Time Traveling at Lowe’s
Going back to a place I wish I could forget
I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there. The sporting goods store. I mean, the location was fairly innocuous. It smelled of leather and cool tile and man sweat.
The PA system was playing the Genesis song “That’s All.” This means I was 8 or 9 — maybe 10.
We’d go here every now and then. My dad and me and sometimes my sister.
Maybe pick out some shoes or a basketball or something.
My dad always had to meet with the shop’s owner.
The place was not at all close to my home, but it was where my dad did business for his coaching job and for other things.
I knew by then not to tell my mom where we’d been. Sure, we could say we were out with dad or we ran errands, but I couldn’t mention this place.
I knew, too, that the money dad was spending — well, it just didn’t add up. So, I knew for sure not to talk about what he bought or what he left with.
These were the thoughts I had when I ran into Lowe’s the other day to get a part to fix a broken toilet in my house.
The smells were similar. Phil Collins was singing. And instead of being 47, I was 9.
