign staunchly refused to fall. The old Chinese restaurant next door hadn’t fared as well: one of its windows was busted through, and its sign only read “Gre t Wa.” I missed The Great Wall. I had always liked its chicken on a stick. But at least there were rumors of a new Chinese place coming in on the other side of town.
As for our destination, it stood as a relic, refusing to close under the shadow of “The Man,” even though almost no one was in the parking lot most days. I couldn’t figure out how they managed to stay open. Kevin parked the van a few rows back from the front, even though there were only about ten cars besides ours in the lot. We fell out, and made our way inside, Kevin and Mom side by side, me walking behind.
As soon as we got in the store, Kevin told Mom that he and I would meet up with her in a little while, and to pick up anything she might need. No problem on her end. She swiftly grabbed a cart and took off. Kev and I sauntered through the aisles, both keeping an eye out for “tunas,” our code word for attractive women.
It started out as “apples.” That meant boobs were showing, or at least a tight shirt was worn. But after a while, Kev started to point out ladies that weren’t very well-endowed in the chest department. He told me that he preferred women that were closer to my size (AAA) as opposed to my mom’s (DD). Pretty soon, getting down to B and A cups, the term apples didn’t seem descriptive anymore. So, for reasons I didn’t understand at the time and which were never explained to me, he changed our term to “tunas.” He began referring to going out “tuna-hunting” or “fishing.” I went gleefully, since he had never taken back the promise of $1 for each one I found. Every time we went out, he would keep a tally of how many I had spotted. Then, the game changed slightly. It became a dollar for every one I pointed out that he felt “deserved” a dollar. So, he began turning some of my choices down. I needed to learn his tastes better. He gladly obliged in telling me what he did and didn’t like. Pretty soon, I learned the difference between an 18 year old and a 30 year old. I knew that if they looked over 20, there was a good chance I wouldn’t get my dollar for that find.
To a 12 year old, everyone looks older, everyone is more experienced, is more attractive than you. Someone who just graduated high school seems taller than an oak tree, and more sage than a giant redwood. Or, they might just look the same as a 40 year old. The nuances of how people carry themselves, slight differences in hairstyle and clothing choice, and even makeup tints can be lost on a starry-eyed child. But I learned about those differences very quickly through daily experience, exposure, and gentle correction. No, see those shoes? She’s at least thirty. Yes, she’s tall, but see how low her top goes and how she’s not wearing a bra? She just left high school.
So, we came to high school. I had a picture of a high school senior in my head. Then, Kevin pointed out a girl who looked…a little younger. I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was her height, or her cup size, or the Happy Bunny t-shirt she was wearing. But I looked at him, confused. He assured me that she was also in high school. I shrugged, and made a new mental note about what looks to keep an eye out for.
About six months since he had redefined high school, he told me that he enjoyed the look of girls a little bit younger than me. Maybe middle school, or even elementary. When I gave him a shocked and concerned look, he quickly let me in on his great philosophy of life: “Looking doesn’t hurt.” I was a little iffy at first, but he went on to explain that if the girls never knew, it would never hurt them. It made him happy, and didn’t I want that? I did. I loved him. I loved him more than I had ever loved Mother. He spent time with me, played Barbie’s with me all the time, made sure I was fed, listened and talked to me, treated me kindly, etc. I told myself he must be right: what could it hurt? He wasn’t doing what bad people did. So, I agreed to his game.
Cut to our trek through Town & Country. We walked through frozen food, cereals, and finally toys. Upon turning a corner, the candy aisle appeared. In it was a nice looking young lady with a little girl in her cart. Frank elbowed me and asked, “What about her?” “The lady?” I asked hopefully, part of me silently wishing to raise the age back to adults.
“No.”
I turned to take another look at the two. I looked at the little girl. Pink dress, little shoes…and a white teddy bear diaper.
I don’t know what made me say what I said. Maybe I still didn’t fully understand what the game was. Maybe I did. Maybe something deep within me knew that this was a line. An even bigger line than going from adult to high school, high school to middle, middle to elementary, or elementary to preschool. This was a baby. She probably couldn’t even walk yet. Or talk. Or…anything. Something within me rejected the suggestion so violently that, after a single moment that felt like hours, I blurted out, “NO!”
Kevin was taken aback. He asked me why. “She’s too young.” “What? That’s too young?” I paused and looked at him. “She’s wearing a diaper. That’s not sexy.” Kevin stared back at me, visibly disappointed and frustrated. “Okay.” And we walked on. I couldn’t believe I’d refused him; I couldn’t believe I wasn’t being punished in some way for it.
The rest of our day went normally. We stopped at the Dollar Tree, Aldi’s, the bank, and even stopped at KFC for lunch. Our last stop was Dollar General. We walked in, and did our usual split. This time, Kev told Mom to make sure to take her time. He then led me to the toy section. There was a giant aisle just jam-packed with nothing but stuffed animals! I adored stuffed animals more than any other toy in the world. There were giant rabbits, huge dogs, regular teddy bears, and tiny little everythings. I had never seen anything so wonderful. It looked like the shelves went on forever. I ran and started looking through every single plush. Kev held back and watched me. It must have been at least five minutes before I saw the most perfect stuffed animal in the whole world: A black horse, two and a half feet tall, wires in its legs so it could stand up and sturdy enough to be sat on lightly. It was on the very top shelf, along with at least ten others in assorted colors. I was much too short to reach it, so I stared at it for a moment. Then, I stood on my tip-toes just to try and pet one of the hooves. From behind me, I heard Kevin walking up. The black horse moved, then appeared before me. Kev was handing it to me. I took it, grinning, just happy to touch it.
“How much does it cost?” he asked. I checked the tag on its ear. $40. Forty. Dollars. Mom always had a $20 limit on all Christmas gifts total for each person. This beautiful, sleek horse was absolutely never going to be mine. I was sad, but used to it. “Forty, huh? That’s a lot. You’d have to do something pretty special to earn that.” I stayed silent, staring at the horse. “Maybe if we talk about that diaper, that might be worth $40?”
He slipped his hand in his pocket. Time seemed to stand still. He talked, expecting me to imagine the same things he was. I stared at the horse. He needed a name. I needed him to have a name. I held onto him tightly and stared into his glossy ebony eyes. I ran my hand over his back: a perfect curve. It felt just like a real horse, but softer and less frightening. He was so small, but so big. Tiny horse, just for me. Ignore what he’s saying. You love this horse. You love Ebony. You’re doing this for him. It’ll be worth it. If you don’t stay right where you are and let him talk, this gorgeous friend will slip through your fingers forever. It can’t be much longer. It just can’t…
We met up with mom, checked out, piled back into the car and went home. I took Ebony into my bedroom and set him on the floor next to one of the walls. I sat on my bed to look at him. No, it wasn’t the right spot. I got up and placed him a little ways from the foot of my bed so it wasn’t in my direct line of sight. I sat on the floor, picked up one of my Barbies, and never touched Ebony again.