In this chapter, our hero learns about clothes and expectations.

Copyright 2020 by Heather Rose Brown

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I was following my mom down the aisle that divided the children's clothing department in half, when the shopping cart she was pushing shuddered to a stop. She muttered something under her breath, and the cart rattled as she tried to shake it loose.

After a few tense moments, one of the wheels squealed before unlocking. Mom took in a deep breath, relaxed her grip on the cart as she breathed out, then looked over her shoulder and smiled at me.

"Come on, sweetie," she said as she started moving again. "Stay close. Don't want you getting lost."

I looked up at my mom, who seemed taller than usual, and tried to think of a sarcastic response. Nothing especially clever came to mind. I groaned and rolled my eyes, then ran a hand across the rough fabric of the jeans lining the aisle as I shuffled behind her.

Mom managed to keep the wheel from locking again when she turned and guided the cart between rows of dress shirts and suit jackets. She stopped in front of a rack of t-shirts, then turned to me and said, "I know your school allows casual wear for first graders, but see if you can find something nice here."

"Can't ya just pick somethin' for me?" I asked as I folded my arms across my chest.

"Sweet heart, we already talked about this. You're getting to be a big boy now, and need to start making some choices on your own."

I bristled at the 'big boy' line, but I knew trying to get my mom to stop treating me like a little kid was a losing battle. "Whatever," I said while glaring at the t-shirts.

"Okay," Mom said as she patted my shoulder. "I'll be over by the sweaters, so bring whatever you find over there when you're done. Alright?"

I shrugged and made a non-committal noise. Mom's hand dropped from my shoulder. I could feel her disapproving look boring into my back.

I braced myself for a lecture, but all I heard was a sigh, which was almost worse. Guilt tinted the wave of relief I felt when the rattle of her shopping cart faded.

I dove into the job before me, and didn't realize someone else was looking through the same stuff as me until we bumped shoulders.

"Oops! Sorry," I said as I turned. The rest of my apology got caught at the back of my throat when the girl I'd bumped into smiled at me.

"Hey!" she said as her smile grew. "Ya got sent over here too?"

"Ummm ..." I said while waiting for my brain to kick back into gear.

She nodded, as if the sound that had come out of my mouth had made perfect sense. "Me too," she added as she went back to rooting through the clothes again. "I know boy shirts is cheaper, but ain't these colors awful?"

I took another look at the rack in front of me. There was a rainbow of mostly browns and greys, with a few other colors mixed in that were too bland to have a name.

"Yeah," I said before my throat closed up again.

"There's lots nicer stuff 'cross the aisle. Wanna see?"

My curiosity battled with my shyness for a moment. My curiosity won, and I said, "Sure!"

"C'mon," she said as she skipped out of the boys department.

I followed close behind her, paused at the edge of the white linoleum tiles, then crossed before my courage completely drained away. I grinned when I found myself surrounded by colors ranging from pastel to neon, rather than blech to ugh.

"Ain't these awesome!" said the girl as she disappeared behind a rack of frilly shirts. Before I could build up enough nerve to do more than look, she returned with an armful of clothes.

"Wish I could get all these," she said as she flipped through the hangers dangling from her arm. "Oh, I found somethin' perfect for ya!"

I looked down when she whipped out a shirt and held it against my chest. It was a warm, honey colored t-shirt with tiny white flowers on it. When I ran a hand down the front, it felt like the cotton shirts I normally wore, but lighter and softer.

"Wait," I said as I pulled my hand away. "I can't wear this."

The girl tilted her head to the side. "How come?"

"I dunno," I said, even though I did know the answer.

She hung the hanger the shirt was on from my wrist as she said, "Then give it a try,"

"But ... I can't change here!"

She patted my arm and said, "Ya ain't gotta take nothin' off. Just pull it over whatcha got on."

What she said made sense. It definitely made more sense than wearing things I didn't like, just because I was a boy. Panic fluttered in my chest as I pulled the shirt off its hanger. "It's just a shirt," I said under my breath as I wriggled my hands through the armholes.

