Grocery shopping with my dad and Kenny was quite an adventure.
My dad was an avid coupon clipper—“Just trying to save a few bucks,” he would always say to justify his obsession—even though he bought things we didn’t need or want only because he had a coupon for buy one, get one free or some other offer he couldn’t refuse. As a result, our kitchen cabinets were full of unopened boxes of cereal and crackers and other weird things nobody asked for but my dad bought anyway solely because the offer was just too good for him to pass up.
While Dad searched for the items on his grocery list with all the seriousness of some hunter/gatherer caveman type, I tried to keep excitable Kenny under control as much as possible. That wasn’t easy because he had a bad habit of bolting away to examine whatever he spotted on the other side of the store, usually something on display that was highlighted with bright signs and arrows. He would bring whatever it was back to us and put it in our cart without us noticing, and my job was to make sure it got put back so we didn’t end up paying for it. Once we accidentally bought a tube of lipstick thanks to Kenny, which made us laugh when we got home and found it at the bottom of a grocery bag. My dad meant to return it but kept forgetting, until too much time had passed to get a refund. I gave it to Onion and she tried it out, but only once because it was really dark and made her look “way too Goth,” as she put it, so that was that.
One day my dad asked me to run to the store to pick up a few things without him because he had a meeting at the site of the old Post now that the insurance money to rebuild it had come through. Even though I had to take Kenny with me, that was a pleasure because it meant we wouldn’t have to listen to Dad argue with the cashier about the validity of some obscure coupon while the shoppers in line behind us seethed and I had to turn away to avoid their wrathful gazes.
After dropping Dad off, I took Kenny to the new grocery store closer to our house rather than my dad’s favorite one clear across town. My dad preferred the far away store only because they took expired coupons while the new one didn’t. Never mind that we probably spent as much on gas getting to the distant store as what Dad saved in coupons; as far as my dad was concerned, I’m sure it was strictly the principle of the thing.
“George is driving the car,” Kenny said, not looking up from his video game. “Why?”
“Because Dad wants us to buy a few things at the grocery store.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s too busy to shop with us.”
“Why?”
“Because they needed his help with something for the new Post.”
“Why?”
I sighed, knowing this could go on forever if I let it. Once Kenny started questioning why one of our usual routines had changed, he wouldn’t stop until we either relented and went back to our normal routine or whatever it was we were doing different finally came to an end.
“Kenny, I’m not listening to you ask me ‘why’ the whole trip.”
“Why?”
I didn’t fall into his trap and respond, and mercifully he didn’t ask me “why” again.
The new store was larger than the old one, which meant I had a longer way to go to chase down Kenny. And finding what was on my dad’s short list wasn’t as easy since I didn’t know where things were. After a few minutes of looking in vain for the last item on the list—instant rice—and not seeing anyone on staff who could help me, I was beginning to think the old store wasn’t so bad after all despite its distance.
As I searched down the row of boxed stuffing—feeling I had to be really, really close to the rice—I looked up and saw that Kenny was gone. Again.
I went to the end of the aisle and saw him by a display of beach towels. He was easy to spot because he was wearing one like a cape, darting back and forth.
Weary of having to go retrieve him once more, I took a few steps forward and called to him.
“Kenny! Put that down and get over here!”
At first Kenny shook his head no, then relented and came running toward me, still wearing the beach towel cape.
“And put the towel back, Kenny. I’m not buying it for you.”
As he ran toward me, Kenny removed the towel and flung it in the air. It sailed high behind him. To my horror, I saw it land over the head of an elderly woman with silver hair pushing a cart of groceries. She let out a scream and fought to get the towel off her.
“You little monster!”
Kenny kept running, ignoring her, and didn’t stop until he was by my side, still happy as always.
The woman marched toward us, her face twisted in anger, her cart chattering madly from the speed at which it was being propelled.
“What’s the matter with you?” she yelled at Kenny. “Wipe that smile off your face! You think that’s funny?”
A few people passing by glanced at us, but that was all. Standing there with a scowl that seemed to suit her much too well, she reminded me of one of those old people you meet now and then who are either perpetually distressed that society had dared to change without their permission or upset with the way their own lives had turned out, as if they had expected much more but were left wanting. One of those old people.
I knew I had to explain fast, and I thought the best thing to do was just be honest and straightforward.
