Candy Island

My mom and I always took a trip to the grocery store on Friday nights. I loved the opportunity to have her attention all to myself as we walked around the store together. We were distracted from each other’s lovingly irritating qualities and focused on completing the overwhelming task of buying groceries for nine people.

Because of the immensity of the feat and the mother-daughter time that it provided, I had never been allowed to bring friends on these outings. Mama must have had a soft spot in her heart for Rebekah Henderson’s unpredictable personality. When I was about thirteen, I got permission to invite Bek for a sleepover on a Friday night. She tagged along for our weekly ritual. Bek and I shivered throughout the store. My mom must have gotten tired of hearing our teeth chattering, so she sent us both to the candy island for a half-pound bag each. Her offer warmed us quickly.

The candy stand seemed like Willy Wonka’s factory. Colorful gumdrops, mints, jellybeans, taffies, caramels, and chocolates sparkled in sugary splendor. We could not stop grinning. Bek unrolled two plastic bags, and we began filling and weighing them. As we neared the half-pound mark, we noticed baseball-sized jawbreakers in the last canister. They were perfect for meeting our quota.

Before I could stop her, Bek lifted the lid, stretched her bare hand into the clear container of unwrapped jawbreakers, and dropped one into her bag. “Rebekah!” I spouted. She looked at me, clueless. “You’re supposed to use the scooper!”

“Oh,” she replied, shrugging apathetically. She stretched her hand far into the long bag, brought out the jawbreaker, and plopped it back into its box. Then she scooped another large candy sphere from the canister and placed it in her bag.

I tied a knot in my plastic bag just above the candy and then tied the excess of the bag around my wrist. I led the way through the store to find my mom, swirling the bag in circles. Bek was only a step behind me, swirling her bag as well, only she had not tied the bag around her wrist. The jawbreaker at the end of the long bag made a kind of slingshot that David might have found handy in slaying Goliath. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bek’s half-pound bag of candy left her hand, spun through the air, and landed on top of a meat freezer.

We stared at each other with wide eyes, glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Relieved that no one had seen, we burst into embarrassed giggles. Not knowing what to do about the precious lost candy, Bek and I decided to consult my wise mother. We found her in the dairy section, oblivious to the ruckus we had created. When we confessed, she simply shook her head and told us to go fill another bag for Bek. “But, no more mishaps,” she warned.

Back at the candy island, I helped Bek reload her stash of goodies. We managed gracefully to avoid any bare-handed retrievals or any near-ceiling launches. We were almost finished and proud of our treasure. We weighed the bag once more in the shiny metal plate. It read only a couple ounces short. She decided to add more Skittles. I agreed; they were my favorite, too. I offered to hold the bag open like a pot of gold so she could pour in that glorious sugar-coated rainbow.

She missed.

Skittles bounced like pebbles across the tile flooring and down several aisles of the store. We looked at each other again with wide eyes and gaping mouths. This time, when we glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, there were three Bi-Lo employees with cleaning supplies staring at us as if we had just destroyed their masterpiece. We scurried around the mess we had made, found my mom in a check-out line, and huddled close to her for protection from the contemptuous grocery workers.

That was the first and the last time that my mom allowed anyone else to accompany us on our weekly trips to the store.