"Tommy!" my mom shouted from somewhere nearby.

I tried pulling off the shirt, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, and started sliding down my arms.

"Thomas Kayleigh Tracy!" she shouted again. My stomach flip-flopped at the sound of my full name,

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said through the cloth covering my face.

I felt her firm grip on my arm. "What are you sorry for?"

"I just..." I said as a lump grew in my throat.

"Tommy," Mom said, sounding more confused than angry as she shook my arm.

"I'm just ... just ... sorry," I said while willing away the tears threatening to well up.

"Tommy," she said as she shook my arm again. "Come on, honey. Wake up!" ¹

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A few cars whizzed by when I opened my eyes. I rolled my head to the side, and saw my mom trying to concentrate on the road while giving me worried glances.

She lifted her hand from my arm, then brushed the hair out of my eyes. "You have another bad dream?"

"Not really," I said, feeling only a little guilty for the lie. With great honesty comes great risk, and I didn't want her to ask my therapist to talk to me about the dream again.

"Then why were you saying sorry?"

"Oh," I said, trying to think fast with a brain that wanted to go back to sleep. "I meant, I was sorry for ... uhhh ... forgetting my uniform. I mean, not being able to find it."

Mom gave me a skeptical look. "Did you look through all the boxes the movers left in your room?"

"Umm ... I think so." To be fair, while I'd been too tired to do a thorough search, I had looked through all my boxes.

Mom gritted her teeth as she made a sharp turn, then relaxed a little as she said, "Tommy, I know you don't like the idea of wearing a uniform, but after what happened at your old school ..."

A spark of anger flared as I asked, "Ya talking 'bout the school that kicked me out, 'cause I stood up to somebody who was making fun of me?"

Mom didn't say anything as she pulled up to the curb, and spent more time than she usually needed to park. There was a long, awkward silence in the car after she turned off the engine.

"Honey," she said as she turned to me, "we've already gone over this before. Your new school is the only one I could find that was at a reasonable commuting distance from my work. Unfortunately, it has different requirements from your old school."

"Ya mean, like wearing uniforms, and marching down the halls, like a buncha zombie robots?"

Mom grinned and said, "I'm not sure if you can be both a zombie and a robot, but I'm pretty certain there won't be any marching in the halls. But, as for the rest ... well ..."

I nodded and said, "Yeah, I get it. Follow the rules. Wear the uniform. Watch my temper. Don't cause trouble. Stuff like that. Right?"

Mom leaned close, and I flinched when she kissed my cheek. "Moooommm," I said as I looked out the passenger window. Fortunately, the only person I saw was a kid standing near the front doors of a low, brick-faced building.

"Don't worry," Mom said as she scrubbed at the side of my face with her thumb. "I checked first to make sure no other students were close enough to see."

"I didn't mean ..." I said, while trying to think of something that wouldn't hurt her feelings. "I mean ... it's just ... well, ya know."

"Yes dear. I know. You're in middle school now. I'm not so old that I've forgotten what it was like coping with the kind of peer pressure I had to deal with at your age."

I saw the mix of hope and sadness in Mom's eyes. Feeling like a total jerk for causing the sad part, I reached out and touched her hand as I said, "I'm sorry for ... well ... everything."

Mom unhitched my seatbelt, then pulled me close. "Shhhh. It's okay. You did nothing wrong."

I didn't exactly cry while she held me, but I was sniffling a little when she let go. "Thanks Mom. I kinda really needed to hear that."

Mom smiled and pulled a tissue from her purse before handing it to me. After I blew my nose, she said, "You're welcome, sweetheart. Now head on out there, and have the best first day of school ever!"

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Footnotes:
¹ This footnote marks the end of the dream Tommy is having about when he was six, and went on a shopping trip before starting first grade. When he wakes up in the car, he's eleven, and is in his first year in middle school. I hope this clears up some confusion about how old Tommy is. If you have any other questions, feel free to send me a private message, or leave a comment below.