Thursday, October 23, 2014

Shame Story

I am tapping my foot nervously against the marble floor of the bank as I wait to deposit money I earned from refereeing soccer games. The line is moving unbearably slowly. Every ten minutes, I move a single tile closer to the teller at the desk. I have at least thirty minutes to go, and all I can think about is what I will do with the money I made. I can travel the world and see beautiful places, go to college, hitchhike through Europe, or buy my 88th sweatshirt. It feels great to know that I have money that is all my own.

Suddenly, my pleasure in daydreaming about my spending options fades as my thoughts take me back to when I was seven. Every night my sister would come home after babysitting and place her money into a light blue, polka-dotted box, the same box that in which I can currently carrying all my hard-earned money that I am about to deposit. The man waiting in line in front of me turns and gives me a suspicious look like he knows the significance of the box.

I knew what I was doing and I knew it wasn’t my money to take, but I did it anyway. Everyday, I would take out two dollars, enough to gradually get a fortune for a seven-year old, but not so much that it would be obvious to my sister that her money was being stolen.

I got a thrill from sneaking down from my bunk bed after my sister had fallen asleep and tiptoeing over to the light blue, polka-dotted box that held the key to my candy dream. Sometimes, I would even do a somersault pretending I was a secret agent.

One morning when our whole family was going out to dinner, my mom had suggested that we could go to the bank before dinner and deposit my sister’s babysitting money. My sister clenched her light blue, polka-dotted box with a sense of pride, but when we got up to the teller and she asked “How can I help you?,” my sister’s face turned red with panic and anger. It didn’t take long for them to figure it out. My mom and sister told me it was wrong to steal, and I felt embarrassed and sorry that I had scared my sister and wasted her money on candy. The feeling wells up inside of me again as I finally get to the first of the line and the Teller asks me, “How can I help you?”I surprise myself when I respond, “you can’t,” and the next thing I know I am sprinting out of the bank and spending some of my money on a Milky Way.

1 comment:

  1. Nice story! I thought that your shame memory was very well written, and that you described everything in really good detail. Nice job!