I watch him stop at the chips, tossing a couple of bags in before disappearing around the corner. I have no idea what just happened, but I’m ready to get out of here and go home.
I reach for a bag of Kisses and toss them in the cart, checking it off my list. I hurry down the remaining aisles and duck into the shortest checkout line. Ollie hops off the end, and I attempt to organize the items to place them on the revolving belt.
“Wook, Mama.” Ollie points to a bouquet of balloons with a massive jet floating high above the rest.
“Those are cool, aren’t they?”
Frankie twists in her seat to see, pulling one leg up to give herself a little leverage. I tug the cart forward and place my hand over her to ensure she doesn’t go anywhere.
Ollie stays put, mesmerized by the helium-filled foil. “I want the j-j-jet.”
“Not today, buddy,” I say, reaching for the divider and setting it on the belt. I drop the milk jugs on the conveyor and then the canned items. “Come on, Ol.”
He doesn’t move. “But I n-n-need dat jet.” His little arms rise and fall at his sides as if that balloon is mandatory for us to get home.
“Ollie,” I warn softly, not needing a meltdown today.
Frankie wedges her leg and foot against the cart again and pushes up. I unhook her and place her on my hip as I unload the rest of the items. Heat and moisture begin to build underneath my sweatshirt like a sauna.
“Huh!” Ollie stomps his foot, crosses his arms, and turns his back to me.
“Ollie, come on. Another day, ok?”
He spins back around, his arms spreading wide. “B-but I need dat j-j-jet!” Tears fill his eyes, and I close mine for only a second, needing all sanity to hold strong for just a bit longer.
As I force them back open, Slade’s cart rolls into our lane just behind me.
Of course.
I’d like to squeeze my eyes shut, wiggle my nose, and transport myself to a different place and time.
“Ollie,” I say again as I drop my box of generic tampons and lotion on the belt.
“B-b-but I need it!” he yells, tears spilling over.
Slade stares at Ollie, who’s planted in the middle of the lane, arms curled around himself, and his face scrunched with anger, pointed directly at me.
The cashier scans my phone and begins zipping my items across the scanner. I turn back to Ollie, watching as Slade squats down beside him.
“Hey, partner.”
Ollie hunches his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out further, trying not to cry.
“That’s a cool balloon, huh?” Slade nods, gesturing to the floating aircraft. “Where’s that plane you had earlier?”
Ollie doesn’t move an inch but eventually gives in and pulls his small metal biplane from his pocket.
Slade holds out his large palm, and Ollie hesitantly sets the plane in it.
“Thisis a cool plane. Way cooler than that one.” He turns the plane over in his hand, rolling it. “They don’t make many like this anymore. Did you know that?”
Ollie shakes his head.
“They don’t. Want to know why?” Slade holds the plane out between his fingers. “Having two sets of wings actually slows the plane down, so they started making them with one set of wings. But, these guys are still the best at doing tricks.” He races the plane past Ollie’s face and into a barrel roll.
The corner of Ollie’s mouth lifts. “You g-g-got to do it like dis.”
Slade hands over the plane, and Ollie shows him a loop de loop. I stand in complete astonishment that the big, growly, tattooed man just talked my kid out of a full emotional stomp-fest and taught him something about one of his favorite things ever. I wonder what else the broody mechanic has jammed up his flannel sleeves.
