Forever is not Forever

Forever 21 was on the verge of bankruptcy when it was purchased by some company called Forever 91.  No one knew what to expect.  

Grand opening showed a line that stretched from Cheesecake Factory to Red Robin, with a mixture of girls and old ladies.  The girls clustered and giggled as they watched the old ladies laugh at the girls. Apparently they had worn that stuff in 1969, and they looked better in them, way hot. I know I did: hot!

The doors opened and the females moved in quickly and then they screeched to a stop.

When stores close

Where had the store gone?  Where were the skater shorts? Crystal Doll? City Studio? Swimsuits that exist in the strands of fabric only? Jewelry was obscene and expensive.

Forever 91?  The open door provided shopping carts and scooters ready for use, to be used by the 91 group.  Old ladies races to the carts, shrieking and laughing. The lady walkers were the best, quicker. 

styles across the ages

WELL, the carnage did not go well.  Old lady clothes someway appealed to the skinny giggles 16 year old girls. Why, it is not known. 

So there you have it. The Old may be old, but oh my, do not get in their way. The youngsters lost interest, decided to go to local arcades. 

I told my gr-daughter (8 yr. old) about turning store to a Forever 91 really upset her. We went to Starbucks, all was well with the world.

Heading to Las Vegas

https://www.blackartdepot.com/products/old-time-religion-by-ernest-wats

I will be kind…I will smile…were Brenda’s thoughts, as she sat in the family pew, hands folded in her lap, back straight, and eyes focused on Pastor Ben.  No one will know my thoughts.  No one will suspect what I am thinking.

On her left side, her father was ‘amening’ almost in a rhythm, and Brenda had to force her feet from tapping 1…2…3 and hold…1…2…  Her grandmother was waving her hankie in a show of agreement.

Show?  Brenda pondered that word, looking around at other old ladies with their gray hair and dressy hats.  They too were waving their hankies, and some even dabbed at their eyes.

All the other young people were sitting in the back, passing notes, and giggling.  Their heads were bowed, but Brenda knew what they were doing. She was not allowed to sit there, per Grandma's suggestion. The young families were in the middle of the church, with their children.  Brenda could smell the Cheerios and Fruit Loops.

Her mother sat, quietly folding and unfolding the church bulletin.  Fold...2...3..  Mom's hands were red and worn; she had to prepare another dinner for the pastor and family, as well as her seven children. Every Sunday, it was dinner for someone. 

Her mother smiled at her, and briefly made eye contact. Mom never looks anyone in the eye.

That was when Brenda knew.  Her mother wanted to blast out of this church just as badly as Brenda. To escape.

What’ll we do?  Mom, what will we do? 

Her mother wrote a note to her father, which read about checking on the roast and get dinner ready for the pastor, and Brenda had to help.   Her father nodded, not breaking rhythm one bit.

They tore out of the parking lot.  As they drove past their house, Brenda turned to her mother.  Mom?  Mom?

We're on the road.

Her mother smiled, lit up a cigarette, and sped up.  “We’re goin’ to Vegas, girl. I am done fixing dinners every single Sunday for each and every preacher passin' through town.”  Then they headed to the West, the whole 1,000 mile trip. 

Luggage in the back and radio cranked high with Janis Joplin, Brenda and Mom felt happy for the first Sunday in a long long time.

Dad would be at church for another two hours. Praise God.

I wrote this in 2013. This is pretty much the way Mom and I spent every single Sunday. With no help with cooking or cleaning up, she and I would gladly have done this. The memories repeated Sunday after Sunday are fresh, even 50 years later.