25 Bucks

January 31, 2012
There was a constant silence as we drove home. For some reason my mother thought 25 bucks would actually help get groceries. the whole time we were at the market she kept asking, "should we get this?" or "do we need that?" I would say no every time, even then she put it into the basket. I wish she wasn't one of those people who look through rose colored glasses. Everything about her was like a candle. warm and bright. She never was practical at thinking logically. 25 dollars. How could she possibly think that with a sum of money like that we could in fact get, a turkey, a bag of potatoes, cat food, cookies, a twelve pack of brown soda, and all the other random items on the way? When we arrived at check out, there was a boy with shaggy blond that used to attend my school, he was the cashier. I already knew how this was going to happen. Its like this every time we go shopping. She wants everything she puts in the basket, but does not have enough cash in her wallet to get it. She works only enough to pay bills and buy bread. Oh but, those packs of cigarettes in her pocket, they were needed. and that old man on the couch, the one who yells at every single movement I make, the old man that needs to get his pint of whisky, that man, is my father, what does he do? Nothing. So as we got to the 10 items or less line I fell ashamed. Something about how my mom moved, she pulled her whole face in tightly and she told the young boy that she would only be getting a few of the things in the cart. She begrudgingly handed him the chocolate chip cookies, she smiled and said "your father will be making stuffing tonight." He placed the cookies behind the counter, along with the Dr. Peppers. Most of our cart was put behind the counter since we only had six things. My mom used the 25 doll-or gift card she earned at work, the one she was so proud of, she spent it on a turkey, cat food, and potatoes. The car ride home was just torture. All my mom wanted was to have a decent meal. I didn't want to go home. Out of the city limits, under the blanket of stars, was a little tin trailer. I lived in trailers most of my life and I will not die in one. I swore to my self that next year things would change. Some how I could help the family. Somehow it will be okay next year. If we can survive that long as a family.

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