At the beginning of the summer, I wanted to work on my writing and try to stay creative. The last couple of weeks I’ve been spending a lot of my time on social media that I’ve been neglecting my writing. Well, it’s time to get back to work.

We stopped for gas at an old gasoline station out in the boondocks. We were on our way to the lake, my uncle and me. It was summer and I was ten years old. I grabbed my small Mexican coin purse that had enough money to buy myself a Whatchamacallit. It was my favorite candy at that time. I walked into the gasoline station and casually strolled down each aisle pretending to be an adult. I was so excited that I was going to use my own money to buy myself something. I was on cloud 9 and I was oblivious to my surroundings. The man next to me pointed to the cashier and said, “He’s talking to you.” I walked slowly around the corner to see what was going on and hoping that he wasn’t talking to me. 

“DID YOU HEAR ME?” The cashier shouted at me. I nodded no.

“Don’t steal anything, you fucking wetback.”  

I had no idea what he meant by calling me a wetback but by the tone of his voice I knew it wasn’t nice. I stood still fighting the urge to cry. I didn’t want him to see me cry. I hate crying in public, always have and always will. I slowly walked out and got into my uncle’s truck. I was silent and that was rare. It felt as if I got punched in my stomach and I got the air knocked out of me. My uncle finished pumping gas and quickly jumped in the truck next to me. I remember looking out the truck window trying my best not to cry or make eye contact with my uncle. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked while reaching over to grab my hand to get my attention.  

 Those two words joined together can trigger anyone to cry. It took a while for me to talk, I couldn’t stop crying. Once I told him everything he walked inside and bought back a Whatchamacallit. I know he said something to the cashier, but I’ll never know what he said, and he will never tell me.  

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