Shaky From Malnutrition

Mercury-Marvin Sunderland

“Mom, really, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, honey. You can’t be letting yourself get shaky from malnutrition.”

“I’m just saving my money.”

“You need to eat.”

“Well, I’m at the store right now.”

He was looking at the dollar-store bread. Calculating his budget, he carefully placed four loaves into his empty cart.

“What store?”

“Safeway.”

“No you’re not.”

Julius pretended not to hear her. He grabbed ketchup, jelly, and peanut butter.

“Julius?” his mom repeated.

“What?”

“I know that you’re not at Safeway right now.”

“Yeah well, sue me for having ‘brand promiscuity’ or whatever it is that you weird boomers call not having ‘brand loyalty.’ I have bigger fish to fry than whatever billionaire is going to have their sixth private jet funded by my minimum-wage grocery money.”

“JULIUS. YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT.”

“Mom! I’m not lying to y—”

“That’s not the problem, Julius.”

The background was faintly playing Too Long by Daft Punk. He wasn’t sure if that was the store music or if it was inside his own head. He grabbed four packages of baloney even though he kind of hated that stuff sometimes. He tried to bite his nail, but put his hand away before it was too late.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know I’m not at Safeway?”

He stood there, still. He was staring in the direction of the frozen section at the Rocket Pops. But he wasn’t actually looking at them.

Mom?” he asked again.

She hung up.

He stared at his phone blankly. He then huffed and put his phone into his pocket.

Alright, Mom, be that way.

He grabbed a box of Rocket Pops and then wondered if getting another box would be too spendy. He stared at the one in his cart and got another.

Wait.

He then returned them both.

He then carried on his business with buying the rest of his groceries, not thinking much about anything. He brought them to the register, paid for them all, and walked out with four reusable grocery bags’ worth.

He stepped outside, lugging them all in his arms. The bus stop wasn’t that far away. He could do it. He set off and—

THUD.

He dropped all his bags.

“Mom?”

She was right there. Standing. In the parking lot.

“I knew you weren’t at Safeway,” she muttered.

“Mom—what the—why the—”

“You need to stop lying to me, Julius.”

“MOM. I’M TWENTY-FIVE. HOLY SHIT.”

“Language. You ca—”

“Why are you here?”

She recoiled.

“What?”

“WHY. Are you here.”

She tightened her lip.

“Because I’m worried about your nutrition,” she huffed.

“No, you’re being a stalker,” he rebutted.

“I’m your MOM!”

“Yeah, and you’re a stalker.”

He grabbed his groceries and headed off as quickly as he could with such a heavy load.

“Do you need me to carry that for you?”

“Fuck off, Mom.”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t reply. He just kept going.

She snapped back and grabbed his shoulders. He squirmed in recoil.

“Don’t—talk to me like that,” she hissed.

“LET GO!”

“No. I don’t think you deserve it. You can’t talk to your mother in that way.”

“MOM. YOU CAN’T FOLLOW ME AROUND.”

There was almost no one around. Not that it would have helped much. Strangers are unusually unbothered with these sorts of things.

“No. You’re gonna get in the car, and I’m gonna take you home.”

“I moved out long ago.”

“I mean I’m taking you to campus. You can’t be buying dollar-store groceries. It’s bad for you.”

She took him to the car, and grabbed all his groceries. He sat in the shotgun seat, fuming and quiet. She sat in the driver’s seat and looked at him.

“Mom, I’m a college student. I don’t have the money for Safeway.”

She stared at the new tattoo on his arm.

“Don’t you have a job?”

“Yeah, but I like having nice things every now and then.”

She stared at him.

“So I have to save money with groceries,” he continued. “So I can have money to buy nice things every now and then.”

She sighed heavily.

“Look, Mom, you can sigh all you want, but that’s a real psychological thing. In order to be happy, you have to have enough money to cover all your basic needs, and get something nice every now and then.”

She gripped the steering wheel and huffed.

“Fine,” she accepted.

The drive back to campus was quiet. She helped him unload the car, unspeaking. Left those bags of groceries in his hallway.

“Goodbye,” she said.

“Bye.”

No hug. No nothing.