“I’m sorry about the towel, ma’am, but my brother is autistic. He doesn’t understand why you’re angry.”
While most people who Kenny inadvertently annoyed would have backed off and even shown some sympathy after hearing that, the woman’s expression didn’t change.
“What kind of excuse is that? If you can’t keep him under control, then he shouldn’t be out in public, should he? He might hurt someone.”
I cringed, but I was willing to let it go if she was finished venting. The absolute last thing I wanted was some big confrontation when all I needed was instant rice.
Kenny finally looked at her and let out a little laugh. “Funny lady,” he said.
And with that, he fell into her arms and gave her a hug.
She screamed even louder and flailed her arms.
Everyone around us stopped and stared. The woman shoved Kenny away, sending him flying at me. I caught him and helped him back on his feet. While his smile remained, I could tell from his eyes he was bewildered at what was happening.
“He attacked me!” she yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Kenny for everyone to see. “That’s assault!”
No one reacted or did anything.
“He was just trying to hug you, ma’am. I think he didn’t want you to be mad at him.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, making me flinch.
It was the store manager.
“What’s going on here?” he said. He was a portly guy with wire-rim glasses who stood, arms folded, waiting for an explanation.
“I was attacked,” the woman persisted, her accusing finger pointing again. “By this creature. He should be locked up.”
I stiffened but didn’t respond. Once more I found myself wishing I had a time machine that could take me back about five minutes—just five minutes, that’s all I asked—so I could stop Kenny from tossing the towel and prevent all this.
The store manager eyed Kenny up and down with suspicion. “Is that true?”
“Sir, like I told her—or tried to—my brother is autistic. He just wanted a hug.”
The store manager dropped his arms to his sides, his suspicion gone, replaced by a faraway look.
“Oh. Well, that’s different then. No harm done, I guess.”
The woman turned her anger on the manager.
“How dare you! I was assaulted and all you can say is ‘no harm done’?”
“Lady, didn’t you hear? The boy is autistic. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to call the police! He needs to be put away for everyone’s safety.” She glowered at Kenny as if he were beneath contempt.
The store manager slowly shook his head. “I’m not calling the police. You can call them if you want, but I’m not.”
The woman tossed her head back in indignation. “Then I’m leaving, and I won’t be back. You just lost a valuable customer, I’ll have you know.”
The manager’s face sort of glazed over at the threat. “Well, sorry to see you go,” was all he said.
The woman huffed, turned her cart and marched to the front of the store.
The manger looked at the shoppers still gathered around.
“That’s all, folks.”
They went about their business.
“Thanks,” was all I could say when they were gone.
“Glad to help,” the manager said. He patted my shoulder, and then his expression turned serious. “My cousin has an autistic daughter about your brother’s age,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
“I know,” I replied. “But sometimes we do.”
He nodded sadly, patted my shoulder again and went on his way.
Kenny had wandered a short distance to look at bags of candy on an end shelf, as if nothing unusual just happened.
“Come on, Kenny,” I said, taking him by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
I guided him down the aisle where our cart waited. Nearby, I spotted the instant rice section, grabbed a box, and dropped it in the cart, scanning my selections to make sure Kenny hadn’t added a surprise. He hadn’t.
“This way,” I said, and still holding Kenny’s arm, steered both him and the cart to the front checkout.
Only three lines were open, and the one in the middle had the elderly woman who was never going to return. I figured it would be better to be in line behind her than next to her where she could stare at us with dagger eyes. That, and she would be gone before Kenny and I finished checking out, which meant we wouldn’t meet again in the parking lot.
The line was slow-moving, and Kenny began to make little noises to show his impatience.
I was sure the woman knew we were right behind her, but so far she was ignoring us as I had hoped.
“Why did George drive?” Kenny started up again, at the worst possible time.
“Quiet,” I said, quietly. “We’ll talk when we get outside.”
Kenny squirmed, laughed, and then bumped into the cart. I grabbed the handle just in time to stop it from banging into the woman, who was now putting her groceries on the conveyer belt.
“Kenny!” I whispered sharply. “Look what you almost did.”
The elderly woman glanced back at us, her eyes indeed daggers, but she said nothing.
