his sentence.
“I
can’t make it home dressed like this and armed with hammers and screwdrivers.”
“So
we are looting then?”
“Well
there’s no one to ring us up,” I cruise the aisles and spot the back wall of
the store. It has a selection of boots.
He
has a mouth full of Snickers as he talks, “Cool, I’ve always wanted to loot.
Like, just a little looting not enough to go to prison.”
“What
size shoe do you wear?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll
get us some boots,” I grab a pack of hiking socks and head for the back room
where they keep their footwear.
I
flip the light switch on the wall. The back room of the Big 5 lights up and I
find a stack of boxes labeled North Face. I pop open a box of size elevens and
pull out a set of waterproof hiking boots. These things retail for like two
hundred bucks. When I put them on they will be the most expensive shoes I have
ever worn. These boots remind me of Sam and his closet full of expensive shoes,
like a lady would buy and collect. Sometimes I would joke and call him “Sex Sam
and the City.” Because he had a collection like the character Sara Jessica
Parker played. I think he said one time, he had somewhere around thirty
thousand dollars worth. I couldn’t believe it. How was that possible? He said
he had been collecting them since he was in college. He had like a hundred pair
of shoes and most of them were over three hundred bones when he bought them. No
matter how many times he explained his collection to me it always sounded over
the top. I own about five pairs of shoes, one for work, one to workout,
sandals, work boots and one pair of Converse Chuck Taylor’s that I wear around
the house. It was such a funny, silly, Sam thing to collect, but he loved them.
I pull the boots from the box and I realize that I am crying. The reality has
sunk in. I killed my best friend, but only after he had already died once. I
think I am going to throw up but I just ate and drank all that water, I don’t
want it to go to waste, so I fight it. I force a hard swallow. I push all the
thoughts about what has happened and what I have done down deep into my soul. I
will think about it later. I will cry later. I will throw up later. Now, I have
to get ready and go save my girls. I wipe the tears from my eyes and I clear my
nose. I don’t want Devon to know I was crying. Not that I am ashamed, I was
crying in the car not even ten minutes ago, but I can tell he is rattled and on
the edge. He needs me to be strong so he feels safe. That will help him be
strong. Panic breeds panic. I get myself together and I step from the back room
with our new boots.
“We
need new pants, shirts and a backpack.”
“Are
you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet,”
I toss him his boots. I find a pair of camo cargo pants that fit. I pull off my
work shoes and dress socks. Devon goes to work on his third Snickers and has
not moved from the chair.
“Move
your ass. We need to hit the road before more of those...people find us in
here.” I drop my slacks down to my ankles. I am standing in the middle of the
store in my underwear with five dead bodies on the ground and this kid keeps
filling his face with candy.
“Move
it!” I use my “dad voice” and then he snaps too. He hops out of the chair.
Before I put my new pants on I notice on the shelf a pair of spandex shorts
that hold a cup. I have the same brand for my Krav Maga class. I didn’t wear a
cup for the first month of class. I thought it would be uncomfortable to do the
cardio part in class with a big plastic thing between my legs. After I took a
real hard shot to the balls and I couldn’t move for five minutes, I went out
and bought the cup. I remember when I was buying it the lady at the counter
said there was no return policy for this kind of equipment. I would hope there
is no return policy for jock straps. I would hate the idea of wearing another
man’s used nut shield. The memory makes me smirk.
I
grab the box and make sure it is
“I
can’t make it home dressed like this and armed with hammers and screwdrivers.”
“So
we are looting then?”
“Well
there’s no one to ring us up,” I cruise the aisles and spot the back wall of
the store. It has a selection of boots.
He
has a mouth full of Snickers as he talks, “Cool, I’ve always wanted to loot.
Like, just a little looting not enough to go to prison.”
“What
size shoe do you wear?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll
get us some boots,” I grab a pack of hiking socks and head for the back room
where they keep their footwear.
I
flip the light switch on the wall. The back room of the Big 5 lights up and I
find a stack of boxes labeled North Face. I pop open a box of size elevens and
pull out a set of waterproof hiking boots. These things retail for like two
hundred bucks. When I put them on they will be the most expensive shoes I have
ever worn. These boots remind me of Sam and his closet full of expensive shoes,
like a lady would buy and collect. Sometimes I would joke and call him “Sex Sam
and the City.” Because he had a collection like the character Sara Jessica
Parker played. I think he said one time, he had somewhere around thirty
thousand dollars worth. I couldn’t believe it. How was that possible? He said
he had been collecting them since he was in college. He had like a hundred pair
of shoes and most of them were over three hundred bones when he bought them. No
matter how many times he explained his collection to me it always sounded over
the top. I own about five pairs of shoes, one for work, one to workout,
sandals, work boots and one pair of Converse Chuck Taylor’s that I wear around
the house. It was such a funny, silly, Sam thing to collect, but he loved them.
I pull the boots from the box and I realize that I am crying. The reality has
sunk in. I killed my best friend, but only after he had already died once. I
think I am going to throw up but I just ate and drank all that water, I don’t
want it to go to waste, so I fight it. I force a hard swallow. I push all the
thoughts about what has happened and what I have done down deep into my soul. I
will think about it later. I will cry later. I will throw up later. Now, I have
to get ready and go save my girls. I wipe the tears from my eyes and I clear my
nose. I don’t want Devon to know I was crying. Not that I am ashamed, I was
crying in the car not even ten minutes ago, but I can tell he is rattled and on
the edge. He needs me to be strong so he feels safe. That will help him be
strong. Panic breeds panic. I get myself together and I step from the back room
with our new boots.
“We
need new pants, shirts and a backpack.”
“Are
you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet,”
I toss him his boots. I find a pair of camo cargo pants that fit. I pull off my
work shoes and dress socks. Devon goes to work on his third Snickers and has
not moved from the chair.
“Move
your ass. We need to hit the road before more of those...people find us in
here.” I drop my slacks down to my ankles. I am standing in the middle of the
store in my underwear with five dead bodies on the ground and this kid keeps
filling his face with candy.
“Move
it!” I use my “dad voice” and then he snaps too. He hops out of the chair.
Before I put my new pants on I notice on the shelf a pair of spandex shorts
that hold a cup. I have the same brand for my Krav Maga class. I didn’t wear a
cup for the first month of class. I thought it would be uncomfortable to do the
cardio part in class with a big plastic thing between my legs. After I took a
real hard shot to the balls and I couldn’t move for five minutes, I went out
and bought the cup. I remember when I was buying it the lady at the counter
said there was no return policy for this kind of equipment. I would hope there
is no return policy for jock straps. I would hate the idea of wearing another
man’s used nut shield. The memory makes me smirk.
I
grab the box and make sure it is
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