The Great Kool-aid Cover Up

The Great Kool-Aid Cover Up

My Career as a thief was doomed from the
start. It’s embarrassing to say the least. No
amount of hanging with the “ wrong crowd” in
my adolescence could help revive it.

It all started on a scorching summer day.
The air was thick and humid and I was banished
to the outdoors so the adults could rest and
enjoy the fans and air conditioners in the
house. “ Go play!” they said. “ Get out from
underfoot,” is what they meant.

I was hot, I was bored, and so I wandered
away in search of my friends. I found Roz, my
most adventurous, worldly friend. Her parents
were sculptors and hippies. She always had
big plans for things we could do. Previously,
none of these things had been illegal.

“Lets walk to Great Scott’s and look around,”
she suggested. The grocery store was at
least five blocks away and we weren’t allowed
off our block, therefore making it an adventure.
It was scary. We looked over our shoulders
the entire way and hid in bushes at the
slightest hint of a passing car – certain that
we would be caught and dragged home
before we made it half way into the next block.
Certainly mean old nosey Mrs. Sutton, who
watched at her window like a hawk, would
spot us and call our parents.

We managed to make it all the way to the
store without incident. How exciting, we had
never been to the store without our parents
before. We could go up and down the aisles at
our leisure. What a vast array of candy, ice
creams, and cookies! We had no idea that all
these existed. Now if only we had some
money, we could have anything we wanted.
There were no parents to nag at us and tell us
“ no”.

Roz, brilliant mastermind criminal, said we could sneak
something out of the store if
it was small and we were really careful. She
sold me on a package of cherry kool-aid. We
both had wanted to try the powder and see
what it tasted like, and Roz actually had once
sneaked a taste from a package in her
mother's cupboard at home and said it was
“fabulous”.

I was nervous, but Roz was a pro. She
slipped the package into the waistband of her
shorts and then covered it with her white t-
shirt to show me how simple it was. I
followed suit, though it made me feel kind of
queasy.

Nobody chased us when we left the store. I didn’t really feel safe until we had made it at
least two blocks away. We took out our
treasures, tore open the corners of the
packets and prepared ourselves to enjoy the
forbidden goodness.

It was horrible. Bitter, nasty, disgusting
tasting stuff. We began spitting what looked
like blood onto the sidewalk. Roz stuck out
her tongue and attempted to wipe it off with
her hands. Soon her white t-shirt was
covered with the red stuff and it looked like
she was covered in blood.

“What’s wrong with this stuff?” I croaked.

“I don’t know, do you think it could be
poisoned?” Roz asked, beginning to panic.
(Upon later investigation we learned that not
all packages of Kool-aid contained sugar, but
that the sugar gets added when mom mixes
in the water in the pitcher).

“Lets just get home and brush our teeth
before it makes us really sick,” I suggested.
*************************************************

No one noticed anything unusual when I
came into the house and went immediately to
the bathroom. If I had smiled they would have
screamed at the sight of my red teeth, I’m
sure of it. After repeatedly scrubbing my teeth
they returned to an almost normal color.

When Roz walked into her house her mother
took one look at her and almost fainted. At the
sight of her mother's panic, Roz told a big fib.
She invented a story in which I, being one year
older than her and therefore very influential,
forced her to drink something from a bottle
that we had found in a dumpster. She told her
parents that she didn’t know what it was.

My relief and building confidence at having
pulled off our stunt without arousing
suspicions was shattered by the pounding at
the front door, followed by shouting that
sounded like Roz’s father. My grandparents
were babysitting me, and I could hear my
grandpa trying to calm Roz’s father down. I
retreated to the rocking chair and the safety of
grandma’s lap.

Roz’s father demanded answers from me. I
was way too terrified to tell the whole truth so I
fictionalized, just a little.

“Roz and I were playing and we found eleven
cents (I still clearly remember the eleven
cents part of the lie) on the ground. We
decided to go to the store and buy some kool-
aid,” I began. The rest I told just as it had
happened, explaining the red stains all over
Roz’s shirt. Her father looked relieved and
even smiled a little. All was well again, except
that Roz was " gonna get it" for that big fib!

My mom came home from work soon after
and my grandpa told her all about it. My
stomach was still feeling like it had snakes
twisting around in it. Maybe the Kool-Aid really
was poisoned after all. We discussed my
punishment for leaving the block without an
adult while my mom cooked dinner. I didn’t
care what she did to me, I felt like I was going
to throw up right then and there if I didn’t tell
her the truth, the real truth, of what had
happened. I burst into tears and began
babbling the whole story, certain that I would
be sent to prison for my crime. My mother
began to laugh. I was horrified. How could
she think this was funny?

She hugged and kissed me and assured me
that five year olds don’t go to prison – at least
not for a first offense. I had been spared.

So, my career as a thief was washed up at
the tender age of five due to a severe case of
guilty conscience. To this day I cringe when I
think about that incident, and each time I
confess it does not make it any easier. I’m
sure my children will laugh at me when I tell
them this story, but I hope that they will be
cursed with that same stumbling block to a
career in crime.