“Hey! Young man! Put that driller back! That’s my driller—mine!”
Eva Sobeski could not believe her eyes. The nerve of some people! She reached out her hands to take back the rechargable electric drill she had just a moment ago put into her red-plastic shopping basket.
“I don’t see no receipt in your hand, lady!” said the balding young man, laughing at his own wit as he jerked the drill away and put it into his shopping cart. “‘Sides, you just set it down!”
Eva felt her throat tighten and her breathing become difficult. She darted her eyes rapidly in fourteen different directions, hoping that a clerk or stock boy or someone had seen what this heap of infamy had just done to her. No one near or far met her glances.
She reached towards the young man’s cart.
“Give it back! It was in my basket—you should get your own. Ask a stock boy or somebody if they—ask them to get you your own from the stock room!”
The young man interposed his bulk between Eva and his cart. He was only three inches taller than she was but weighed at least twice what she did. He snickered as she was unable to get past him, and then he began pushing her backwards with the heels of his plump hands.
“Get your own, ol’ lady,” he laughed. “Maybe they got another left, maybe not. With this kind o’ sale it’s ev’ry man for hisself!” Push. “Maybe nex’ year they’ll have ’em marked down ag’in.” Push. “An’ maybe nex’ year you’ll get lucky.”
“You just keep your fat paws off me—sonny!” she said, tears of frustration starting to form in the corners of her eyes. She had needed that drill—and now where was all this going? What had she gotten herself into?
One of the plump pale hands gave her a final shove.
The other plump hand was held back by its wrist.
Eva and the balding young man both stared for several seconds at the large tanned hand that gripped the fat pale wrist. Then they both looked up at its owner.
“Hi, Ma!” said a tall young man. “Have you been bothering this little guy?”
Eva’s jaw dropped as she looked up at the sparkling blue eyes and broad grin of the tan young man. Dimly, she was aware that the plump man was attempting to free his wrist from the other’s grip, but did not dare antagonize him by trying too hard.
Then the plump young man let out a squeal.
Two large, tanned hands gripped his soft, round shoulders, and a new voice, behind him, said, “Kevin, is Ma getting in trouble again? What’s she up to this time?”
Kevin, with his right hand still clamped on the pale wrist, said, “Yo, Brian, I think she was tryin’ t’ get somethin’ from this guy’s cart. Fess up, Ma—is that what you was tryin’ t’ do?”
Eva caught her breath. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and began to chuckle.
“Kevin? Brian? There was—there was this little—little misunderstanding here. This young man here thought that I didn’t want the ‘lectric driller I’d put into my basket. It was the last one they had—and I do want it.”
Kevin faced the plump young man.
“Our Mum thinks it’s her ‘driller,’ sir. Brian and me, we’d like to hear your side o’ the story—before renderin’ any judgment, o’ course. Both bein’ fair men, o’ course. Brian, come around front where the gentleman can see you.”
Brian did so. Kevin was six foot three, and Brian was two inches taller. Both were quite fit, and looked it.
“Sir,” said Brian with a relaxed grin, “us and our Mum would be appreciatin’ it if you would honor us wit’ your own side o’ these do-in’s—if y’ please.”
The plump man attempted to speak, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“I—I guess—.” His voice broke and he coughed a couple times to try and clear it. “I guess I—misunderstood what your mom—I thought it was a basket some—somebody had just left on the counter—it’s her drill if she wants it. My mistake—and I’m really very sorry—ma’am.”
“Well, then,” said Kevin, beaming and releasing the pale wrist. “Ain’t it jus’ won’erful, Ma, when people can come t’gether an’ settle their little diff’rences like this? What a nice young man this is, with his nice way of apologizin’ t’ y’.”
“I’ll just lift Ma’s little ‘driller’ out o’ y’r cart, sir,” said Brian with a friendly smile.
“Are y’ almos’ done, Ma, or do y’ want t’ do a bit more o’ the ol’ shoppin’?” said Kevin, picking up Eva’s red basket.
“I just want that orange extension cord, there. Then I’m ready to go to the checkout,” said Eva. “No—Brian—the twenty-five-foot one. That’s it.”
As the pale young man scuttled down an aisle with his cart, Kevin called after him, “Thank you, sir! You’re a real gentleman! An’ our Mum thanks y’, too!”
As the three of them walked slowly towards the checkout counter, Eva dabbed her eyes with a small linen handkerchief.
“Thank you—men. How can I ever—thank you enough? That man—he—he was—. Are your real names Kevin and Brian?”
“We are, ma’am—though we ain’t really brothers in the strictest meanin’ o’ the term,” said Brian.
“Some o’ the people that come t’ the Saint Patty’s Parade in the city calls us ‘the brothers’ when we march by wit’ our drummers an’ pipers—an’ that’s as it should be. So, Brian lad, how can our Mum thank us?”
He looked at Brian questioningly as he set Eva’s shopping basket down on the black conveyor belt of the checkout.
“Maybe by not hangin’ up ’er phone when next we have our firemen’s pledge drive?” Brian said.
“No! No, y’ silly little mercen’ry basta’d! Tell that t’ strangers! No! Jus’ by comin’ t’ the P’rade next March 17th an’ wavin’ a’ us an’ callin’ out both our Christian names as we go marchin’ by! W’u’d that be all right wit’ you—Ma?”
