THE LIP SMACKER CHRONICLES, PART II:

When we left our (hopelessly flawed) hero he was caught, dead to rights, with stolen property. Contraband. Misbegotten goods. Lip Smackers, to be exact. Two of them. Once again, the stuff was not for me. It was for my fourth grade sweetheart, Erin Burns. So there I was, with the lip-gloss on my bed, in full view, when my mother bursts in. She knocked but it was a simultaneous knock-knock as she opened the door. More of a “Here I come!” than a “May I come in?”

There was no time to think. I had to do something to save, not only myself, but my mother as well. Discovering her 9-year-old son had just swiped lip-gloss from a drugstore could easily ruin her day as much as mine. So I threw myself down on the bed, smothering the emotional hand-grenade those Lip Smackers had become. But it was too late. Where one of them slid safely down between the wall and the bed, the other one slipped out the other side and clattered across the floor, stopping at her feet.

Any resistance was futile. I tried, believe me, but she wasn’t havin’ it. So, I spilled the beans. Interestingly, she wanted to know all the particulars about the actual heist. Whether she planned on offering the store security advice, or was planning a similar operation of her own, I did not know. But I told her everything that happened. When her questioning turned to motive, it suddenly seemed even worse that I was fully planning on adding ‘trafficking’ to my list of offences. Especially since it clearly wasn’t going to happen now, anyway. My mom unwittingly provided me with just the out I needed. Based, no doubt on a misadventure from a couple years previous, involving a fork and the cinnamon scented candle from our dining room table, she said, “Tell me the truth, Mark. You were going to eat these, weren’t you?” Ummm… yes.

Didn’t do much to diffuse the situation, however. She left me alone to think about how I could have done what I’d done. What I did think about is how I could have done what I’d done differently that might have ended up with me skating around the gym with Erin burns.

I didn’t have much time to ponder. My door flew open. No knock at all, this time. Just my jacket flying at me. “We’re going back to that store, Mister, and you’re going to tell them exactly what you did.” (I reeeeally thought this might be one of those things best kept in the family, but I didn’t have a whole lot of input at this point.)

A few minutes later, we were on our way across the parking lot, my mom trying to pull my arm out of the socket. On the way in, the automatic door was slow in opening and she kind of banged into it. “How do I know that’s gonna’ come back on me, somehow?” I remember thinking. She was furious. She’d actually gotten angrier on the way over, like she was working herself up to make sure she could honestly say, “Look, no one in this room is more upset than me.” Thereby saving me from a certain trip to “Juvie”. I knew I could count on her if it came down to it. And it did.

The manager met us up front. He was sporting a short-sleeved yellow shirt and a striped tie. He had a big mustache and his stringy hair was combed way over from one ear to the other. Everything about him screamed, “Stay in School, kids. …And watch what you eat.” He crouched down to look me in the eye when my mother said, “This is my son, Mark. He has something to tell you.” He leaned in closer. He smelled like baby wipes. “Do you have something to say, Young Man?” I nodded, reluctantly. “Well,” Bob proclaimed, “Maybe we’d all better head back to the office.” Awww crap.

But, the office didn’t quite hold the intimidating prestige I was fearing. My Dad had an office. It was dark, with lots of wood and books all over the place. I wasn’t allowed to go in there by myself. Bob’s ‘office’ on the other hand, was a brightly lit room with lots of tables and chairs. I was told to sit in one. Bob had just squeezed himself into the one across from me when another employee came in holding a paper bag. Bob seemed a little thrown now that we all knew we were sitting in the break room. But we proceeded. Bob asked me again what I had to say. I looked at the floor when I pulled out the Smackers and said, “Earlier today, I took these.” “Stole them!” My mother corrected. “Stole them,” I repeated, “…and I’m really sorry, and I’d like to pay for them.” I then reached in my pocket for the two dollars of indentured servitude my mom had given me on the way over.

Bob sent us on our way, after he gave me a lecture about consequences. I got the impression it was a subject he knew intimately. The ride home was silent. I was sent back to my room. As I passed through the kitchen, I smelled tater-tots. Mallory was up to something funny on “Family Ties”. Postcards from a happier time. A life I wasn’t sure I’d ever know again. The “Lip Smackers” were gone. (Which didn’t seem right, since I’d now paid for them.) It wouldn’t matter in the end. My mom decided my punishment would be that I would not be attending this year’s Roller-skating Party. Erin Burns would be skating with another. Smelling just as fruity as ever.

