Holes

            by Daniel Moreno

 

“I stole it.” She said this so casually, like it was something she had jotted down on a grocery list. Milk, eggs, apples, shoplifting, lettuce, you know, one of the essentials. I had been scanning through her closet, helping her pick a shirt for that night, when my eyes fell upon a particularly ratty and conspicuous hole in the side seam of her t-shirt.

“You stole it?” I didn’t really know how to react. Something so devious and unlawful simply hadn’t ever occurred to me. I had always thought that people who shoplifted were tainted and corrupt, perhaps by fault of neglectful parents or a poverty-stricken childhood.

“Yeah,” she replied, taking the shirt in question from me. “You just rip out the little alarm thing and walk out the store.” She motioned toward the hole that had first caught my eye. Then, as nonchalantly as any person could have managed, she held the shirt up against her torso and looked into the mirror.

“It’s cute, right?” she asked, still acting as though she hadn’t committed any crime.

“Um,” I still didn’t really know what to say, but managed to force out a response nonetheless. “Yeah, definitely. It’s hella cute.”

There was so much more I wanted to know. Suddenly I found myself looking at Gina in a new light. Perhaps because she was quickly becoming one of my closest friends, instead of frown upon her sticky-fingered escapade, I couldn’t help but see her with a sense of admiration and envy. She seemed so bold, so daring, so risky, so cool to my innocent 15-year-old self.

After a few minutes of silence and her pulling more clothes from her closet my curiosity took over and I couldn’t help but ask, “How did you do it?”

“What?”

“The shirt, how did you take that shirt?” The eagerness in my voice must have been clearly audible, because a very satisfied grin suddenly slipped its way across Gina’s face. I felt my cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment. Here I was, almost at the end of my sophomore year, not once having “smoked a bowl,” been out past one, drunk alcohol, or snuck out of my house, and I was asking how to shoplift.

“Oh,” she said, obviously relishing the moment. “It’s easy. I’ll take you some time,” she paused to pull out another shirt, also with a hole in the side. “If you want.”

v   v   v

“Hi, this is Ella’s cell phone. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back. Thanks… beep.” I snapped my cell phone shut and took a seat on the edge of my bed. It was almost a quarter to noon and I had been ready and waiting for more than twenty minutes. Gina had called at about 11:30 saying that she and Ella were on their way.

I let myself fall back onto my bed and closed my eyes. I didn’t really know what was going to happen that day. All I knew was that we were going shopping in some mall out in Concord. If I happened to walk away with a few new shirts and a full wallet then so be it.

After a few moments of quiet I was startled by the harsh sound of my cell phone vibrating its way along the top of my shelf. I sat up, grabbed it from its resting place, and read on the screen “Gina’s Cell.”

“Hey,” I answered. “Are you guys outside?” I slid off the edge of my bed and scanned the floor for my shoes.

“Yeah,” Gina’s voice replied over the crackly cell phone line. “You ready?”

“Yup, I’ll be out in a sec.” I jammed my heel into its stubborn shoe and hurried down the stairs and out the door. Ella’s long beige Volvo station wagon sat shuddering and sputtering in front of my driveway. Gina turned to me in her giant tinted sunglasses and smiled.

“Hey sexy,” she called. “Get in the car.”

I pulled the backdoor open and slid inside. Ella’s smile shone brightly as she turned around in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” she said, her soft voice easing my nerves slightly. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good, how are you guys?”

“Good,” they both replied calmly, casually. Ella turned back to look over her left shoulder, then pulled away from the curb and into the street.

About twenty minutes later we were pulling into the bright, sunny parking lot of an expansive mall. Ella pulled into the closest space we could find and shut the car off. We opened our doors and stepped out into the baking heat of inland California. I pulled off my sweatshirt and was about to toss it into the backseat when Gina stopped me.

“Keep it on,” she said.

“Are you kidding me? It’s like a million degrees out here.” I didn’t get why she would make such a senseless request.

“Just keep it on,” she insisted. “You might need it.” The look in her eye told me to trust her, so I pushed my arms back into the sleeves and tugged my sweatshirt back over my head.

