Trinkets Read Online Free PDF Page B

feeling like I respected her, which could only be considered a banner way to start the day.

Stolen Goods
    There’s a guy in the Hair Care section of Fred Meyer
    who’s looking at me like he knows
    what kind of person I am.
    Then I realize I’m being paranoid.
    There’s no way he—or anyone, for that matter—
    could know that I’m the kind of person who has
    three lip glosses,
    a Hello Kitty alarm clock,
    a packet of Red Vines,
    condoms (so I can see what they look like up close),
    and a box of Crayola markers
    in my bag.
    To top it all off,
    I slip a rhinestone barrette in there too,
    one that Rachelle might like.
    Nothing helps new friendships like surprise trinkets.
    Fortunately, Rachelle knows my parents have money,
    so she’ll never guess her gifts are stolen,
    but if she were a thief herself,
    she’d understand that a stolen present
    means way more than one that’s been bought,
    because of what you had to go through to get it.

 
Out the Door
    I walk out the door,
    past the guy collecting money
    for some charitable cause or other,
    and I give him a dollar
    and a good-girl smile,
    and that’s when I feel
    a hand
    on my shoulder.
    I’m gonna need you to come back into the store.
    I turn around and there’s the creepy guy from Hair Care,
    and next to him is the nice old lady
    from the candy aisle.
    What’s wrong?
I say.
    And the nice old lady says,
    We need to see what’s in your bag.
    For a sick second,
    I’m happy
    because someone realizes I’m not simply a good girl.
    They can tell I’m dangerous,
    not just some stupid wallflower waiting to bloom.
    Let’s go, miss,
Hair Care Guy says,
    and I hold up my hand
    to say
just one second,
    and then I turn
    and barf all over the sidewalk.

 
Good Cop, Bad Cop
    In the holding room of Fred Meyer,
    they make me pose in front of my stolen goods.
    It’s like I’m getting my photo taken at Spring Fling,
    only instead of being half a couple
    posing in front of a cheesy cityscape backdrop,
    I have condoms, a clock,
    and licorice lined up behind me.
    Hair Care Guy thinks this is funny.
    Candy and sex—those are my vices too,
    he says with a grin.
    Nice Old Lady doesn’t laugh.
    That’s because she’s Bad Cop.
    She’s not even remorseful,
she says,
    looking at me.
    I realize now might be a good time to act sad,
    so I think back to two years ago
    after my mom died and my dad had gotten
    me a dog for Christmas:
    a sheltie from the pound
    who was scheduled to die
    the next day.
    I named him Rufus and slept with him every night
    for a month until my father came to tell me
    that we were being transferred
    to Chicago, and we’d live in an apartment
    that didn’t allow dogs.
    I think back to the day we dropped Rufus off
    at a new family’s house,
    and I thought of the look on his face
    and his soft ears and his molasses eyes,
    and here come the tears
    in the back room of the drugstore
    as Bad Cop calls my dad
    and I bawl in front of all my trinkets,
    stupid things you didn’t know how much you loved
    until they’re taken from you
    and you can’t get them back.

 
Meditation
    I had a hippie science teacher
    in the school I went to before this one,
    and she told us how she meditated every morning,
    and she said when you first learn to do it
    you hear all these sounds in the room
    you’ve never heard before
    like the air conditioner
    or people arguing next door
    or a plane above.
    It’s like you’re hyperfocused on everything
    because you’re trying not to focus on anything.
    That’s what I’m doing
    after my dad picks me up in front of Fred Meyer
    and drives me home.
    He convinced them not to call the cops
    and negotiated for me to go to group therapy instead;
    he closed the deal using his expert skills.
    I want to say thank you,
    but all I can do is
    try to breathe
    and block out the sound
    of his deafening,
    disappointed
    silence.

The First Time
    The first time I stole,
    it was an accident.
    I walked out of the store
    with a pack of Starburst in my