Kenny laughed again. “Funny lady,” he said. “Funny—”
I put a hand over Kenny’s mouth, something I had never done, and held him tight to stop his squirming. People waiting in line of either side of us—the same ones who witnessed the altercation in the aisle—stared at us inquisitively again.
“Please, Kenny,” I begged. “Stop. Stop.”
For just a few terrible seconds, I wished Kenny wasn’t who he was, lamented that he would never change, thought how much nicer it would be to have a brother I didn’t have to beg, too often in vain.
The traitorous thoughts made my eyes well up. “Kenny . . .”
The elderly woman finished paying for her groceries, eying us again with derision.
“That’s right,” she said under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear without drawing the attention of the cashier. “You better keep him under control, or someday somebody will call the police.”
She took the two plastic bags of groceries the grocery boy handed her and turned away.
I let Kenny go once she was gone, exhaled, and put the few items from our cart on the belt. The cashier rang them up and they were bagged in practically no time.
“Twelve dollars and twenty-three cents,” she said, holding out her hand, even though I could see the amount on the screen right in front of me.
I slowly counted out the money my dad had given me, trying to delay the transaction to give the elderly woman plenty of time to leave. But it didn’t take long to hand over two five-dollar bills and three singles, and soon I had stuffed a fistful of change in my pocket and we were on our way.
Kenny picked up an empty plastic bag he found on the floor, squealing a bit at his good fortune.
“Fine, Kenny. Keep it. It’s time to go home.”
I wiped the stubborn tears out of the corners of my eyes with the back of my hand and walked with our single bag of groceries to the exit, Kenny by my side.
Kenny broke free from my weak grip on his arm and raced out the door. I think I had held on to him too lightly to make up for the hard squeeze I had given him in line, as well as for my treacherous thoughts he didn’t deserve.
“No!” I yelled, and ran after him.
Kenny made a beeline for our car, waving the plastic bag over his head like a victory flag. To my dismay, I saw that the elderly woman was walking down the same row. The sound of rapid footsteps behind her undoubtedly made her look to see who it was. When she saw it was Kenny, she gave a little cry and quickened her pace.
“Kenny, stop!” I commanded.
To my relief, he obeyed.
The woman kept hurrying, her two grocery bags swinging by her side. Then I saw one of them begin to tear at the bottom. The tear spread until all the contents spilled out, cans and plastic bottles rolling every which way.
I heard her curse, then turn and stoop to pick up a bottle. When she saw Kenny standing there staring at the scene and me not too far away, she gave another little cry.
“Keep him away from me!” She backed off a few steps.
Kenny lowered his head, and I wondered if he understood now what the woman thought of him. But then I realized he was just opening the plastic bag he held. Once he did, he went down on his hands and knees and began to collect all the scattered cans and bottles, reaching under cars and moving shopping carts out of his way so as not to miss anything.
When he was done and all her items were safely bagged again, Kenny crawled toward the woman and rose up on his bony knees.
“Groceries,” he said. He held the bag out for her to take. “For lady!”
She stared down at him, stone-faced. For a few seconds she did nothing, and then she reached out slowly to take the bag as if this might be a trick and Kenny was going to yank it away at the last second. But Kenny didn’t yank it away, and she took the bag and held it up to her heart—or whatever was in its place—her expression unchanged.
“Good,” was all she said. Not, “Sorry I yelled at you,” or “You’re a fine boy after all,” or even a simple “Thank you.” Just “good,” as if that were an adequate thing to say after calling him a monster and a creature and demanding the police.
Kenny popped up to his feet and came running back to me with his usual happy face.
He stood by my side as we stared at the woman, who stared back for only a few seconds more. Then she turned and went to her car, walking slowly as if she knew that “good” wasn’t nearly good enough, only she was too stubborn to admit it.
Kenny and I went to our car and got in. I set our bag of groceries on the seat where Mom used to sit and Kenny immediately returned to his video game in the back seat.
I started the car. The little four-cylinder engine sputtered to life.
“Kenny,” I said before backing out, glancing at him in the rearview mirror, “I’m very proud of you. I’ll always be proud of you.”
“Why?” he asked, not looking up from his game.
“Because,” I said, feeling the tears well up in corners of my eyes again as I shifted into reverse. I figured that had to be from the glare of the sun through the windshield, nothing more. “Just because.”