Shopping Day

We almost never drove the van. We had incredibly little money for gas. Lately we'd started putting it in neutral when going downhill, crossing one more threshold of desperation. But this very second, gas was burning while the engine was idling. We even had the air-conditioner running, and with the driver's side door wide open. These were crimes which would have earned me multiple slaps around the face, had I been driving.

But I wasn't driving, and Mom wasn't bruising my face - she was being noisily sick into a filthy metal bin on the side of the road. Watching someone vomit is a legitimately disturbing sight, the way their back muscles move in such a weird spasmodic sequence. I was sincerely scared for her. I couldn't look away. I got out of the passenger seat and went to her, putting my comforting hand on her heaving back.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed at me, holding up a finger, "Don't you fucking touch me."

The snap of rage was as repelling as the bin's thick smell of stewing garbage and vomit. I blinked back tears and rushed back to the passenger seat. Every second that passed felt like a newly lived crisis. The only option was to let them tick past.

When she finally got back in the van, when the door finally closed and the air conditioner once again had a fighting chance, I could see she had been crying. The van edged forward with a shriek of protest from some long-neglected engine belt. I stared out of the window, concentrating on stopping my anxious knee from jumping up and down like popping corn.

It was just us. We didn't used to be homeless. We used to have a big house on the beach. Us and Dad. He did a bad thing. A lot of bad things. We kept the van, and that's about as much as I feel like saying about it. Every night, we slept on a mattress in the back, surrounded by untidy piles of meager possessions.

We could get most of the bare necessities from a food bank. We managed to accumulate a few dollars here and there through the kindness of strangers and friends, for gas, hygiene products, etc. We tended to park by the beach to make use of the free showers and toilets. Well... unpopular beaches, where parking limits went unmonitored. There was no plan other than survive every day as it came.

But sometimes we needed something. Something none of the support services out there could give us. Or rather, something we couldn't ask them for without inviting questions and judgment. Sometimes, we needed something specific and there was no money.

Sometimes we had to shoplift. And sometimes we were caught.

Today, we were planning to shoplift at a pharmacy.

When we were first learning how to be homeless, Mom had the good sense to try a more distant mall. That way, if we failed whilst we were learning, we'd hopefully not be recognized and become "known" to our local shops (and police). We'd learned a few tricks.

The first rule, be bold. Believe you didn't have a can of deodorant in your jacket sleeve, and when someone looked at you suspiciously, you'd look back with a confused expression because you didn't know why. It worked better if you bought something cheap at the same time. If you went to the counter to pay, you must be honest, right? Mom was way better at it than me. She was smart, bold and charming. I'll be honest here - her impressive cleavage didn't hurt either. Yep I went there, but it's true and she wasn't shy about it either. Given the stakes, it should be her doing the lifting this time, but when she was this angry, there was no predicting her.

I wanted to hug her desperately, so much so that I could almost feel the warmth of her embrace in advance. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but I simply couldn't handle another blistering tirade. When she wanted to, she could flay my soul with nothing more than words.

Eventually, we pulled over near a mall we'd rarely visited. We didn't park in the car park because it wasn't free. We sat in silence for a minute, a silence I wasn't game to fill.

"Come on then," she finally said, grabbing an old duffel bag from the foot-well on my side. I dutifully opened my creaking door and slid down to the roadside.

She closed her door first and I found the courage to ask: "Do you have the keys?" before closing my own. I had learned that crisis situations could beget more crises all too easily. She ignored me but I heard them clink in her hand as she stomped away. I locked and closed my door, and followed. In this bright sunlight, her stretched nylon leggings were slightly transparent, and the ratty underwear she wore underneath was clearly visible. Any other day, I would have told her so she could change. Today I really didn't need to invite a vitriolic lecture on the depths of perversion my teenage mind had sunk to.

But given these freakish, completely insane circumstances... how could she?

I also didn't say anything to Mom about her smell. By the time we entered the mall, I could smell her pretty keenly. I probably smelled pretty bad myself. It was hot. The kind of hot that made you wish for a shower and a change of clothes. Staying on top of laundry was challenging for us in hot weather, but this wasn't a high priority today.