As we crossed the packed parking lot my stomach began to bubble up uncomfortably. My neck started to burn from the harsh rays of sunlight pouring out of the sky, and my skin began to prickle underneath my heavy sweatshirt as we stepped up off of the asphalt and onto the reddish, tiled sidewalk. Just as I thought I might spontaneously combust from the intense heat and many layers of clothing, the glass doors before us parted and we were all hit with a wall of cool, stale, shopping mall-grade air conditioning.

“Where should we go first?” Gina’s voice pulled me from my nervous daze, though I still remained quiet.

“I hella want to go to Aber. I think they’re having a sale.” Ella spoke next and paused for our approval.

“Ooh, yeah, there’s these jeans I saw online that I want so bad,” Gina agreed as she began to walk towards Abercrombie and Fitch.

“Ugh, I hate Abercrombie.” I finally broke my silence. “I never get anything from there.”

“Deal with it,” Ella said jokingly as I rolled my eyes and trudged after her.

We walked into the store and were met with a wall-sized black and white photo of a shirtless, blond, statuesque man. The backbeat of some remixed techno song pulsed against my ears and the harsh smell of perfume and new clothes made my head throb.

“I like how they sell clothes but all their adds are just pictures of people who are, like, naked,” I said sarcastically as my eyes passed over the many posters of stick thin, bikini-clad girls and perfectly sculpted, half-naked pretty boys.

“Just shut up and shop,” Gina teased and headed off into the girls’ half of the store.

“Yeah, um, no thanks,” I shot back and followed Ella as she trailed after Gina.

“Excuse me?” Ella stopped in front of me, her hand on her hip. “You need to deal with your separation anxiety,” she said sarcastically, referring to my inability to shop alone and without constant feedback and reassurance. Still blocking me from joining them she added, “go look at the guys section and pick something out.”

“I can wait ‘till you’re—”

“Oh my God, just go.” She spun me around by my shoulders and pushed me into the other half of the store. I laughed and rolled my eyes again, this time in defeat.

As I strolled casually around the tables and racks of clothing my nervousness began to subside and I finally felt somewhat normal, as if I were just going shopping with some friends. I passed over a tin filled with flip-flops and stopped in front of a tall shelf of t-shirts. I scanned them from floor to ceiling, reading over the half-baked puns, double entendres, and lame sexual innuendos. As I continued through the store, my eyes fell upon a rack of “destroyed” jeans. All along the pant legs were small rips, tears, and ratty holes, only those were supposed to be there.

After stalling a bit longer, joining the girls on their side, and reassuring Gina that she would wear her jeans if she bought them because “they’ll go with everything,” we were out of the store. A few girly stores and an American Eagle later, we were in front of the plastic tiki façade of Hollister. Once again I tried to follow Ella into the girls half, but she simply turned around and pointed into the guy’s section. I reluctantly stepped back as my eyes adjusted to the dark lighting.

I passed through the disorderly shelves and tables of clothes, picking up shirt after shirt. When I was satisfied with the size of my stack, I headed back to the girls’ half, where Ella and Gina were already at the end of the long line for the dressing rooms.

“Did you find some cute stuff?” Ella asked, stepping closer to the dressing rooms as the line slowly shrank.

“Yeah, definitely.” I held up my many finds.

After a few long minutes of inching closer to the head of the line, we were finally next. A very frazzled looking young woman covered in Hollister logos, a fake tan, and a large heap of discarded clothing made her way from the back of the corridor towards us. After heaving her stack into a bin on the floor she led Gina and Ella to the biggest dressing room all the way in the back. Only moments later the one right next to them freed up and I hurried into it.

Hollister’s dressing rooms aren’t rooms so much as they are three-foot-wide closets with heavy linen curtains instead of walls. They are set one right up against the next so that, if you aren’t careful, you might accidentally poke through into the stall next door while adjusting your curtain. As I hooked the heavy drapery shut my nerves began to catch up with the situation. I suddenly felt light-headed and my heart pulsed like that inane music back at Abercrombie.

