My first short

Superstore. A short story about why I became an artist.

"Superstore."

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Sharon, Wisconsin, 1976. Margaret's.

 

Before superstores there were convenience stores. Or, as most people in rural Wisconsin called them, dime stores. Ours was called Margaret's--and for those of us who still tied our shoelaces in double knots, stopping by right after lunch to fill up our pockets with candy was just part of the daily summer routine.

 

We'd arrive in force, from backyards and playgrounds all over town, typically on two wheels. Those without bikes would shun safety and ride double, perched on the handlebars straddling the front tire, or seated behind the driver holding on to their T-shirt for dear life. Bicycles were left, or “ditched” as we used to say, wherever there was room--some still buzzing like a motorcycle as the spokes continued to spin, hitting the playing card taped to the front forks.

 

Margaret had occupied the same spot in town for a while. Her store had an old, familiar smell to it--like your grandmother's winter coat. Up front were everyone’s favorite candies: Pop Rocks, Whoppers, Tootsie Roll Pops, Bottle Caps, and Wonka-everything, along with assorted taffies and just about every chocolate bar you could remember. Next to the candy were tall, rotating stands that held all of the latest Marvel and DC comic books. On the wall to the far left stood a long counter with rounded glass on the front guarding model paints, glue, and slot racing cars from curious but clumsy hands. On top of the counter was a cash register; stained so deeply black it must have been around longer than old Margaret herself. Stacks of model airplanes and cars, remote control vehicles, Big Wheels, Radio Flyer wagons, talking dolls, and toy ponies filled the shelves all the way to the back of the store--some reaching so high that they nearly touched the ceiling.

 

But I didn't want the Evel Knievel Scramble Van or any of the other toys on the top shelf. What I wanted was a small yellow and green box Margaret kept behind the antique cash register. More specifically, I wanted what was inside that box. It was a box filled with possibilities.

 

While my friends were busy negotiating how to pool their pennies together for that one giant Hershey's bar, I stood on tip-toes, leaning over the glass countertop next to the cash register, trying to get as close as permissible to that little yellow and green cardboard box--just imagining what I could do with the 64 marvelous instruments it held inside. “Atomic Tangerine.” “Blizzard Blue.” “Laser Yellow.”

 

Always too soon, my friends would cruelly drag me outside where we'd eventually find our way back to the playground behind the school and resume our afternoon tradition. My dream would have to wait; there was baseball to play.

 

When all the candy was gone and the last rays of summer sunlight faded, we said our goodbyes and I rode home for supper and a quick bath. Then I grabbed some sheets of plain white paper, pulled out an old, battered Folgers coffee can, and plopped down at the kitchen table. As I peeled back the plastic lid and stared down at the contents of the can, I felt the frown growing on my face, hoping to see "Screamin' Green" and "Wild Watermelon," but instead finding only broken greens and a bunch of reds with the tips worn down. I soon noticed my mom, holding her coffee mug and looking down into my crayon can from over my shoulder.

 

"I keep telling you that you don't need all those colors with fancy names to make a beautiful picture," she said, taking a small sip from her mug. (Magically, she always knew my exact thoughts.)

 

"Be creative; use your imagination. Save your money for candy." She tousled my damp hair, gave me a warm, reassuring smile, and walked away.

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Countryside, Illinois, 2007. Target Superstore.

 

As my nine-year-old daughter and I stood on the brightly polished tiles of the brand new Target Superstore, I couldn't help but be stunned by the bounty of products from Crayola. There were markers, glitter paints, magic papers, scented crayons, and paintbrushes--all sorts of new tools to help kids make amazing pieces of art. Little yellow and green packages, sparkling from the fluorescent lights above, covered every inch of space on both sides of the aisle. I was once again a small boy wearing canvas hi-tops, standing on his tip-toes and staring at those little boxes, just thinking about the many wonderful things I could create--if I could only have gotten my hands on some of these new Crayola products!

 

I must have stood there for some time, frozen in sheer wonderment, secretly reconnected to my childhood memory, because it took several nudges from my daughter to transport me back from my past. She was holding something and wanted me to see it.

 

"What are those?" I asked, studying the two yellow and green plastic packages she held in her outstretched hands.

 

"Well," she said, "these are Pip Squeaks Skinnies markers and this is a box of Silly Scents. They're crayons. Which one should I get?"

 

"Which one should you get?" As I slowly repeated my daughter's question, my mind navigated the long, winding country roads back to a tiny, dimly lit kitchen in southern Wisconsin. I could almost smell mom's stale coffee.

 

I knew there was a lesson I was to pass down to my daughter right at this exact moment. Be creative, I was to tell her. You don't need any of these Crayola markers to make something terrific. Use your imagination, I should have said. But all I could focus on were the hundreds of amazing yellow and green packages standing in front of us.

 

"Does that one have ‘Blizzard Blue’ in it?" I asked.

 

"Nope", she said, without even checking the label. "They retired that color. These have the Kids' Choice Colors. Like ‘Macaroni and Cheese’."

 

"Hmmm," I said, starting to realize the position I was in. I looked down into my daughter's anxious face and gave her a serious look. "How much money do you have?"

 

"Dad," she sighed, "I have a gift card. There’s like twenty bucks on there."

 

I hesitated, further examining the Pip-Squeaks Skinnies package in her small hand. "Macaroni and Cheese, huh?"

 

"Yup," she nodded.

 

"Well, I think you should get them both."

 

"Really?!"

 

I nodded. "Yeah. And I'm going to get these for me" I reached past her, grabbing the glitter paints and magic paper off their hooks.

 

Somehow, somewhere, I could see a knowing smile starting to spread across my mother’s face.

 

Author's Note

Constructive feedback will be greatly appreciated!

Reviews

[Warrior]

Great story telling. This did justice in the realm of getting the message across. Great message. There's lot of times where a story can have a great message to aim for, and have a lot of under lining things but then no one gets it, and if no one gets it, then the point has failed. But in my opinion this did well to get the message across. You made it clear, which is why I think it's good. Keep up the good work. What was also great was that I could imagine the story as I read it, and that is also a strong point of stories. The ability to have the reader imagine it because after all we're reading not watching it, but it was as if I was there as I read this, and that is great. Great visuals and great story telling. It had plot and substance. When you add substance to writing it gets that much better. It gets the reader hooked on it and make them feel as if they are part of it. As long as their is that emotional connection between the reader and the story then it's good. The connection you were able to established in the writing gives the reader a sense of comfortably that they are in tune with the writing. So that way when the writing is over, the reader wants more, and wishes it didn't end. I feel the same way when I watched a movie or tv series that I get so attached to, I never want it to end. And for this writing, I didn't want it to end. You had me hooked, and I am sure everyone else who read it was hooked as well. That is good, that is what you want for people to keep wanting more. The way you put the story together makes me feel like my life is different for that moment in which I read your story. I love it, and it was beautiful. Just keep posting stories like this, and you'll have a good following.