The blessed mall air conditioning was rejuvenating. And the smell of the food hall mouth-watering. Mom tersely told me to meet her there in an hour, answering my unasked question about who was doing the lifting. When she said to meet back at the food hall, she meant I ought to secure some food for us. We'd done this before. We'd loiter and wait for someone to half-finish their meal and leave without binning it, then we'd swoop in and finish it for them.

I watched her leave the food hall, eyes on her instead of the tables. To say my feelings were complicated right now would be a poleaxing understatement. Her underwear was much less noticeable in the artificial light of the mall. The deep, dark part of me was well aware I wasn't simply staring out of concern for her dignity. I was appreciating the ample roundness of her backside. It was large, but in a way which the nylon pants seemed very willing to advertise as incredibly gropable. After thirty seconds, she and her angry, hot ass were out of view. No, I didn't feel ashamed. Not anymore. I was getting used to the idea that rules were for the comfortable, to protect their comfort and let them indulge in judgment. To let them feel good about themselves. A sneering, bitter side of me took actual pleasure in rebelling against the culture of the "homeful" - in whatever way I could. A hardness in my pants was proof enough of that. It was helped along by some intrusive thoughts that were really just a natural progression. But now was not the time.

Taking a deep breath and shaking my mind free, I stood by a broad column near some large indoor plants, trying to look as bored and casual as possible. I stared at the blank screen of my phone that hadn't turned on in six months, glancing up now and then. I was somewhat grateful that mine was the low-risk heist. A genuine victimless crime.

Seeing groups of teens and families having meals they took for granted always put a lump in my throat. They all had their bags full of newly purchased cheap crap they'd throw out soon enough due to "clutter". Somehow my mind leaped from envy and bitterness to the idea that I should get a present for Mom. I should get her something to add a bright moment to the awful day she was having. And maybe she'd be a bit warmer toward me afterwards. I had some time to spare. Not much, but some.

I began to meander around the mall, glancing casually into shop-fronts for things I might be able to lift at low risk. Getting caught would be the worst kind of backfiring. If she got dragged into the security office to deal with me... shit, she might get caught too. Then there would be questions about why she'd stolen what she had...

Wouldn't that be perfect for today?

Finding the perfect gift proved to be a trickier puzzle than I'd anticipated. A bottle of vodka and something nice to mix it with would be sure to get me hugs and kisses, but the security measures around those products were more than I was willing to risk.

I took a break to go to the toilet and give my genitals a scratching. That's not a euphemism. I'd been living with some sort of sexually transmitted ailment for a few months, and sometimes the itching just got too maddening to leave unaddressed. I was still in a mildly amorous state and did consider jerking off, but I was wasting time. Not now.

As I came out of the toilets I was staring straight at a store that sold greeting cards. That seemed like a good start.

At first I found it overwhelming. There were so many categories and most of them were just garbage. I walked past birthday cards of every specified age you could name and pondered over the remaining categories.

There was a get well card with a hand-drawn can of chicken soup on the front. That was just a bit odd. Besides a "get well" card seemed to focus on a barely relevant facet of what was going on for her. It smacked of inattentiveness and laziness. I needed a genuine act of empathy.

There was a card that said in scrappy letters across the front "When the going gets tough, the tough cry in the car". That hit very close to home, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it might suit her wicked sense of humor, should it ever shine once more through the clouds. We could laugh in the face of the bleak desperation together. Damn, but how I wanted to make her laugh again.

My eyes ran along the rows upon rows of cards and hit a section heavy with storks and cutsy animal couples with a little one between them. I'd hit the "congratulations on your new baby" section. And that was when I suddenly began to sweat and the world started to spin without warning. There was nowhere to sit, so I stood with my eyes closed for a moment and breathed until my heart rate slowed and my stomach stopped churning.

I opened my eyes, and when they were finally able to focus and connect to my brain again, they were fixed on a card that boldly declared the recipient to be "World's Greatest Grandma". I clenched my teeth to avoid laughing (or crying) out loud and slipped the car-crying one under my shirt. Now I had to find a bank for the free use of a pen.

