Page 80 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“Yes.” She nods warily. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise. I just really hate that place.”

“Why?”

I have a feeling the questions will keep coming if I continue to hide this and decide to tell her the truth. With a heavy exhale, I lift my T-shirt to show her the scar that runs from my left rib to the middle of my back. “It was 2016...Christmas time...and my mom wanted to get a few things from the store, but she got carried away with the specials and ended up buying too much. I was still in the car, and I saw her struggling to carry all the grocery bags by herself. I-I just got out for a second to help her...and then...” My heart starts pounding, the anger and adrenaline I felt that day pumping manically through me with every beat. “Long story short, some asshole ran me over in the parking lot. I flew into a metal signboard and ended up with three fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and this very pretty laceration. I was in the hospital for a week.” I search my mind, trying to find the face, but there were so many faces that day. “I remember seeing two of them in the car, but it was so crowded I, uh, I couldn’t focus, so I didn’t even get a good look at either of them. I couldn’t give a description to the cops...and they were never caught. My mom and I had a hard time dealing with it. I was jittery all the time, having panic attacks, and my dad decided we needed new surroundings so that we weren’t reminded of it all the time. A couple months after it happened, they got a new franchisee to take over the restaurant in my old neighborhood, then they opened a new one here, and we moved.”

Her fingers slowly trace over the scar before she finally looks up at me. There’s nothing but silence for a few drawn-out minutes. “Why do you hide such serious issues behind humor like that? I thought you were joking, being melodramatic, but you were serious about the Christmas specials and the limited parking. Did your mom go to the store to buy lean-cut beef and Cape apples?”

I don’t answer straight away because I feel like she’s decoding me, and I make a mental note to watch what I say to her because there are other things about my life that I don’t want her to decode. “Yep, that’s what she bought.”

This seems to spark off something inside her, and she stares at me as she tries to organize her thoughts. “When you said that you were freaked out by that movieThe Mist, was it because that movie is set in a grocery store and all the unknown danger is in the parking lot?”

“That was...that was one reason, yeah.”

“And that day you found me crying in the bathroom; you said you have many triggers, but a lot of them are episodes ofLaw and Order. That wasn’t a joke either, was it? You said that because they never caught those guys?”

I smirk, but I’m grinding my teeth beneath it because I’m really annoyed that she’s piecing this together so fast. “Yep...Not everyone gets justice for the crimes committed against them, and I know it’s fiction, but that series is selling a lie.”

“So, why didn’t you just tell me the real reason? Why hide it in a joke like it’s no big deal?”

I shrug, feeling more exposed as the conversation continues. “I don’t know. It’s just a habit. My whole family does it. Humor has become a weird coping mechanism, I guess.”

“It’s better than alcohol,” she says with an understanding smile.

And that’s my way out of this conversation. “Hey, you haven’t had alcohol this whole week. I’m proud of you.”

“You told me you wouldn’t touch me if I drink and it turns out I’m a bigger ho than I thought because...well, I thirst for the D more. So, now seriously, do you want to go to the store, or is it too much for you?”

I haven’t been to that store since it happened and even though the thought of going back is causing my anxiety to spike through the roof, maybe the best way to deal with it is to go back and face it. “Nah, let’s do it.”

We take the ninety-minute drive to theSelect Store & Supermarketin my old neighborhood. My hands are stiff from gripping the steering wheel so tight. Being back here is so triggering. I can still hear the tires screeching as the car zoomed away, the smell of burnt rubber hanging in the air when I hit the ground. My mother’s high-pitched scream was the last thing I remember before I passed out. I feel so cold inside, like ice running through my veins. My heart is racing. My mind is all over the place, but then a gentle hand covers mine and the weight of it drops me back into the present. My anchor.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” I get out of the car and wait for her to walk around. My trepidation is confined to the parking lot because it dissipates as we get closer to the entrance of the store. “So, what’s the adventure?”

“We each have to steal something.”

“What?” I stop walking to scowl at her. “I thought this was to create a different association with grocery stores, not to make me a criminal.”

She loops her arm through mine and urges me back into motion. “The objective is for each of us to steal one thing and walk out without hiding it. We’ll buy some other stuff, so if we get caught, we’ll just act like we forgot to scan it.” Once inside, she stops again and turns to face me. “Okay, five minutes and we meet back here. You don’t tell me about your item, I won’t tell you about mine. We’ll do our reveal once we’re back outside and in the clear.”

“I don’t like this idea.”

“Suck it up, De Lorenzo.”

I call my mom to ask her if she needs anything. She gives me a list, and after I hang up, I grab a shopping cart, then go on the hunt for something to steal. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. My parents raised me to be better than this. She’s a really bad influence.

With my item selected, I think of the best way to get it out of the store unnoticed. I meet Bella in front of the fruit and veg section five minutes later.

“I need to get some stuff for my mom,” I say.

“Okay.”

She climbs into the cart and makes herself comfortable while I push her around the store. I get cereal, yogurt, protein bars, and potato chips, tossing them into the cart with her as I zig-zag my way through the aisles.

She grabs a packet of Twizzlers as we stand in the checkout queue. We inch forward, and I start unpacking the cart.

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