One of those rare, strange moments. It’s just Grandma and me. We are at the local five- and-dime. Grandma is somewhere. She is always somewhere near me, while at the same time I am always alone daydreaming. I wander up and down the aisles of the large barn like store. I hum tunes as I survey rows and rows of brooms and sponges and buckets. The store seems devoted to cleaning.

Then my eye catches the breezy movement of fabric. At the very back of the store high on racks are ladies underthings. Even though I’m a girl, I can’t help but find it strange and, frankly, just not right to be eyeing rows and rows of large white brassieres, panties, and slips right here in public. I stop in amazement at the largest pair of panties I have ever seen. I survey the white elastic, slippery fabric and wonder how on earth a lady’s behind can get that big and what if that was going to happen to my behind?

I want to touch the dangling fabric, but I feel indecent and a little afraid that the man at the counter will holler at me if I choose to slide my fingers up and down the humongous white panties. I panic and quickly step away to see what is in the next aisle. I ponder at the various plastic and foam curlers, wondering how my straight blond locks would look if I used them-- when I see something that makes me stop cold.

I swear it’s a hallelujah chorus encircled in a fuzzy, bright halo of light as they sing “Praise Jesus.” I am nearly blinded by this brightness when I realize what I am actually seeing is rows and rows of silver and gold sparkling shoes. God is speaking to me alright.

I move closer to touch the heart-stopping divinity. I didn’t even know that such a thing existed in our town. I thought these exquisite shoes were only worn on beautiful women in the late-night black-and-white movies that the public television showed.

During summer weekends I would stay awake until two o’clock in the morning, trying to keep my eyes open, my fingers holding up my involuntarily closing lids. I wanted to be those beautiful women on the television screen in those old movies. I wanted to wear jewels and furs and glittery dresses and shoes. I wanted to talk like them as I raised my eyebrow and laughed at handsome men who begged me for a kiss. I wanted to be a movie star. At last this was my chance. These shoes will make it all come true.

My grandma with her hair covered in a blue scarf with pink curlers popping out and her swishing cotton plaid Bermuda pants interrupted my reverie. She yanked me away by my elbow. I have never asked my grandma for anything; pretty much all of my extras were supplied by an allowance my mother gave me when I stayed with my grandma. These shoes were not something I had the money for; they cost much more than a comic book or a candy bar. I was desperate. I pleaded to my grandma. “Grandma, please, please buy me these shoes.” I didn’t tell her why, how could I say, buy me these and I will become a movie star. Somehow I knew that wouldn’t swing with her. You didn’t tell Grandma your dreams, your hopes, your thoughts. You didn’t tell Grandma anything. She just yelled and you went outside.

My grandma was shocked by my request and gave me a look as if she might lock me up in the crazy house. “Those aren’t for little girls; those are old lady slippers. Let’s go.” Some kind of huffing followed after her words.

Old lady slippers? Grandma was sadly mistaken as I watched her scuff along the wood planks up to the counter to the man with the staring eyes. “Grandma.” I jumped in front of her before she could make it to the counter,” Please, oh please, I have to have them.” Do I tell her? Do I tell her that she is standing between me and my future as a movie star? I stared at the black, cat-shaped, eyeglasses with the silver stones. Could she be trusted with this information, and would she even buy them if I did tell her? My grandmother snorted and muttered to herself, “Nonsense…old lady slippers. They won’t fit you.” She sighed with exasperation.

I knew it was over. I was never going to get those shoes. I forced myself not to look back; I might be blinded by their beauty, and my heart would never be able to take the disappointment if I looked again. I made an angry scowl at my black and white canvas sneakers and dug the white leather toe across the floor for a dramatic effect. The man with the staring eyes blinked at me with a warning, but I continued to drag my feet behind the strange whispering mutterings of Grandma as she took her coin purse out and paid the man. We exited the large creaking door with a paper bag full of sponges and cloths.

The sun hurt my eyes, and as I turned away from it, behind me I caught sight of the five- and- dimes’ window display. I winced at the dark- haired plaster mannequin wearing my “movie star slippers” in a knee-length white slip, her crooked wig in large plastic curlers as she held a mop and a bucket.

I muttered under my breath all the way to the blue pickup truck. Grandma handed me the paper bag. I opened it up and stared at the cleaning items and then on the bottom I saw something. A pair of humongous white panties.