Flash Fiction / Blogging / Pittsburgh

I remember the time when I was six years old and I had lost the money Mom had given me for a loaf of bread and a quart of milk. It was the first time she had trusted me to go to the store alone. I felt very grown up and happy about it. Then with my arm around the milk and bread, standing in the checkout line with the adults, I had put my hand in the pocket the money should have been in and found the money was gone. I walked through the supermarket five times searching for it on the floor. I retraced my steps back home. I searched my pockets again not believing it was gone but it was gone all right and I couldn't see how I could ever go back home.

So I walked over to the highschool playground and sat watching a pick-up game of basketball some of the older kids were playing, thinking I was going to get it now. Three hours later I forced myself to go home, walking through the shadows of the night time streets, a very unhappy little boy. The worst part was knowing I had let my mother down.

I was crying when I started to tell her what had happened but she didn't care about the dollar as long as I was safe. She hugged and kissed me and said she had gone looking for me and now would have to call the police and tell them I was okay.