Good Different

The first time

I broke down

in front of anyone

was in the middle of the evil place:

Walmart.

 

All the people

and noise

pricked inside my head

like a hundred shirt tags.

 

It was a Saturday

and the aisles were crowded,

people yelled,

the overhead music crackled,

some smell like sour milk spilled

through the air and turned my stomach,

and Mom wanted me to decide

on a new pair of jeans

from the millions of racks.

 

All of a sudden

the whole store—

screaming kids

and stiff AC air-

was folding in on me,

like too-tight hugs from strangers.

 

I ran,

locked myself

in one of the changing stalls.

Mom banged on the door

but I balled up on the dirty

tile floor

and cried

and hyperventilated

till my head stopped spinning

and my eyes dried

enough for me to see.

When I opened the door,

Mom pulled me out of the store,

ditching our groceries

by a mannequin

in reds, whites, and blues.

Once we got in the van,

she locked the doors.

She let me cry.

She opened the glove compartment

and gave me a pack of cookies.

“I always keep some goodies aside for a bad day,”

she said.

 

But when I calmed down,

Mom said,

“Selah Godfrey,

never ever cry in the middle of a store.

 

Always hold it in

till you make it back to the car.”

 

That became

the first rule

for my list

on how to be

a Normal person.