REMEMBERING AN EVENTREADINGS
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entrance, my heart began to race. I just had to get out of that store. Only a few
more yards to go and I’d be safe. As we crossed the threshold, I heaved a sigh of
relief. I was home free. I thought about how sly I had been and I felt proud of my
accomplishment.
An unexpected tap on my shoulder startled me. I whirled around to find a middle-aged
man, dressed in street clothes, flashing some type of badge and politely asking me to empty
my pockets. Where did this man come from? How did he know? I was so sure that no one
had seen me! On the verge of panicking, I told myself that all I had to do was give this man
his button back, say I was sorry, and go on my way. After all, it was only a 75-cent item.
Next thing I knew, he was talking about calling the police and having me arrested
and thrown in jail, as if he had just nabbed a professional thief instead of a terrified
kid. I couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Jean, what’s going on?”
The sound of my sister’s voice eased the pressure a bit. She always managed to get
me out of trouble. She would come through this time too.
“Excuse me. Are you a relative of this young girl?”
“Yes, I’m her sister. What’s the problem?”
“Well, I just caught her shoplifting and I’m afraid I’ll have to call the police.”
“What did she take?”
“This button.”
“A button? You are having a thirteen-year-old arrested for stealing a button?”
“I’m sorry, but she broke the law.”
The man led us through the store and into an office, where we waited for the
police officers to arrive. Susan had found my grandmother and brother, who, still
shocked, didn’t say a word. The thought of going to jail terrified me, not because of jail
itself, but because of the encounter with my parents afterward. Not more than ten min-
utes later, two officers arrived and placed me under arrest. They said that I was to
be taken to the station alone. Then, they handcuffed me and led me out of the store.
I felt alone and scared. I had counted on my sister being with me, but now I had to
muster up the courage to face this ordeal all by myself.
As the officers led me through the mall, I sensed a hundred pairs of eyes staring
at me. My face flushed and I broke out in a sweat. Now everyone knew I was a criminal.
In their eyes I was a juvenile delinquent, and thank God the cops were getting me off
the streets. The worst part was thinking my grandmother might be having the same
from her remembered thoughts in pars. 5–8?
How does your understanding of Brandt deepen or change through what she writes in pars. 16–18?
READINGSBRANDT / CALLING HOME 21