Mom, The Kidnapper
The marketplace bustled with car honks, chattering people, hawkers and robust children. I was seven years old and clutched my mother’s hand like a drowning person would grab a lifeboat. She pointed out fluffy dresses and said that she would buy them later for me. Uninterested, I would simply hum in agreement; I have always hated crowded places.
We strolled around for a while and browsed a few shops before we decided to buy a dress. She intricately examined the fabric and the price-tags. Before I knew it, mom had paid for the dress and was heading down the steps.
Distracted by the fifty-percent off sale, she wasn’t aware that I was not standing right next to her. A little girl was near her and absentmindedly, she grasped the girl’s hand and tugged, assuming it was my hand. To my surprise, the girl began to wail thunderously and drew the attention of everyone. After mom realized it was someone else, she withdrew her hand.
The girl’s mother glared at my mom as she suspected that mom was trying to abduct her child. She began to yell profanities and I raced to the spot to hold my mom’s hand. After she saw me, she stopped muttering offensive words and understood that it was a misunderstanding. My mother explained and then, both of them laughed it off.
Mom often joked about trading me for a better kid and after this incident; I clung to her in markets and tried to appreciate shopping.