I watched as she shoved another bottle of nail polish in her designer purse. Her bright pink nails clicking against the bottle. She flipped her perfectly styled hair to the said as she gave me a shy wave. After 30 years of owning my little shop, I knew she could afford to buy a 50-cent bottle of nail polish. Her red bottomed heals clacked as she made her way to the next isle.
I sighed and grabbed my cane so I could walk over to the button for the silent alarm. It would take me all afternoon to put back everything she took. The door clicked as a lock slid in place. My daughter made me the system about ten years ago, “To keep you safe, and to stop them from getting away with it,” she’d said. I wish she was here with me now, I could ask her to put back all the products that the police were about to remove from this lady’s purse.
The woman didn’t seem to notice the click. She didn’t seem to notice the cameras either. Nor did she seem to notice how closely I’d been watching her since the first stick of gum she stashed in her jacket. As she walked by the window, the setting sun caught her huge ring.
Curiosity got the better of me, “Not many rich ladies come in here just to steal half my inventory.”
The woman stiffened and grabbed her bag. She quickly walked to the door, leaving her empty buggy in the middle of the isle. She fanatically pushed and pulled against the door a few times.
I slowly made my way toward her, “Its not going to open.”
“You can’t keep me here,” she said, “Its kidnapping.”
“I know you were stealing. I’m within my rights,” I stopped a few feet from her and leaned on my cane, “The police are on their way.”
Her eyes widened. It reminded me of the time my daughter trapped a mouse in the kitchen. Its deep quick breaths. The way you could almost see its heart beating though its chest.
“Mommy,” she said all those years ago, “Look how scared it is. Let’s let it go home to its family.”
“No,” I said, “If we let it go, it will just come back and eat all your snacks.”
She laughed, “Mice don’t eat people food.”
I smiled and poked her in the side with each word, “They eat every little crumb they can get their hands on.”
By the end she was in a fit of giggles and the mouse had escaped. A few months later we had to leave our house for a week so the exterminator could gas the infestation of mice that were slowly eating the wires and nesting in the cabinets. I vowed to never let another mouse free.
The woman dumped her purse on the floor. The contents spilled all over the floor, rolling under shelves, and one bottle of foundation broke. Its contents splattering the floor and a few drops on her legs. Ill never be able to clean all this up. “There,” she said, “All yours. You can have it all back.”
“That won’t help you,” I say nodding at the cameras, “I record 24/7.”
She looked over to the cameras. Tears filled her eyes. She leaned back against the door and slowly slid to the ground. She dropped her face in her hands and loud breathy cries filled my small shop.
I paused for a moment and looked at this pitiful rich woman crying on my floor surrounded by a mess of cheap jewelry, nail polish, candy, and various make up. What could drive a rich person to steal? “Why?”
She threw up her arms, snot and tears ran down her face, her makeup that was once perfect was missing in some places and smudged in others, “It doesn’t even matter anymore.”
I hobbled up to her and slowly lowered myself so I could sit next to her, “I think I should get a little explanation since you just made a mess in my shop.”
She took a shaking breath, “I thought it would bring me back to middle school.”
“What?” I asked.
Her words came out in a tumble, each one on top of the next, “Its just, the last time I really remember being happy was middle school. In high school I ran away from home because Mom was sooo controlling and I started hanging out with these older guys, you know? And I married a guy I barely knew when I turned 18 and I’m going to be 25 next week; I feel so old. And I heard that stealing could make you feel young again so I just picked the easiest place I knew of and just went for it, you know? I just want to go back and do it all over again. Right back to middle school. When my mom didn’t hate me. I just want my mom.”
I started laughing. Harder than I could ever remember since I lost my daughter.
The woman stopped crying and looked at me, her mouth making a little o. “Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t, but that didn’t stop the bubbles of hysteria threating another fit of laughter, “My daughter died last year. She was around your age. It’s been so long since I’ve dealt with something as simple as the troubles of a young girl.”
She looked at me and rolled her eyes. The same way my daughter would have. I fought down another fit of giggles. There were low sounds of sirens. I slowly made my way to my feet, “Ill make you a deal. Ill drop the charges-“
“Oh thank you-“
“If you help me clean this up-“
“Anything-“
“-and go visit your mother.”
Her eyes widened as they had before. She looked down. The sound of the sirens increased.
“Okay,” she said.
“Then lets get to work,” I said extending my hand to help her up. Maybe its okay to let one mouse through the cracks every so often.
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