I looked down at the floor in order to steady myself. Excess clothing covered the beach-like wood panels and poured into the stalls surrounding mine. It was then that I realized why Gina wanted to steal from Hollister. There were simply too many people and piles of clothing to keep track of. The frazzled employee hadn’t even counted our items before letting us in.

“Daniel,” a sharp whisper shot through the thick dingy cloth and into my ear.

“Yeah?”

“Come in here,” Ella slowly pulled open the curtain to their larger stall. “Are you naked?”

“No,”

With that she pulled open my curtain as well, forming an L-shaped, extra large stall with mine. A bench lined the back wall of their room, and it too was covered in clothes that people had left behind. Gina had already begun to rip the small off-white security devices from the seam of a tank top. Ella followed suit and grabbed one of her selections, pulling at the glossy plastic device at its side. For a moment I just stared in hesitation. I could feel each beat of my heart in my fingertips, and suddenly I was very aware of how vulnerable we were to someone barging in.

“Just do it,” Gina whispered, noticing my apprehension.

I pulled a shirt from the stack thrown over my shoulder and grabbed the stiff device. As I slowly wedged it through the seam, stretching the fabric uncomfortably, I heard a small, harsh rip. I looked up to see Ella with a device in one hand, and a sweater with a large, gaping hole in the other. I let out a laugh, but quickly covered my mouth. Suddenly our nervousness pushed us over the edge, as we all convulsed with fits of giggles. Ella decided to throw caution to the wind and began brutally ripping out tag after tag from each garment. Gina grabbed the first sweater and stared at the large tear.

“Oh my God, Ella you’re such a sav,” she laughed, stuffing the newly de-tagged clothes into the bottom of the Abercrombie bag so that they were hidden by her new jeans. Again Ella did the same, but I was at a loss of what to do, as I didn’t have bags from a previous purchase.

“Shit, what do I do?” I asked, getting panicky.

“Just put it on under your shirt,” Gina said rationally.

“But it’s long sleeved,” I continued to panic, since I had decided to go short-sleeved that day.

“So wear your sweatshirt over it,” Gina said in an I-told-you-so voice.

Without another word I stepped back into my separate stall and once again hooked the curtain shut. As I pulled my own shirt off and began to put on the new one, Gina whispered that they’d meet me back in the girls’ section. I wanted to argue, afraid of being alone, especially at a time like that, but I said nothing and continued to pull my shirt over the new one. My skin began to prickle again as I put my sweatshirt on. After pushing the sleeves of the shirt up and under those of my sweatshirt, and checking for a last time that I looked normal, I pulled the curtain back and waded through the many clothes and people and into the girls’ section.

Ella and Gina were busy pretending to browse, and I saw Gina slip the removed tags into a pair of jeans sitting on a shelf.

“Do you like this?” Gina held up yet another tank top, trying to act casual.

“Yeah, it’s cute,” I replied. I kept my voice from shaking as my head screamed for me to get the hell out of that store. I knew it was probably better if we lingered for a minute or two, so as to avoid suspicion, but at that moment the only thing I wanted to do was get out of the mall and back on the road.

“Yeah, I guess it’s okay,” Gina agreed. She sloppily refolded the tank top and walked passed me. “Get rid of your tag,” she hissed into my ear.

I realized that the small security device was still bouncing around in the pocket of my sweatshirt. I quickly grabbed hold of it and snuck it into the front pocket of a jacket hanging to my left.

“Are you guys ready to go?” I asked, trying my best to sound as casual as possible.

“Yeah, definitely,” Ella replied, dropping a pair of jeans back on the shelf and joining me.

Gina followed us as we walked to the front of the store. My head pounded furiously as we neared the exit. My breath quickened and my heart began to stomp angrily against my chest. I saw the harsh fluorescent light of the mall against the white linoleum floors. I brushed past an employee who was busy refolding t-shirts on a small shelf. I forced myself to look straight ahead, out of the dark, beach-themed store and into the light-flooded mall. Just as we were about to reach the exit I hesitated for a split-second, half expecting the alarm to go off, but it didn’t. Finally, I was bathed in light, cool air, and the smell of cheap pretzels.

