Clever Magazine, Vol. VI, #1 " Fall Madness " (www.clevermag.com)

Wanna read the latest from Clever Magazine?
Click here and return to the coverpage!

Fall Madness

by Melissa Westemeier

Travis and Brent's mom quit teaching English to pursue her dream of becoming a published writer. Her addictions include strong coffee, flowers, public radio and writing, of course.

I pull to an abrupt stop in the middle of the aisle, the shopping cart jerks my son’s head and shoulders backward and he looks up to see my eyes widen and my brow furrow. “It’s still July!” I wail. Granted, it is the end of July, but for crying out loud! There, where I expected to find sunscreen and mosquito repellent to last us through the rest of summer (which, according to my calendar, lasts until the end of September), I find boxes leaning high against the wall surrounded by the naked wire branches of artificial Christmas trees. Yes, the middle of summer and already the back-to-school supplies take up a mere half-aisle and the Trim-a-Tree department takes shape rapidly in its space.

How did I miss it again? Summer isn’t over! My son needs new sandals, I need sunscreen, and we need bug spray! “Do these morons not know it is still the middle of summer in at least forty states?” I exclaim loudly, hoping for the store manager to hear my disgust.

Vowing never to return to the store again, at least not until the end of October, which of course is impossible, I swing the cart around and head to the nearest counter to inquire where I might find “summer supplies, you know, to get us through the next two months of the current season.”

My sarcasm is lost on a young girl who, despite her nametag and trademark red polo, looks like she should be spending her summer in pursuit of girlhood pleasures like roller skating and swimming at the local pool, not managing the jewelry counter.

Per her instructions, my son and I barrel past racks of back-to-school fall fashions. Bright academic plaid (the style for the past twenty-odd years apparently, although I have yet to see a any girl wear a plaid kilt and oxford where I live) and fuzzy wool wait for eager shoppers to try them on. The remaining racks of tank tops and shorts lie banished along the back walls. What sane person shops for sweaters while covered with sweat?

Eventually, stowed away on the far end of an aisle in the “Health and Beauty” department, I find the sunscreen, five bottles marked half price. Defiantly I grab two bottles and drop them soundly in the cart.

Rounding the corner, still muttering murderously about commercialism and materialism in America to my son who responds by concentrating seriously on sucking his thumb, I discover a teenaged boy labeled “Ed” stocking shelves of diapers.

“I’m looking for bug repellent,” I tell him. He looks at me, baffled by my request. “It’s still summer, you know.” I feel mutinous.

“Um…I think it’s over by hardware supplies. Do you want me to go help you look?” He clearly does not want to get involved with what looks like an angry customer, his voice has all the enthusiasm of a stagnant pond.

“Yes.” This kid will earn his minimum hourly wage today.

As we cut across the store a woman passes by, her cart piled high with sweaters, shirts, corduroy trousers and Halloween candy. How much is too much commercialism? It’s ninety-two degrees outside for crying out loud! I gleefully fantasize about her candy stash melting into a sticky mess well before October.

Ed and I find the bug spray, nestled quietly between mousetraps and light bulbs. I thank him and head for the check out aisles, cart shuddering quickly past a display of plastic masks and wooden scarecrows.

I’m the first person to admit loving the crisp flavors and aromas of fall. The tight and tangy crunch of an apple, the earthy smell of a vibrant pile of fallen leaves, golden squash steaming with melted butter and a hint of nutmeg. I relish the first chill of autumn, bundling my neck against her bite and sting, watching the clouds high in the atmosphere, the sky less intimate that in summer. Fall is a neighborly time of year, the holidays encourage human interaction as costumed children roam the streets each October and families and friends gather around tables to give thanks for sweet potatoes and turkey every November. In autumn, Friday nights ring with the cheers of high school football fans in every town and city, bringing communities together under common identities: Jaguars, Wildcats, Eagles.

Every Norman Rockwell depiction of fall strikes me as charming and delightful. I just wish we could enjoy the season in nature’s time. No other season seems to invite so much hype, perhaps because it is a mere two and a half months according to the calendar, perhaps because it marks a surge in retail activity. Nonetheless, I know I will wear my shorts and sandals through September; I will refuse to participate in this crazed rush through summertime. I will embrace fall in due time, but until I do, I stubbornly shake my fists at the magazines, stores and yes, even the neighbors who insist on succumbing to this fall madness at the end of July.