So much had changed since then

So much had changed.

Since when? He could not remember how long ago it was. But eight years ago he and Doris had been here Christmas shopping. She was tired and had wanted to find a bench to sit down on. By the time they found one, it was too late. The heart attack struck without warning. Now he stood in the parking lot outside that very same bright, extravagant megastore. What was it that had changed since that night? Parking was still as hard as it had been. The same glaring, white-letter sign lit up the sidewalks. The same off-duty sales associates milled around the entrance enjoying the last of their cigarettes.

A honk startled him. He mumbled an unheard apology to the impatient driver and stepped onto the sidewalk. The car screeched past. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Why were there no bell-ringers? He missed their cheery smiles and bright red Santa hats. He missed digging through his pockets for loose change while laughing with them. He missed the warmth their service brought to his heart.

The automatic door squeaked open, letting out a burst of heat, shouting voices, and tinny holiday songs. He hobbled through. A cluster of rowdy school children, unheeding of the sign above the door that said No Exit, pushed past him and out into the nippy December air. He passed quietly through the inner doors and onto the scuffed linoleum sales floor. He was here for his only grandchild—a young boy of eight who liked sports. For years he had dared not come back here—the memories were still too fresh, too raw. Now, perhaps, that too had passed by him. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them in the front pocket of his dress slacks. A young employee in a green shirt stood near, hurriedly unloading talking plastic Snowmen onto a rusty metal shelf. “Excuse me, sir…” the old man ventured. The young man did not turn around. In a louder voice, he said, “Excuse me.” The young man glanced behind. “Need somethin’?” he asked shortly. "Where are your sporting goods?”

“Follow the signs,” the associate suggested, returning to the Snowmen.

“Thank you…” the old man said. He walked deeper into the store. There it was. A gaudily decorated sign indicated the direction of the sporting goods department. As he shuffled down the crowded aisle, he shook his head glumly. Just those eight years ago, a kindly old sales associate had helped Doris find a size four Christmas sweater for her neighbor friend. He had even gone so far as to check in the back when they could not find one that was just right for her.

So much had changed since then.

He passed the small appliances aisle. A loud crash momentarily interrupted the chorus of babbling voices. A tired young woman with a crying baby on her hip had been trying to reach a coffee maker on the top shelf. She had the coffee maker clutched between her arm and shoulder…but a pile of half-price blenders lay around her ankles. Her baby began crying with renewed vigor. The old man went to the pile and silently picked up a box. “No, don’t do that…” the woman muttered, putting her child into the cart and stooping down to take another one. But he was not tall enough to reach the shelf. Gazing at the tired mother with a look of pity, he put down the box and shuffled on. Other shoppers streamed around the pile and her cart as they kept searching for the best deals. No one stopped to help her. But just those eight years ago, he would not have been the only one trying to help.

So much had changed since then.

He found the sporting goods department, no thanks to that brusque sales associate. He tried the first aisle. Basketballs lined both sides. He could not remember if his little grandson liked baseball or basketball better. Two young boys rounded the shelves in front of him. One held a large red rubber ball in his hands and was just a little ahead of the other. They ran forward and wriggled past the old man, laughing and yelling. Then, losing interest in their game, they dropped the ball and disappeared around the corner. The ball rolled to the old man’s feet. What use was it anyway? Gifts held a child’s attention for such a short time nowadays. He closed his eyes and remembered his childhood. A ball like that would have provided hours of games for him and his friends. But now, children’s attention spans had lessened from hours to moments.

So much had changed since then.

The garish cacophony of desperate shoppers rose around him. The old man’s shoulders slumped. He shambled out of the aisle and into the busy main thoroughfare. The crowds surged around him fluidly, paying no mind. Brassy holiday music grated on his mind. The dregs of material lust lay bare and plain on each side. Why bother fighting over the good deal, he thought, when it never was good in the first place? Why bother placating a domineering child with a toy whose newness will wear out in mere minutes? Why bother celebrating Christmas when that was all that Christmas offers?

He must have something to show for his troubles. Why come all this way and buy nothing? He turned down the candy aisle and found a slim pack of gum, one of the five-stick Wrigley’s. Sliding into the long snaking line at the cash register, he took a deep breath and waited. He did not notice the long wait. Neither did he notice the irate business executive arguing with other patrons over whether or not he should be in the express line. Something was miserably wrong. He glanced up. The cashier looked back at him expectantly, her upturned palm outstretched. He handed over the pack of gum and she slid it across the magnet with a huff. “Thirty-two cents,” she said. He fumbled through his pockets but couldn’t find enough loose change. Finally, he opened his wallet and took out a dollar bill. The cashier rapidly counted out his change. He pocketed it and the gum and left. As he strode through the squeaky doors, a small voice called out, “’scuse me, sir,” and a small hand tugged on his elbow. He turned around. A little freckle-faced girl, probably no more than six, looked up at him with a smile. “Did you drop this?” she asked, holding out his wallet.

“Why, thank you! I suppose I did.” He looked up. About twenty feet away, the child’s mother stood watching, smiling warmly. He waved.

“And God bless you this Christmas!” the little girl added bashfully. She turned and ran back to her mother. The old man slid his wallet back into his pocket and smiled.

Some things had not changed since then.