the little boy in the grocery store
february 20th, 2000

i wore my hair in pigtails today. short little tufts of hair stuck out 
from the back of my neck, and i stuck faddish butterfly barrettes all over 
my head, threw on some tie-dye and lipstick and went out to conquer the 
world (though it was, in truth, just to get some vegetables and pepsi and 
other oddments.) my combat boots, with Susanne's shoestring in the left, 
and the leather jacket that Matthew gave me years and years ago, back when 
a day didn't go back that my eyes weren't shaded in charcoal. the leather 
jacket has become in a sense my security blanket - i used to keep all 
sorts of toys in the pockets, and i would randomly pull them out at the 
strangest moments, to place a smile on someone's face. and such magical 
pockets always came in handy when i was left to entertain the children. 
the children whom i always understood fountains better than the adults, 
anyway.

but holes have worn their way through my magic pockets. toys have taken 
residence in my automobile, or on the shelves in my room. some toys have 
become lost forever in the lining of the leather jacket - sometimes i find 
myself with my elbow propped against a marble or a few jacks digging their 
way into the small of my back. i left a harmonica in the pocket for a very 
long time, and now it is so full of lint and dust that it simply won't 
play anymore. (not as if i really know how to play the harmonica anyway, 
but it's always the thought that counts. i can carry the dream of playing 
the harmonica, as long as the harmonica works.) but, the harmonica is 
broken.

"My envelope isn't any good anymore." - Delirium

i was fumbling through the grocery store for the aforementioned odds and 
ends, deciding at the last minute to take advantage of the pound of random 
candy for three in a half dollars which was tempting me with all sorts of 
different multicolored sweetness. and i took my bags and my carrots and my 
baby formula to the checkout counter, me in my pigtails, and just a hint 
of glitter, noticing that my shoestrings had become untied, and simply not 
caring. the woman standing in front of me began to chat about the weather, 
and the flu, and other such everyday concerns, when a little, curly-haired 
boy of age three or four came up with a big red rubber ball and asked the 
elderly lady to play with him.

but asking isn't the right word. the child had a sureness, an absolute 
confidence in his cuteness, and it was more of a command than an asking: 
"play with me."

the woman did - they tossed the ball back and forth to eachother, with the 
little boy's mother calling him a con artist and me laughing at it all. 
the woman told me about her seven-year-old granddaughter, and how much she 
was attached to the little one, and how much she loved kids, and i smiled 
really wide, realizing that in my pigtails i looked to be somewhere around 
fourteen years of age, and i decided not to say anything about my own 
little princess - another day. besides, she has to get herself checked 
out, and here's the curly-haired boy back again, with that red rubber 
ball.

"play with me," he demands. and i smile, and we toss the ball back and 
forth.

where do we lose this inhibition? when is it that we truly begin to fear 
strangers, that we refuse to make eye-contact, that we lock ourselves up 
in the pallisades of our own mental workings, and we don't even step 
outside of ourselves long enough to have a friendly conversation. we shift 
through life, afraid to speak, to talk, to touch, even when there is 
someone across the room we'd really like to get to know - when is it that 
we lose the ability to simply go up and say, "play with me"? we are 
terrified of being judged, or of getting hurt, or that the person across 
the room may be a some sort of psychopathic mental patient with a penchant 
for killing everyone's houseplants. in our shells, like tortioses, we 
don't even dare to stick our heads out, for fear we'll lose them. in doing 
so, we fail to realize that most everyone else in the world is just as 
scared as we are, and as alone, and as trapped in their own pathetic 
minds.

but on some evenings, when you're wearing pigtails, you can jump the 
barricades, if but for a moment. you can play ball in the middle of the 
grocery aisle with some curly-haired boy who had the courage to do what 
you really wanted to, but were too frightened - to walk up and say, "play 
with me."