I had become lost in looking at cards, and now I was out of time for another gift and in danger of being late to meet Mom. Instead of a bank I found an office supply store - one which let you scribble with multi-colour pens before buying. I scrawled down a message inside the card, fast and with far too little thought. Panic's a bitch. Then I hustled to the food hall, very out of breath. I was quite overweight - my ass was even fatter than Mom's - and it took a minute for me to recover and safely settle back into the feeling that things were back on track.

I picked my targets, a girl about my age eating with her mom. I confess my eyes lingered on her ass in that rickety chair. She was a little slim for my taste, but a killer body nonetheless. My brain wasn't done with intrusive thoughts, and handed me an image of the three of us naked on that table with the girl sitting on my face and her mom bouncing up and down on my cock as the two of them ate tacos messily. I figured younger pussy would taste better but what would I know? I can't deny I was curious.

Bringing myself back to reality, they certainly had more tacos than I would expect they could handle. So long as they weren't going to be joined by anyone else, it seemed perfect. They started to get up, and I started to casually wander into the center of the tables.

Despite all my guile, as I approached, the girl looked me straight in the eyes. And her eyes widened in recognition.

"Jake? Jakey, is that you?"

For a terrible second I remembered her, but not her name. Then it hit me out of nowhere. Astonishingly, I managed to sound a lot more normal than I had felt at any point today.

"Hey Jenny. You going alright?"

Her eyes said her mind was suddenly racing, but she played for time by flailing a hand to get her mom's attention: "Mom, this Jake. He's a friend from back in high school." She gave a nervous chuckle.

I'd met her mom before. I'd even been to their house, but I had no chance of remembering her mom's name. She was much fitter than mine. Jenny's mom had a critical gaze and I could tell her mind was racing too. These two had both heard things, and were both trying to figure out how to talk to the high school nerd turned homeless vagrant.

"Hey Jake, stay here for a sec, OK?" Without waiting for a reply, she pulled her mom aside for a whispered conversation. It went on for a bit but I couldn't hear any of it in the noisy food hall. Then she came back: "Mom has shopping to do but she says it's cool if we want to hang for a bit and she'll find me later. Oh... that is assuming you'd like to... I mean, if you're like, busy with stuff?"

Now was a time when some very clever lies and fast talking could probably resolve the situation perfectly - but that wasn't my style. My style was to freeze up and get tongue tied or say something really stupid. Like the truth.

"My mom's meeting me here soon, and I was going to get us some... umm..." I couldn't help glancing at their uneaten tacos. I'd missed my shot. A janitor was emptying them into the bin on his trolley. I could have kicked myself. I was going to get hell for this.

Jenny figured it out in less than a second. She was smart. So smart. She must be at college getting top grades these days. It was why I'd liked her at school. It was why I'd sort-of dated her. For a bit. It was just a couple of years ago but it felt like a decade.

"Wanna get an ice cream? My treat? Please, it's the only time I'm allowed ice cream. With friends and stuff I mean. Mom can be a bit of a health nut." She went on and on in a nervous ramble of horseshit. But she was trying to help. People try to help. And the easiest thing is to let them. Declining it would always lead to complicated feelings of rejection and suddenly someone was avoiding you and was unlikely to try to help again.

"Awww, shit yeah, that sounds awesome. Thanks Jenny!"

So I tagged along and soon it was the two of us sitting at a table eating ice cream out of cups. She had some kind of berry gelato. I had choc-mint. It was awkward until we started talking about people from school and what they'd gotten up to after I left. Danny got expelled for bringing alcohol on a field trip and needing his stomach pumped. That was not entirely shocking. I felt bad for the teachers who had to deal with it. No surprise he never graduated high school. Megan had been in some of Jenny's classes at college, but was taking time off again, and Megan's faithless best friend had revealed it was another interstate trip for another abortion. All the more scandalous given she and her professor could barely conceal the love hearts flying through the air between them.

"I heard about your dad. I'm sorry Jakey."

It came when I didn't expect it, "Oh yeah, y'know. Life's a bitch, right?"

