Glass Bottles

Every now and then I see a meme that reminds of a story. Here’s one.

“Hold your sister’s hand,” my Mom said as she looked down at me.

I reached for my younger sibling’s outstretched arm as she climbed out of the back of our wood panelled station wagon. We had just arrived at a supermarket parking lot in Dorval. It was early afternoon and my Mom wanted to grab some groceries before we met our Dad getting off his 6 to 2 shift at the Montréal airport.

A giant 747 scraped the sky just above our heads and we all looked up. We stood in its giant shadow as the jet engines created a horrendous noise that made my eyes grow wide in wonder. The roar of the low flying plane made my little sister start to cry.

“Don’t worry,” my Mom said, bending down to comfort her. Mom realized we’d both never seen a plane fly that low. Especially one that size. “It’s just landing where your Daddy works.”

My sister’s tears were short lived and a little smile returned to her face. I squeezed her hand and we followed our mother across the parking lot to the giant food store.

As we approached the sidewalk, I let go of my sister’s hand and ran ahead. I stepped up to the black rubber mats at the front doors. I had seen these before. When you jumped on them, the doors opened automatically.

“C’mon,” I yelled to my sister. “We can open the doors by jumping right there!” I pointed down as she scurried up to the mat and stood beside me.

“Ready?”

We both hopped onto the soft rubber mat and the front doors of the grocery store magically opened. My sister giggled. I stood and stared. I was in awe of the magic mats. How did they do that? I wanted to know more. I wanted to do it again. I studied the rubber mat under my feet as my Mom walked past us.

“Let’s go you two,” she ordered.

My sister ran ahead, her yellow flowered sundress flowing behind her. She had little white sandals that clop-clop-clopped when she ran. Her brown hair was in pigtails, tied up with little blue plastic balls on elastics.

As my Mom pulled out a shopping cart from a long line of carts at the front of the store, my sister reached up and asked if she could push. She was barely tall enough to see over the cart’s handle.

“No you’re too short,” my Mom said. “But you can hold on with me.”

I followed the two of them as they steered the cart into the first aisle of the grocery store. My Mom pulled out a small white piece of paper from her brown leather purse. She looked intently at the grocery list she’d made at home, over an hour away.

“Your father will be here soon,” she casually said to us while looking at her list.

I bristled hearing that. It was my Mom’s subtle way of keeping us in line. “Wait until your father gets home” was something we heard on a regular basis. The distant early warning of my strict father appearing at any moment was enough to put the fear of God into us.

Mom began to focus on the stocked shelves and we tagged along close behind. I looked down at my blue adidas and the yellow lace loops flopping around my feet as I walked. I had just learned to tie them myself so I was admiring my work. Suddenly my Mom stopped the cart and began studying the boxes on the shelf.

I reached out and grabbed the elastic shoulder strap of my sister’s sundress and let it go. It hit the bare skin on her back with a loud snap.

“Heyyyy!” she turned and yelled a me. Her face looked like it was about to explode into full tantrum mode. I was testing to see what might put her over the edge. “STOP IT!”

“Quit it you two,” Mom said casually as she pulled little boxes off the shelf and looked at them closely before placing them in our cart.

My mind raced. What else could I do to annoy my sister. What else could I do to entertain myself? I looked around the store and took in all the colours, sounds and smells.

What else?

Boredom set in.

We painfully made our way down the first aisle inch by inch. As my Mom stopped to browse the shelves, I walked to the front of the metal shopping cart and grabbed the top front edge of the basket. I pulled myself up and stood on the frame for a slow ride backwards. I could see much more up here. I could see the large glass windows at the front of the store. The afternoon sun was shining in through them, lighting up the cash registers and the people pushing carts to line up there.

From up here I was closer to my Mom, so I could watch her go through this weekly ritual of analyzing items on shelves. What box would she grab next? I watched and guessed. It was better up here, standing on the cart.

We rounded the first corner of aisle number one and my Mom slowly pushed me and our groceries into aisle number two, headed back toward the front of the store. My sister shuffled along looking closely at the colourful beaded bracelet on her wrist. With her other hand she held tightly to the leather belt on my Mom’s long jean skirt. My little sister looked equally bored.

From my new vantage point, I watched the pile of groceries accumulate down in the belly of the cart. There was a week’s worth of our family’s supplies being placed there ever so slowly, one item at a time. My Mom inched the cart forward as the wheels squeaked and rattled. Soon another box went in. Then a bag of some stuff went in as well. Then Mom reached into the cart and pulled up one of the boxes she had just put in there. She looked at it closely and frowned at it. She then put it back on the shelf. We inched forward again as the wheels squeaked below me. I grew numb with boredom.

I leaned back and looked straight up in the air at the giant store spotlights shining down on us from the ceiling. They were so high up and so bright. I looked right into one of them. I squinted to see how long I could stare at it before I looked back down and saw speckled stars everywhere. I hung on tightly to the front of the cart to let the dizziness subside.

We were now only a few steps into aisle number two. This couldn’t be going any slower.

“Shoot,” my Mom said under her breath. “I forgot to grab something. Wait here.” She turned around and walked back down the aisle, over to the other side of the tall grocery shelves and disappeared out of sight. I looked down at my sister who was staring at her feet, with one hand up on the red handle of the cart.

“Push me,” I said to her.

She quickly looked up with a devilish grin. Her eyes lit up as she processed the dare.

“Push me!” I demanded again.

She reached up with both hands above her head and grabbed onto the cart handle. She looked down at the ground and started to push. The cart slowly moved forward.

“Faster!” I yelled to her.

Her pace quickened and the cart started to move down aisle number two, sending me backwards in the direction of the front of the store. My sister crept up to a light jog and her clop-clop-clopping sandals made her sound like a mini-Clydesdale.

“Faster!”

I continued to egg her on like a coach with a bullhorn at the front of a paddle boat.

Her arms were outstretched over her head as she kept looking down and pushing.

I pulled myself up onto my tippy toes on the cart frame. What a ride! I was flying backwards! And now we were getting some real speed.

As we reached the front of the store, the cart careened toward an eight foot high display of orange juice bottles that I didn’t see coming. And neither did my sister, clop-clop-clopping with her head down in full push mode. She was now at top speed and put me right through the glass bottle wall. In that split second, the sound of smashing glass echoed all over the store. She let go of the cart in shock and I cringed as the display exploded all around my head and shoulders, crashing down around me to the checkered tile floor below. While the shattered glass tinkled, I continued to hold on tight to the front of the basket as the cart came to a rolling stop.

When I opened my eyes, I looked down at the twisted cardboard, pools of orange juice and broken glass all around me on the floor. I froze in disbelief, unsure of what just happened. My Mom came running up the aisle as several adults surrounded my sister and me, making sure we were okay.

I looked up and noticed one of them was my Dad.