{"id":7737,"date":"2026-10-30T18:47:59","date_gmt":"2026-10-30T18:47:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/?p=7737"},"modified":"2026-10-30T18:47:59","modified_gmt":"2026-10-30T18:47:59","slug":"i-stole-forty-dollars-when-i-was-sixteen-so-my-best-friend","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/?p=7737","title":{"rendered":"I stole forty dollars when I was sixteen so my best friend …"},"content":{"rendered":"

I stole forty dollars when I was sixteen so my best friend, Lois Kerner, and I could run off to see the ocean. We got as far as Ohio. We swore we\u2019d try again when we were eighty, and three years ago Lois stopped calling. Her daughter told me,\u00a0\u201cMom doesn\u2019t want to see you anymore.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\"May<\/p>\n

The money came from the cash box at the feed mill in Rensselaer. My daddy managed the place, so it was his cash box, too. Lois had her brother\u2019s Ford, and we had a road map and two Pepsis. We thought we had a plan.<\/p>\n

We didn\u2019t get far enough to see the ocean. State police picked us up at a gas station outside Lima and took us home. Daddy didn\u2019t make a big speech. He told me I\u2019d work every Saturday that summer until I\u2019d paid back every dime.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou knew that was my money,\u201d<\/span>\u00a0he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you thought you could just take it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI thought we\u2019d get there before anybody noticed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He looked at me for a moment.\u00a0\u201cYou\u2019ll work it off.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I did. I was ashamed for years. I\u2019m still a little ashamed, though Lois and I got a lot of laughter out of that failed trip later. She teased me about it until the day she married.<\/p>\n

\u201cNext time we\u2019re going all the way, Cindy,\u201d<\/span>\u00a0she said.\u00a0\u201cWhen we\u2019re eighty, and nobody can stop us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

We shook on it. Then life came along.<\/p>\n

I worked in the feed mill office for forty-one years. Everybody calls me Scoop because I weighed out grain for half of Jasper County. Lois raised four children on a farm outside Wolcott. We lived our separate lives, but neither of us let a birthday pass without getting in touch. Not one in sixty years.<\/p>\n

Every October, she\u2019d remind me,\u00a0\u201cYou still owe me a Pepsi from Ohio.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPut it on my tab,\u201d<\/span>\u00a0I\u2019d say.<\/p>\n

We\u2019d laugh like girls, and for a while we were girls again. The joke belonged to us. So did the promise underneath it.<\/p>\n

Lois called every Sunday afternoon on my landline. My grandkids think I\u2019m a dinosaur for keeping it, but I liked knowing where to reach her. If I missed a call, I could call back. We didn\u2019t need to arrange anything first.<\/p>\n

Then the Sunday calls stopped.<\/p>\n

At first, I thought she might be busy. I called her and got no answer. I sent a birthday card. Nothing came back. I tried again, then waited, telling myself I was being patient and not worried.<\/p>\n

After a while I drove out to the farm. There was a sale sign in the yard. Lois had moved to her daughter Brooke\u2019s house in Columbus, Indiana.<\/p>\n

I called Brooke.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs Lois there?\u201d<\/span>\u00a0I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s here,\u201d<\/span>\u00a0Brooke said, but she sounded short with me.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I talk to her?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMom doesn\u2019t want to see you anymore, Cindy. Please stop calling.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t have an answer ready.\u00a0\u201cDid I do something?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe doesn\u2019t want company.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCould you ask her to call me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Please stop calling.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The call ended. Sixty-three years of friendship, and I didn\u2019t even know what I was supposed to apologize for.<\/p>\n

I told myself there had to be a reason, though I couldn\u2019t find one. I went back through old birthdays and visits in my mind, looking for the moment I\u2019d missed. Maybe I\u2019d said something careless. Maybe I\u2019d stayed too long. Maybe Lois had simply grown tired of me. People do. I was afraid I had needed her more than she needed me.<\/p>\n

Last month I saw Brooke at the county fair, in the pie tent. I went up to her before I could talk myself out of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cBrooke, is your mother mad at me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She looked down at her pie ticket.\u00a0\u201cShe\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen why won\u2019t she speak to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe just doesn\u2019t want company.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that what she told you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke didn\u2019t meet my eyes. \u201cI have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

She walked off and left her pie on the table. I stood there with my purse, hurt enough that I couldn\u2019t breathe right for a moment. I went home without knowing whether I had asked too much or too little.<\/p>\n

My son told me to let it go.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, you can\u2019t go banging on that woman\u2019s door,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t bang.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I mean. Folks up there will think you\u2019ve lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let them think it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t say I was wrong. He just asked me to be careful. That night, I lay awake wondering if showing up would be selfish. I also knew I couldn\u2019t live with the question forever.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Our birthdays are three days apart in October. The week we both turned eighty, I packed a bag and a road map, for old times\u2019 sake, and drove three hours south on 65 in my old Malibu. I\u2019m not proud of my driving. I\u2019m proud I made it.<\/p>\n

Brooke\u2019s house was a brick ranch with a wheelchair ramp out front. I hadn\u2019t known Lois needed one. That made me pause, but it didn\u2019t turn me around.<\/p>\n

Brooke opened the door about four inches.<\/p>\n

\u201cCindy,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s our eightieth. We had a promise. I want to see her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stepped into the doorway with her arms out. Behind her I could hear a television turned up loud. Lois always did love The Price Is Right.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs she in there?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLois!\u201d I called. \u201cLois, it\u2019s Scoop!\u201d<\/p>\n