"I'm sure he's innocent. We have prayed for him, that he'll get justice and get out before you know it."

I smiled, but I never wanted to see that man again. As far as I was concerned, all I needed him for was to shoot a sperm into my mom's vagina to make me, and that was it. Lying naked before him, her legs spread for him, moaning as he squirted... and the sperm swam into her floating egg... I was suddenly sweating again, and my face must have been pale because a sudden look of concern flashed across her face.

She was suddenly next to me, and hugging me, holding me close. "I'm going to get you some food and a soda. I'll be right back!"

I sat still, soaked in sweat and feeling oddly chilly, but she came back with not one but two sodas and more beefy 5-layer burritos than I could eat by myself. She remembered I was into these when we were dating. There was that lump in my throat. The one you get when someone legitimately shows care for you in the perfect, but unexpected way.

Then I ruined it by picturing her bent over the table whilst I pounded her and she screamed like she was in amateur porn. I wondered if she was still a virgin. I can derail any rare, good feeling with the most appalling of intrusive thoughts.

It would have been weird to wait so I thanked her and started eating, but slowly. The soda seemed to do wonders to soften the thundering of my own pulse in my ears. I was mostly listening to her now, as she prattled on about everything and anything. And it was wonderful. For half an hour, my deeply messed up life was someone else's and I felt normal again. I wondered, was she single? She hadn't mentioned a boyfriend. Was there a way events could transpire such that we might date again? Maybe we could finally have sex. But I'd need to be able to afford condoms. I'd only ever had one sexual partner, and she had left me in this very itchy and slightly drippy state. That hadn't cleared up. I would hate to pass that on to a kind soul like Jenny.

It all went away when I saw mom. She was watching us from the edge of the food hall, like a scowling lion watching the gazelle drink. She didn't approach. My responses to Jenny lost their warmth, and became more guarded. I couldn't help it. Then suddenly Jenny's own mom was back. She put two full shopping bags on the floor next to my seat.

"These are for you Jake. I know it's rough. We are praying for you."

I blinked back tears whilst thanking her quietly and wondering how her vagina would taste, and if her pubic hair was thick enough to get up my nose. Then I was brought back to reality by Jenny hugging me and telling me how wonderful it was to catch up.

They left.

I would have watched them leave, but instead I watched Mom approach. She was very casually dangling the duffel bag and let it drop to the floor next to the groceries.

"What was that then? Looking for another piece of tail already? Bit early for a midlife crisis, yeah?" It wasn't a friendly tone, but it wasn't as angry as earlier. She started stuffing a burrito into her mouth.

"That was Jenny." Mom did not seem satisfied with that. "She was my girlfriend from back in high school. Well, for a bit."

"You didn't knock her up I bet," she mumbled through a full mouth, "I bet you didn't knock up little Jenny."

"We never... there was just some kissing. That was all."

"So she wasn't your first." She shrugged. It wasn't a question. It was Mom in interrogator mode. "Who was your first?"

I couldn't find words. Mom swallowed.

"No," she said a bit sadly. "No, really?"

My continued silence was her answer. Her renewed distress was palpable, but I was glad of it because this time it carried traces of actual concern for me. I felt it in the air.

It felt like she was about to tell me she was sorry, even though it wasn't necessary as far as I was concerned.

She said: "Shit. I had no idea."

And with that we stepped out into the sun again, and in the strangest way I felt a little lighter on the walk back to the van. It could have been the good time I had with Jenny, but I think it was Mom and my weird little conversation that felt almost like we were connecting again. I found her bad smell comforting. I risked a question.

"Did you... go to the toilet?" She shook her head. We were in for a nerve-wracking drive.

The van started on the third try. Mom drove back the way we came, whilst I distracted myself by going through the shopping bags with which we had been gifted. There was a fair amount of biscuits and other long-life dry foods. People try to help. Easiest to let them. Mom parked at one of our usual beaches. This one was typically deserted due to massive hills of seaweed, right up to the water.

We got out of the van. I handed Mom the duffel bag of stolen goods, and she walked to the toilet block. I watched her go. I had no idea how long she would need in there, I just knew things might be very different when she came back.