As we made our way back to the car I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. I was no longer some naïve little boy, but a full-fledged, crime-committing teenager. As I reveled in my victory my heart rate finally began to return to normal and I breathed a steady sigh of relief.

“Shotty,” I called out as soon as Ella’s Volvo came into view.

After Ella opened the doors I swung myself inside and sat in the baking heat of her car.

“Oh my God, it’s so hot in here.” Ella daintily fanned her well-manicured nails toward her flushed face.

“Yeah,” I agreed, removing my arms from the sleeves of my sweatshirt. “Finally I can take this shit off.” As I tossed it into the back seat, Ella drove out of the lot and away from the mall.

“So how much did you guys get?” Gina asked, leaning forward onto the backs of our seats.

“So much,” Ella replied. “I took like four shirts.”

“Yeah me too,” Gina said.

“I only got one,” I said, now getting somewhat disappointed.

“Whatever, dude,” Gina reassured me. “You know we’re about to go back again soon, so just wait until then.”

v   v   v

Over the next few weeks my wardrobe grew considerably, as did my confidence and my friendship with Gina. With the freedom of summer came the reckless abandon of curfews, rules, and parents’ trust. I began to explore with Gina what I used to think of as the dark, dangerous underworld of high school socialites. I went to my first high school party with her, I took my first sip of alcohol with her, I even nibbled on my first bits of a very special kind of cookie with her. Through it all, I didn’t once doubt myself. Gina had passed on to me her carefree coolness, and with it the typical arrogance of the “untouchable” teenager.

v   v   v

“It’s fine,” Ella insisted. She lay across my bed with an impatient look sprawled along her face.

“Are you sure?” I held up my newest shirt again, this time with the large gaping hole pointing towards her. “I mean, it’s not obvious?”

“Daniel,” she put on a stern voice. “If you’re trippin’ that much then just sew it up.”

“You think I should?”

“I already told you the stupid hole isn’t even that noticeable, but if you care so much then stop crying and sew it up.”

“Ok, fine.” I couldn’t help but giggle at my softhearted friend’s attempt to be forceful. I folded the shirt back up and stuffed it into my tightly packed drawer. I skimmed over the many t-shirts once more before sliding the drawer shut, then I turned back to Ella. “Has your mom noticed anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Ella replied. “I mean, whenever I come home with hella shit I just tell her we went shopping.”

“Yeah, same here,” I said. I looked down at the seam of the shirt I was wearing. I could see a small bit of my flesh through the hole. “I’m just waiting for my mom to notice.”

v   v   v

I opened the doors of our supply closet and searched the shelves for my mom’s sewing kit. Luckily she was at some meeting in Sacramento all day so I wouldn’t have to explain my sudden need for her mending supplies. Seeing the worn wooden box, I reached out and took it into my arms. I closed the doors of the closet, turned on my heels, and padded back up the stairs and into my room, shutting my door behind me.

I set the box down, next to a hefty stack of t-shirts in need of repair. After sifting through the many colors of thread and picking out the closest matches I could find, I got to work. My ineptitude as a sewer became quite apparent as I repeatedly poked my fingers and fumbled with threading the needle. Finally, many mended holes later I was finished. Well, finished with the five shirts I had chosen for that day.

Since I still had a few more to go I decided to slide the box under my bed and continue some other time. I refolded the shirts I had just completed and stuffed them back into the drawer.

v   v   v

Only a week or so later I was forced to put back the sewing kit, as my mom had questioned its mysterious disappearance. I still had a few shirts to go, and I didn’t feel comfortable enough to wear them unless they were mended. I became impatient and once again found myself in front of the supply closet. This time, however, my mom was sitting only one room away, engrossed in some project she had to finish if she “wanted to get paid.”

I quickly grabbed the box from its place on the shelf and attempted to hide its somewhat bulky form behind my body. I slunk back up the stairs and into the safety of my room. Confident that I hadn’t been noticed, I once again started on my shirts. About an hour later I was on my very last one, when I heard my mom’s voice calling up the stairs.

