Decisions

“I’m going to the store,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute. Does anybody need anything?”

Mom asked for soda. My sister said she was fine. My niece looked on me with longing in her eyes.

“Laney? Do you want to go with me?” I asked and she stared at me with wide-eyed fear. She wanted to go; she wanted to stay. She couldn’t decide. For 15 minutes, we wheedled and pleaded and tried to bribe the girl to make a decision. Finally, I walked out.

From two doors down, I heard the howl. I heard my sister’s voice.

“Laney? Do you want to come with me?” I called. I walked back to the house and out she tore in her pink puffy coat and magenta cowgirl boots. She held my hand tightly and we walked a block to the store.

The market at the end of my block resides in redbrick row house and down a handful of stairs. It is the smallest store I’ve ever shopped, including my stint on Mackinac Island with pricey convenience stores gouging strapped locals and feeding off fudgies.

My niece gazed in wonder at the short narrow aisles.

“Can you see mayonnaise?” I asked, looking at the condiments and salad dressings, certain I was in the right area, certain they would have it. She stood very still, looking quite carefully at crowded shelves. She tilted her head, scanning toward the ceiling, and she turned to look at the shelves behind her. She shook her head.

The store offers fantastic selection, providing almost everything I seek with exactly one, maybe two bottles of each. I knew that I would find mayonnaise on the shelf; it just took a little time.

“Light or regular?” I asked. She considered a minute, tiny brow furrowed in concentration. She pointed to the pale blue label, light. We took the jar and the soda for mom up to the counter. I asked her what she wanted; I had promised her a treat.

“I don’t want anything,” she whispered, the sound barely escaping her down turned face. We made our purchase, exchanging cash for goods and slipping the bottle and jar into my bag. She gripped my hand and danced out of the store, kicking and twirling down the street. Happy to have all of her people together again.

She lost her tonsils a couple of weeks ago. She lost her independence with them.

As she left that night, my mom handed her the rose I’d promised, the end wrapped in a wet paper towel covered in foil, all of it placed in a bag for safekeeping. She panicked then, my 5-year-old niece.

“What if I don’t want it?” she asked.

“Give it to your sister,” I replied.

“What if she doesn’t want it?”

“Give it to your mom.”

“What if she doesn’t want it? What if nobody wants it?”

“Honey, it’s yours. If you get home and decide you don’t want it, toss it in the yard,” I said in exasperation, uncertain of the words I needed to make it fine, to calm her panic.

I can sense the same panic in my mother now, as she sits on my couch, watching movies. She won’t pick a film, frightened of picking the wrong one. She won’t say what she wants to do: shopping, museum or movie, restaurant or home. She stares at me with wide-eyed fear, wanting to go, wanting to stay. I don’t know the words I need to make it fine.


Tag: Decisions Family