Gang Members Need Food Too

It was a desperate stop.  I knew better to go into the run-down Wal-mart.  The first clue was the road entrance, overgrown, the letters were missing, and the general appearance was run-down.  The Wal-mart itself had a clean exterior and almost seemed new, but the parking lot was speckled with low maintained vehicles barely passing state inspection.  A quick scan at the loitering pedestrians showed a less than stellar society.  But I had a choice: take a chance with driving my six-year-old son illegally without the car seat I left behind in Colorado or go to the nearest Wal-mart from the airport.  I would never live with myself if I risked my son’s life due to a little apprehension of a shady Wal-mart, so I was going in.

While stepping out of the car I warned my mother, “This isn’t a great place so be careful.  I’ve been here once and remember thinking I would never come back.”  Nodding she gripped my son’s free hand and we plodded our way to the entrance.  Before we arrived we heard soft sirens become louder.  We turned to see an ambulance blazing toward us. 

 It figured, I thought, probably a shooting or something.  I glanced at my mother whose mouth was wide open.  But I quickly rationalized there were no police and there would’ve been police if a violent crime had been committed.  We needed to keep going as I was determined to get that car seat.  I just hoped it I wasn’t walking to something more dangerous.

 When we walked through the front door my mom moved closer to my side.  I didn’t mind.  It felt like a border town.  Luckily, however, I didn’t see any stabbings or shootings or blood so it was okay…right?

A few steps later, I whispered to my mother, “We will get the seat and go,” as if reiterating that we were in a hurry made it safer.  She nodded wide-eyed.  That’s when I became hyperaware, watching everything and everyone around me.  In another quick surrounding scan, my eyes collided with a man.  He had a scar from the tip of his eyebrow to the bottom of his jaw.  His eyes were black, shiny, and cold.  His obvious gang tattoos were artfully displayed on his neck, arms, and legs.  That’s when I smiled.  I leaned over to my mother again and whispered, “I guess gang members need food too.”  She laughed and said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

 We walked faster, grabbed a car seat, checked out, and headed back to the car trying our best to blend (which was laughable in itself).  That was when we were solicited for tamales out of the back of a van – yeah I wasn’t going near that.  I opened the car seat plastic wrap as we speed walked, and then threw the seat in the car as soon as I was able, locked the doors once we were safely inside, and finally I left a layer of rubber getting the heck out of there.  This time I REALLY won’t go back!  I’ll let the gang members buy their food in peace and quiet.  They can HAVE that Wal-mart.

Prose Poem:

Sirens blazing, no time to waste. Bust through doors with utmost haste. Avoid all eye contact. Grab items. Throw in cart. Need to get out of this Walmart. Dodge the mean man - tattoos, scars, cold eyes – he was full of lies. Baby screaming. No blood. Pull out small bills. Larger are conspicuous. Grab son’s hand – no need to stand. Run. No tamales please. Slam door. Gone. Catch breath. Heart pound- screeching tire sound. Never to return again.