The television went quiet. Brooke\u2019s face crumpled like a little girl\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease,\u201d she said. \u201cShe made me promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPromise what? What did I do to her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t do anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let me see her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke started crying. \u201cShe\u2019s got a coffee can in her closet with your name on it, Cindy. She\u2019s been saving for that beach for three years.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked past her into the house. \u201cThen why on earth did she stop calling me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke wiped her face on her sleeve and lowered her arms.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Mom can\u2019t hear you on the phone anymore,\u201d she said. \u201cShe kept missing what you said, and she was embarrassed. She made me promise not to tell you. She thought she could save enough, go with you at eighty, and you wouldn\u2019t have to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

The answer was ordinary. It was also the first one that made sense. The loud television, the calls that ended, all those Sundays with no explanation. I had spent three years thinking Lois had stopped wanting me. She had been trying to keep one part of our promise.<\/p>\n

Brooke opened the door wider. \u201cShe can hear some things if you\u2019re close. But she\u2019s been avoiding the phone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes she know I\u2019m here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe heard you call her name.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen ask her if she wants to see me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke looked toward the back of the house. \u201cI was supposed to keep you away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know what you promised. Ask her now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She went inside. I stayed by the doorway, still holding my bag. I could hear a few quiet words, then Lois\u2019s voice, rough and raised.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell her to come in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke came back alone. \u201cShe wants you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I walked in. Lois was seated in the living room, turned toward the doorway. She looked older than the last time I\u2019d seen her, and so did I. I came close enough that she could make out my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, Lois,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She smiled. \u201cScoop.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStill owe you that Pepsi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t forget.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted to tell her how many times I had called and how ashamed I was that I\u2019d thought she was done with me. Instead I sat beside her. I had driven all that way, and there was no need to spend the first minutes making her carry my hurt.<\/p>\n

Brooke stayed in the room. She seemed unsure whether to leave us alone or keep watch.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet the can,\u201d Lois said.<\/p>\n

Brooke hesitated. Lois turned her face toward her.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke went down the hall and returned with a coffee can. She set it on the table between us. It had Lois\u2019s name on it and mine. Inside were folded bills and coins. No number, no note explaining the years. Just the money she had put aside for our trip.<\/p>\n

Lois touched the edge of the can. \u201cI kept thinking I\u2019d get enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did,\u201d Brooke said. \u201cYou saved it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to call her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could have told me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Lois looked at me, working to follow my words. I leaned closer and repeated them.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t want you to hear me missing everything,\u201d she said. \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to have to repeat yourself. It was easier to wait.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could\u2019ve asked me to repeat myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke glanced at the can. \u201cI thought I was helping.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou told me Mom didn\u2019t want to see me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Brooke\u2019s eyes dropped. \u201cI didn\u2019t know what else to say. She asked me not to tell you about her hearing, and I thought if I kept you away, she could explain it herself when she was ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could have told me she wasn\u2019t up for a visit,\u201d I said. \u201cYou didn\u2019t have to tell me she didn\u2019t want me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d Brooke took a breath. \u201cI was trying to keep her promise, and I made you think you\u2019d lost her. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lois\u2019s mouth tightened. \u201cYou should have let her come.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had been waiting so long to hear there was a reason that part of me wanted to ask every question at once. But Lois was right there, and Brooke had admitted what she did. I didn\u2019t need to make the room any harder for Lois to follow.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m here now,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Lois nodded. \u201cYou came.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke moved the can closer to Lois. \u201cThat\u2019s what she\u2019s been saving.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d I said. \u201cWe can still go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lois laughed. \u201cAt eighty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEspecially at eighty.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke looked from her mother to me. \u201cYou can\u2019t drive all that way by yourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can drive,\u201d I said. \u201cJust not as confidently as I used to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat isn\u2019t what I mean,\u201d she said. \u201cI can take you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lois watched her daughter\u2019s face. \u201cYou\u2019ll come?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you want me to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want Cindy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll come too,\u201d Brooke said. \u201cI can help.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the first time since I arrived that Brooke seemed to understand this wasn\u2019t a visit she had to manage for Lois. It was a promise Lois had made with me. Brooke had been trying to protect her mother, but she had also made herself the person who decided whether I could be part of Lois\u2019s life. That stopped at the doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to come,\u201d I told her. \u201cBut you can help us get there.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded. \u201cI\u2019d like to.\u201d<\/p>\n

We didn\u2019t leave that day. We spent the rest of the visit talking in short stretches, with me repeating things when Lois asked. When she got tired, I stopped. I had spent years imagining a dramatic explanation for her silence. The truth was that she had been embarrassed, and I had been left to guess.<\/p>\n

Before I left, I told her I\u2019d call the next Sunday.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot on the phone,\u201d she said, smiling. \u201cCome over.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll come over.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke heard us. \u201cI\u2019ll make sure you get in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to make sure,\u201d Lois said.<\/p>\n

Brooke accepted that without arguing.<\/p>\n

The next Sunday I drove back. Brooke opened the door all the way. Lois was waiting in the living room, and I sat close enough for her to hear me. We talked about the trip in pieces: where we might stop, what she wanted to bring, whether I should drive or let Brooke take the wheel. We did not decide everything in one afternoon. We did decide we were going.<\/p>\n

Brooke drove us toward the ocean with the coffee can in the car. Lois kept it close, though she didn\u2019t need to. We stopped when we needed to and took the rest of the trip at a pace we could manage. When we reached the beach, Lois and I stood together looking out at the water.<\/p>\n

\u201cI told you we\u2019d make it,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said eighty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was right.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time since we were sixteen, the ocean was in front of us. We had made it together.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I stole forty dollars when I was sixteen so my best friend, Lois Kerner, and I could run off to see the ocean. We got as far as Ohio. We … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3333,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[23,21,22,1,5,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7737","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aita","category-daily-article","category-reddit-stories","category-story","category-story-daily","category-viral-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7737","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7737"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7737\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7738,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7737\/revisions\/7738"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3333"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7737"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7737"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7737"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}