Stealing

I steal things. More accurate: I used to steal things. It started with a candy bar when I was four. I believe it was a Crunch Bar, and I stole it from a White Hen Pantry that is now a Mexican restaurant. I confessed to my sins later that day, and got smacked across the face and hit with a belt. I didn't steal candy again after that, but I continued to steal.

I didn't steal on a regular basis, just when the urge hit me. I went from candy bars to rolls of quarters. My mom worked at a currency exchange, and when I had to hang out with her during summer breaks, I'd reward myself with rolls of quarters. I shared my loot with my brothers. We spent the money on arcade games at the Elk Grove Bowling Alley. No one ever questioned why someone my age had so much money.

From quarters, I moved to cigarettes, from cigarettes, I went to Gold's gym memberships, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and sweatpants. I think I even took money from the gym, as well. When I was in college, I took my brother's motorcycle without asking, which is pretty much the same as stealing. I think the last thing I stole was love and affection.

I don't steal anymore, but I still feel guilty about my past.