A life of crime for me? Well, thanks to a
childhood adventure, it looks unlikely. |
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. |