I don’t like the store. It smells like too many things. Perfume and fish and plastic and metal and something cold and wrong.
The floor is shiny and too bright. The lights above make a buzzing noise. Do other people hear it? It never stops. It’s like the lights are angry.
People are everywhere. Moving. Talking. Laughing. Walking past me too close. Too close.
I stay by the cart. My hands cover my ears.
Mom says we’ll be fast.
A kid bumps me. I scream. Not loud, but sharp. He looks scared. I didn’t mean to scare him. I didn’t want to be touched.
A woman stares. I hear her say, “If that were my kid…”
I try to disappear.
My feet won’t move.
I want to leave. I want my soft things. My music. My space.
But I stay.
I always stay longer than I want to.
