Guest Author - Kay Kopit

Part 1 of 5

“Will you stop it?” I nervously repeated to my brother John. “Stop it; I just want to get home before someone sees us.” We were schlepping a huge wire shopping cart filled with a big bird, a big dead bird, and all the accoutrements for the next day’s Thanksgiving dinner. The sign on the cart read, “DO NOT REMOVE FROM PARKING LOT.” I was 13 years old and my sibling 11. John was driving me crazy by jumping on the over-stuffed cart, watching him slip and slide down the icy sidewalks on the way back to our apartment. We had been ordered by our mother to make this mile long trek to the super market because we had just experienced our first winter storm and she didn’t want to drive there with my step-father’s car. She didn’t own her own vehicle. We may have been poor but one thing my mother did try to do was have delicious meals on the table. But, they came with a price, always! The beginning of today’s outlay was; we were frozen to the bone as we pushed the cart through the snow dodging any kids playing outside who might go to our local elementary school. We were both humiliated for not following the rules, (my brother less so than I) and for taking the cart. We didn’t want to be seen by any of our peers, and we were dreading the trip back. Oh yes, we did have to return the empty cart and then walk home again.
In our house meal time was a huge production, even everyday meals. Holiday dinners were especially dramatic. We had purchased everything on the list and didn’t dare sneak any treats for ourselves because once my brother had stolen a candy bar from the drugstore and my mother made him return it and apologize to the druggist. I, too, had taken some colored cotton balls from a friend’s bathroom and was reprimanded severely. Neither one of us wanted to face my mother’s wrath so we made sure we only brought back what she requested. By the time we returned home, the final trip, it was cocktail hour. She and my stepfather “Cee” had just begun to warm up from the bitter cold outside. John and I unpacked the groceries eyeing everything that was needed for the Thanksgiving dinner. We were starving. Actually we were hungry most of the time. The reason being; there were NO snacks allowed in our house and by the time we would finally eat dinner each evening it would be around 8:00 – 9:00 pm. As we were putting away all the items in the refrigerator we spotted a box of Mavrakos Chocolate Turtles on the second shelf halfway to the back. It was new, for we hadn’t seen it earlier. What was distressing for two hungry kids was the sign that read, “PRIVATE PROPERTY, DO NOT TOUCH.”
Wow, this fueled our anger and we began plotting how we could get some of those turtles. We knew Cee had planned to offer chocolate to his guests and that it was hands off for us. We were never allowed the same delicacies as he. Cee had a lot more money than we did and he didn’t like to share. My brother and I were called “It” and “Ut” and were in the way of his codependent relationship with our mother. The food for the Thanksgiving meal was a different story. Because it was a holiday and my dear Aunt Letha and Uncle Wally were invited, we knew we would be fed. But that wasn’t until the next day. We couldn’t stop thinking about the box of candy. We wanted to taste the gooey, rich, caramel and pecan chocolates. So began our scheme.