I knew that there weren’t any lollipops at the ShopRite courtesy counter.  The basket of lollipops hadn’t been there for a couple of months, but I gleefully skipped over there anyway, like the young eight-year-old I was, after my mom told me I could.  I weaved in and out of cranky, Sunday morning shoppers, and quickly glanced at the glass counter.  Of course, all I found were cigarettes, birth control pills, and teeth whitening strips.  This was right before the accident happened.

            That morning I had lain under my covers, warm, happy, and asleep.

            “C’mon, Brittany.  Time to get up.  We’re going to ShopRite today, remember?” said my mom, in an effort to wake me up.

            “Hmm?  Oh…Wha…?”  I mumbled, still half asleep. 

            “Come on!”  She said impatiently, opening the blinds as light flooded into the room.  “Do you want to go or not?”  I hated ShopRite.  It was one of the last places that I would want to spend three hours of my Sunday morning.  None of the people there were happy, and their bad moods rubbed off onto me.  But, I knew that if I didn’t go, I would get to stay in bed, but I wouldn’t fall asleep.  But then again, I also wouldn’t be able to get my favorite m magazine, or maybe, if I was lucky, a donut.

            “Sure…,” I mumbled again, as I slowly got up and got dressed.  I half-heartedly ate breakfast and trudged into the car. 

            We drove all the way to the ShopRite in Hillsdale, even though there was one close by in Emerson.  My mom said that she hated that ShopRite.  I personally didn’t have a preference.