Five Fingers

When I was fifteen, money was tight. My mother'd left the summer before, and my father had started pissing all his money away on drinking and useless things to try to fill the empty spots in the house where she used to walk and talk and laugh. I wanted to drown out the world, and the old man'd get pretty pissed off if I played my music too loud when he was home (and forget it the morning after when he was hungover) - so I figured I need one of those portable CD players with the headphones. Since we didn't have the money for one, I decided it'd be a simple enough thing to remove the little metal thing that made them beep when you take them out of the store and just slip them under my jacket. There was a store in town that didn't seem to pay particular attention to security, a discount store where things were cheap enough anyhow so that maybe they wouldn't even miss it.

I'd made a couple of passes by the store, window shopping- finding out just where the player I wanted was located, and what I'd have to do to remove the tag. Seemed easy enough - just wait for the clerks to be distracted, use my little penknife, slip it under the jacket and walk on out. I had the plan all together in my mind- but I kept chickening out. I'd go down to the store and feel like everyone knew what I had on my mind, that they were all watching me. And then I'd just go home. But one day, I finally had the courage to try it. It'd been a real bad night the night before- my father'd been in a hell of a temper, and school the next day wasn't much better with the jocks and the teacher that asked if I needed to go to see some sort of counselor.

I was feeling pretty brave, like nothing else could go wrong as I walked into the store, hands in my pockets. Made my way over to the department in question, just eased my little knife out of the pocket. Picked up the item, pried the tab off then slipped it under my jacket. Real easy. I was halfway to out the door when the security guy grabbed my arm, told me to unzip the jacket and drop the merchandise.

I was really scared when they hauled me into the office, and told me how you could get locked up for stuff like this. How shoplifting was a crime, and how even as a teenager I could get in serious trouble. Then they called my father to come and pick me up, and told him what I'd done and that I wasn't welcome in their store anymore. We rode all the way home in silence, and I was shaking so bad that I think you could hear my teeth chattering. My father got out of the car and I slunk out of my side, towards the door to our house.

He fumbled for a while with the house key, getting it about halfway into the lock before he turned suddenly, hauled off and cold-cocked me to the ground. "You stupid son of a bitch," he snarled as he turned the key. "First off, if you're going to steal shit, steal something useful. And second, don't get your ass caught." With that he went inside and locked the door behind him, leaving me to sit on the porch and rub my jaw. 

(For a guide and links to the other stories in this series, click here)