Surreal Walgreen’s Moment

So I was standing in line in Walgreen’s yesterday and there was a woman in front of me with two little girls, about ages 7 and 9. Both of them were wearing little league uniforms and looked pretty much identical but for the age difference and the fact that one was blonde and one was dark. As I pondered how interesting it was that very similar genetics manifested in such different ways an older boy raced by me and handed a pair of sunglasses to the blonde.

“Sienna, Sienna, put these on. Put theeeese onnnnn.” He giggled loud and sharp. The kind of sound you can still hear echoing through the room after the source of it has quieted. The cashier jumped and dropped her scanner. The boy danced about, hopping from foot to foot like he’d been mainlining Red Bull. Sienna put the shades on and struck a pose. “Yeah, yeah those are great. You should get those.” He then sings in a high pitched voice, “You look like a sup-er staaar.”

The mom piped up, “Justin put those back.”

“Come on, they look awesome!”

“I mean it!”

The boy snatched the sunglasses back and ran off toward the middle of the store. I felt my leg starting to twitch and I barely suppressed the urge to trip him when he ran by. He returned with wide glistening eyes, holding out a giant pink ball like it was a rare treasure. “Riley! Riley! Don’t you love this ball?!” He hurls the ball at the brunette child. It bounces off the counter and into a Chapstick display before she plucks it out of the air and starts to dribble it around the aisle. By now the cashier who is barely older than the children, has stopped trying to ring anything up and just stands there and looks confused.

“Damnit, Justin! Stop bringing shit up here! They don’t need anything else!” says, mom. She turns to Riley and says, “Now, give that back to your father.” Wait, what? I turn around and take a good look at the boy and realize that it is indeed a small man. The man instantly deflates like a broken pool toy. He actually drags his feet as he puts the ball back. He returns empty handed. I take a moment to search his face for signs of a mental disability. Other than looking like he’s about to crawl out of his skin, there is nothing particularly unusual about him.

The cashier looks at the mother; one eyebrow cocked and raises a timid, limp hand. “Is he...uh…finished?”

“Yes. Just ignore him. I never should have let him out of the cage.” She pays for her strange mix of impulse items, takes her kids hands and walks out. Her man-child follows several steps behind, hanging his head, clutching the bags of crap he undoubtedly picked out.