Candy Bar

Teresa meets a young man while working.

Teresa waddled up and down the candy aisle of her grandfather's store, mentally debating if she wanted to eat a Snickers bar. As a weight watchers veteran, this was nothing out of the ordinary. She thought about everything she'd eaten that day. Just a salad, and some oatmeal. She thought. I suppose there was the Twinky at lunch. And the doughnut this morning. I could always just do really well tomorrow...screw it. She snatched the candy off of the shelf and waddled back to the register. She pulled out the small, worn memo booklet where she kept a record of everything she ate. Suddenly she felt a pang of guilt and considered putting it back. As she turned the issue over in her mind she eyed a young boy looking at her. He quickly broke eye contact. Thief. She decided to eat her candy bar but leave no record. "Salad," her notebook read. She was doing well. She kept on eye on the shifty lad and sure enough she spied him shoving a mini cake into his back pocket. Once his goodies were safely nestled into place, he looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Oh, a bad thief.

He was a small boy, precocious but otherwise unexceptional. "You're not very good at that," she said. The boy flinched and turned towards her. He smiled an all-too-toothy smile and asked her in a southern drawl, "good at what, ma'am?" She gave him a look. His politician smile fell a bit as he sighed, "okay." He walked up to her register and placed his stolen treat in front of her.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" She asked. He grinned.

"Y'know, my mama always says that if you give something back, it doesn't count as stealing." Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Does she really?" The boy laughed.

"No, ma'am. My mama's dead. But I've always found adults to be much more willing to listen to reason if they think it comes from one of their own."

[Edit: As part of a class, I was asked to change the point of view.]

It was a bad week. It’s always a bad week, but there are different levels of bad. There’s Daddy-didn’t-come-home-a-coupla-times bad, and there’s Daddy-blacked-out-and-missed-work-again bad. This week was the latter, and he wasn’t happy about it. He never is. I had to avoid conversation with him at all costs. If he doesn’t see or hear me, he can’t be mad at me. Or at least I wouldn’t havta be around to deal with it.

I went to the store in the next town over in hopes of not being recognized. My reputation precedes me, as my mama would have said. The place is real tiny, and there’s no one in it but some fat old lady who keeps looking at me funny and trying to pretend like she isn’t. It probably wasn’t the best idea to try to rip this place off, on account of there being no one else for the store lady to focus on, but I’d walked too far for the price of my shoes and I was not gonna go home empty handed. I tried to shove some little cakes in my back pocket when the fat store lady wasn’t looking, but my jeans were some badly fitting hand-me-downs and I misjudged how far away the pocket would be. I tried to shrug it off and act all casual-like, but the stupid fat lady caught me. “You’re not very good at that.” She tells me.

“Good at what?” I asked her. I knew I was busted, but I still had to try. She gives me a look and I know it’s over. “Okay.” I walk up to her and put the cake on the table.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” She acts like she just cracked some big fancy mystery case or something like that. I want to puke.

“You know, my mama always says that it doesn’t count as stealing if you give it back.” I tell her.

She gives me a look like she’s not buying it. “Does she really?” I laugh at her.

“No, ma’am. My mama’s dead. But I’ve always found adults to be much more willing to listen to reason if they think it comes from one of their own.” The dead mom bit always gets me out of trouble.

Author's Note

Not sure what to do with this...I'm not sure that it counts as a story just yet. Also, sorry if this is in the wrong genre! Wasn't sure where to put it.

Reviews

[Simon Welsh]

Quirky. Until that last line. Try and imagine a scenario how they'd deal with it; then go with it from there :)

[zainul]

I am amazed to read your lovely write though you are confused about its genre.
Yes,it needs some more strokes to count it as a story.
You can do it easily.
The plot seems to have been crafted nicely.