Background
The true story of how I was adopted by an unknown stranger I begged money from in a Wal-Mart parking lot.
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This is a continuation of my autobiography. To read the three previous chapters simply click on the blue numbers at the top of each page and the system will navigate you through the whole book.
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Rules. Hermitage Hall seemed to be chocked full of them about every little breath you took. One of the strictest rules of all was that no boy, myself included, or probably more accurately stated, ESPECIALLY me, were permitted to leave the premises for any reason without an escort by an appointed staff member. I didn't care.
After King Tubbo departed my room on the day he informed me I was required to attend his annual Summer Solstice Ball, I loudly slammed the door shut. I was fed up with him, his staff, Hermitage Hall, all their endless demands, and the rest of the whole shebang pertaining to the place. They were dancing on my very last nerve!
I would make an appearance alright. But, not the kind King Tubbo expected me to make. Instead, for the live performance of the day, I would imitate Harry Houdini and magically disappear. Throwing on a white tee shirt, socks, and my Puma sneakers, I nonchalantly made my way down the hallway to the stairs that lead to the foyer of Hermitage Hall.
I passed a couple boys seated on overstuffed lounge chairs. They were reading Batman comic books and wrapped up in Gotham City. Neither one of them noticed my presence, so, I did not speak to either Robbie Kowalski or George Andrews although I knew them well. They were what you might refer to as running buddies of mine.
It felt like a mile and half from where I passed Robbie and George to the electric, sliding glass door entrance to the facility. I surveyed the area to ensure my movements weren't observed by Eleanor Salisbury, the old matron attending the Visitor's Desk. Pushing eighty for all she was worth, the ancient battle-axe was consumed in working a puzzle. One of those Word Finds from what I could tell. So far, Lady Luck treated me well. Usually, she played a mean game where I was concerned.
I scurried outside to freedom. Speedily, I crossed the gravel parking lot that only had four cars parked in it. The vehicles belonged to the staff of Hermitage Hall. I was tempted to key everyone of them as I passed by. Even though it was difficult for me to do, I refrained from those desires.
I realized when the tape was reviewed in the Security Office later that day, which was standard procedure, my decamping Hermitage Hall would become noticed. King Tubbo would immediately place a missing person's all points bulletin, and an AMBER Alert, with local law enforcement officials on me. My advantage was I would have about a two hour headstart on being located.
When found and returned back to the Center, I would face the swiftest, direst, consequences King Tubbo and his henchmen could fathom. If they could get away with such trivial pursuits, I knew they would like to publicly tar and feather me, or boil me in oil. Our disdain for one another ran rampant. Fortunately, corporal punishment was not permitted. However, King Tubbo did enjoy making examples out of boys to prevent others from breaking his precious rules.
Three blocks south, I turned right on to Demonbreun Street. Thirsty, I walked into a Shell gas station even though I had no money in my pocket. A thought entered my mind. The question was but how?
I discovered I had five very sticky little fingers. At the time of entering the station there was a dark-skinned Pakastani behind the counter. He was distracted by a Black woman who attempted to purchase gas on a credit card that denied the sale. The woman became more and more frustrated as they spoke. She insisted there was credit available on the card.
"Likely story," I muttered to myself.
The only other customer in the station was a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair. She must have been around eighteen-years-old, if that, and had a baby in a stroller. Her desire was a carton of milk for the baby to drink. I watched her retrieve Food Stamps from her purse. Enough distractions occupied the sales clerk for me to remove a can of Pepsi from the cooler and head straight for the men's bathroom to consume its contents.
No one was in there. I found an empty stall and entered it. I closed the grey, metal, door behind me and twisted the lock so I could be alone in peace to enjoy my cola. I sat down on top of the toilet seat and quickly relaxed. Then, I popped open the tab. Do you remember how in those days cans of Pepsi had those funky little pieces of metal on top of them?
Slowly, I allowed the cold soda to trickle down the back of my dry throat. It tasted as good as I knew it would. When I was through, I placed the empty aluminum can on the top of the white porcelain toilet tank. I rose, stretched for good measure, and unlocked the stall door.
Swiftly, like a ghost in the wind, I blew out of the store. The Pakastani behind the counter stared at me as I departed. I'm sure he wondered what no good I had been up to? However, he had no grounds to detain me because he had no proof I had committed any misdeeds inside his store.
Was I appalled by what I did? Let's see, appalled means "affected by strong feelings of shock and dismay". Therefore, the answer was no, I was neither of those. Although I never attended religious services, I was no moralizer. I left all that to the preacher.
My Mother had started me down that path, but after her death, which I never have coped with very well, my heart grew as empty as a Monday morning church. Besides, the Pepsi resolved an immediate need I had.
Author Notes
The picture is not me, but the picture captures the essence of this chapter so well I used it.
"You've got a lot to live, and Pepsi's got a lot to give" was their slogan from 1969 to 1975. Thanks, Pepsi, for the quote.
The boy loves Pepsi, by Lilibug6, selected to complement this chapter of my autobiography.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with this chapter of my autobiography.
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