I can remember when I was younger, my mother used to go a bingo hall religiously, every Friday night. Being only six years old at the time and my mother being single, I was obliged to come along. I remember the amount of smoke in the room was thick and palpable, and sometimes it made me queasy. Sometimes I was forced to sit silently next to her, which for a boy of six was agonizing, but the majority of the time I was left to find amusement as I saw fit.

Normally, the rest of the kids would congregate to the playground out back and play ghosts in the graveyard until it was time to go home which was usually around eleven at night. This particular night was a bit cold and slushy and most of the kids stayed inside to make up their own silent games. For whatever reason I went outside to do... well I don't remember what, but I was always the odd kid growing up, and I still go out by myself into the dark 'til this day.

I was kicking around chunks of ice with my shoes and breaking off icicles off the back of people's bumpers when I looked up. There it was. An unlocked car door. I don't know what the hell compelled me to do it, but ever so slowly I opened the car door. It was a beat up old Cadillac, and I was seized with the fear that the door opening would emit a horrible screech that would instantly bring the police and their dogs, crashing down on me.

The door opened effortlessly. Not a noise was made, and there was nary a soul in sight.

I crept as stealthily as I could on those worn-out leather seats looking for something, anything that might hold my attention. In the passenger seat I found a bottle of medicine and in a jewelry box, I found a pair of brooches. They were turquoise and garish, and can be found at any local flea market or garage sale by the hundreds. They are also often cherished by people like my grandmother who keep them for remembering the time I spent my whole allowance on a pair of gaudy earrings. But they are her gaudy earrings. I digress.

I took these brooches, and I put one each in front of the Cadillac's front tires and covered them with snow. The pills, I emptied out onto the floorboard of the car, and some in the slush. If you ask me now why I did it, I could not answer you. I was a snot-nosed little kid, and I could say I didn't know any better, but I did. And I did it anyway. Why did I do it?(why?)

I closed the door quickly and sprinted off into the night never looking back until I got to the entrance of the bingo hall. No one had seen me.

Later, as everyone spilled out to the parking lot, my mother and I happened to walk past the Cadillac. Anything I can remember hoping to expect died in me in an instant. In front of me was this plump old lady with varicose veins on her knees; her floral pattern dress in the dirty sludge, trying to pick up pills that some little-shit bastard had thrown on the ground. She was crying, and talking to herself. I couldn't hear what. All I could hear was the crying. Oh shit, the crying.

I was stunned. the pit of my stomach opened up wide and swallowed any sense of self-worth that I had. I have never, felt so horrible as I did at that moment.

My mother, oblivious to the scene, dragged me woodenly to the car and I was silent for the rest of the night. I wish I had tried to help her pick up the pills and show her the where the brooches were, but I could not make myself do it. I imagine that she never found them, and this brings sorrow to me. Sometimes I imagine that they stuck in her tires when she drove off, and stayed there the whole way home, until the next morning when she noticed a glint on her tires that causes her to take a look. She would pry off the scraped and warped metal that was left, and when realization struck her, she would cry all over again. This makes me weep to even think about today.

This is the most horrible thing that I have ever done, and have I never told anyone, because my shame is so great. I have never forgotten this, nor do I want to. I keep it as a constant reminder of who I am today, and how I have changed.

To the lady of whose name I know not: I am more sorry than you can ever know. Please know this, and find it in your heart to forgive a rotten-hearted little kid. If you cannot, I will understand. I hope the mud came out of the dress.

-Scott Blevins