I went to my mailbox the other day to discover I’ve been summoned for Jury Duty. And it’s about friggin’ time. I was beginning to think the folks down at the courthouse didn’t respect my opinion. How else can it be explained? I’m a seemingly normal, law abiding citizen… for the most part. I drive. I vote, usually. That’s it, right? That’s the criteria? I know tons of people that have been called four, five times. And not exactly pillars of society, either. Lemme tell ya’, if these people are comprising a jury of my peers, I can afford to go ahead and lower the bar a little bit. So why in the World haven’t I been called until now? I have all the documentation. It’s not like I’ve been flying under the radar. I have a card that saves me extra money at my local grocery store. I even have a few magazines delivered to my house, the address of which has remained the same for a couple years now, by the way. So I’m legit. What else has a guy gotta’ do to be handed control of another person’s destiny?

I’ve been waiting for this day. There are a lot of bad people out there. There are also good people, wrongfully accused. I’ve always thought I’d be pretty good at sorting just this sort of stuff out. I watch Law and Order. (But not too much.) I’m custom made for Jurisprudence. I probably would have gone to Law School… if I didn’t find a job moving furniture as soon as I dropped out of undergrad. Regardless, I’m thirty-five years old now, and not once have I been asked to hear all the evidence, weigh it carefully, and hand down my judgment. Finally. My doubt has always been reasonable. Time to be taken beyond it.

I stole a strawberry flavored “Lip Smackers” from the drugstore when I was nine. It was for Erin Burns. Screw you, I loved her. And so did everybody else. I had to separate myself somehow. There’s not a judge in the land that would’ve put me away. …I probably shouldn’t bring that up in the interview. That’s the kind of stuff that’ll get you dismissed right off the bat. I’m not sure I could handle that. I’ve waited way too long for this. Oh God, no. If they ask me a couple questions and deem me unsuitable, I might have to break something, just so I can stay.

Ohmygod!! I never even thought of that. What if I have warrants? What if I state my name and serial number and they drag me away on the spot? Ohmygod, what’s my serial number? They probably already know all about the “Lip Smackers”. Maybe I should bring it up before they do. Awww, crap. Erin Burns will be called to testify. I’m going to need a good lawyer: “Isn’t it true, Ms. Burns, that you gave the accused every reason to believe that if he could produce said ‘Lip Smackers’, you would finally accept his invitation to the roller skating party?” Damn right. Bitch set me up. It won’t matter how good my guy is, though. The trial will reach crescendo when the DA asks her if she can see, and identify, the skater in question. She will stand and point at me. Just like she did the day I came to school with toilet paper hanging out the back of my pants. And I’ll absolutely lose it. The bailiffs will drag me screaming from the courtroom. All because I finally got called for Jury Duty. Well, lemme' tell you, if those people think they’re going to get me down there under the guise of some undesirable juror sweep, and hit me with some bogus “Lip Smacker” charge from Twenty-five years ago, they’re nuts.

I have to leave the country. No… wait… maybe I’m getting all worked up over nothing. Maybe they really do want me to serve. Of course they do. Sure, I have a mark or two on my permanent record. No one is trying to deny that here today. But surely there’s a statute of limitations on such things. Besides, I gave back those Lip Smackers. True, only because my mom found it in my laundry. But as soon as she came up the stairs I spilled the beans. She marched me back in that store so I could make my confession. It killed me to see her siding with that store Manager. I could tell she didn’t like him any better than I did, but still she nodded at every word that passed under his self-righteous comb-over. On the ride home I got the strange impression that she was a little relieved to find out I’d pocketed the contraband for a girl in my class and not for my own use. …Like a life of crime was better than a life of accessorizing and orientation issues. She’s probably right. Maybe not, though.

Come to think of it, my mother made several questionable decisions during those formative years. Maybe if this first gig goes well, we could put her on trial. We being the many friends I’m undoubtedly about to make, within the legal community. Nothing official. I’m not bringing any formal charges yet. It’s under investigation. That’s all we can really comment on at this point. We’ll probably just get together on Wednesday nights to stage mock proceedings. That’s what we do. We’re jurors. If you don’t like it, file a complaint. We’ll take it under consideration. By the way, Mom, if you could avoid any extensive travel, we’d prefer you stay within the jurisdiction.

I sincerely hope that each and every one of you has done something despicable enough to find yourself in the Defendant’s chair during my tenure. You will find me to be firm, yet fair, regardless of your race, creed, sex or lifestyle. This Jury Duty thing is pretty important business and I plan on being reeeeaally good at it. Oh, yeah. They’ll want me back. Soon. Some of you might think I’m getting a little too into it. You may be right… but I’m not the one on trial here.