“Hey, sweetie? Are you done with my sewing kit yet?”

The needle in my hand stopped dead in the fabric of the shirt, and I sat frozen in my room. She may have seen me, but there’s no way she could suspect what I was doing.

“Um, yeah,” I called back down. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

“Okay, no rush.”

v   v   v

I carefully forced the security device out of the seam, keeping the resulting hole to a minimum. A few feet away Gina and Ella were stuffing de-tagged clothes into their large purses. I had been smart enough to request a large bag for my purchase at the last store, so I had a place to put my things. After making sure my bag didn’t look overly bulky, and laying my sweatshirt over the clothes in it to hide them from any onlookers, I left the dressing room.

Moments later I was joined by Gina and Ella. After performing the routine “after dressing room browse,” and emptying our pockets of all tags, we decided we were finished at Hollister.

Suddenly, as Ella was refolding a pair of jeans she had been eyeing, a silence-shattering beep began to call from the front of the store. The squawking alarm met my ears and my breath tripped over itself in my throat. Although we were rid of all alarm tags, and nowhere near the exit of the store, we all eyed each other nervously. After a few minutes an employee disabled the alarm, announcing to the shoppers that it was malfunctioning. Still quite shaken up, I looked over at Gina and Ella, who had gone back to fake-browsing.

“You guys ready to go?” I forced a smile and gripped my bag tightly.

“Yeah,” Gina replied as Ella nodded in agreement.

As we made our way from the back of the store my heart started to pulse in that familiar angry way against my chest. I forced myself to believe that I would be fine, that nothing actually happened, and it was just some faulty wiring. We continued through the tables of clothing, coming across two men standing side by side. One was obviously an employee of the store and didn’t look a day over 23. He wore ripped, paint-splattered jeans, a t-shirt with the name of some fake surfboard company, and a pair of leather flip-flops. The other man looked to be in his mid-30s, with clean black slacks, a crisp blue button down shirt, and glossy black shoes.

As we passed them I tightened the grip on my bag again. I looked up to smile casually at the two of them, then my heart nearly shot from my chest and onto the floor. The older man had begun to lean ever so slightly forward. His eyes and his head were aimed down, right into my bag. A thousand scenarios shot through my mind, each one ending with my arrest. My breath tried to escape in a yell, but I found myself unable to speak. I could only press on to the exit of the store, praying to some higher power that the alarm wouldn’t “malfunction” again. Finally, I was once again bathed in bright light. After a few hurried steps and a nervous glance back, I found my voice and put it to good use.

“You guys,” I tried to refrain from sounding panicky. “Some guy who looked like he worked here just tried to look in my bag.”

“What?” Gina turned her head back. “Are you shitting me?”

I shook my head no.

“Can we leave?” Ella said nervously.

“Yeah, we need to get out of here,” Gina agreed, for once sounding unsure of herself.

We walked briskly to the parking lot, trying to maintain some state of inconspicuousness. After reaching the car we threw our bags and our bodies inside and sped away.

“Oh my God,” Ella fanned her face with one hand and held the wheel with the other.

“Yeah, that was all bad you guys.” Gina said from the backseat.

“It’s okay though,” I began to calm down. “It’s okay. They didn’t see us, we didn’t get caught, we got hella stuff, it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Ella agreed, also calming down. “That was just so scary.”

I remained silent for most of the ride home. As I looked out the window at the passing cars I began to wonder what would have happened had we been caught. Things would never be the same between my mom and me. I had managed to keep my new less innocent lifestyle secret from her. I was almost sure she had no idea that I had been going to parties and lying about where my clothes came from. If I had been caught, she would have lost so much trust in me. I hated the thought of that.

After getting home, I went up to my room and whipped out the old needle and thread. As I sat sewing up that day’s catch, I thought back to a time when I didn’t even know weed cookies existed. A time when I hadn’t been out past one in the morning. A time when I could count the laws I had broken on two hands. After finishing with the very last shirt, I closed the sewing box and headed downstairs.

Once again I stood in front of the supply closet. I bent forward to place the box back onto the shelf. I straightened back up and closed the doors.