There is my Budweiser. That’s all you can think as the yellow aisle marker sign reading number 13 stares you in the face. You don’t stare back. The fact that Walmart doesn’t even have an aisle 13 never crosses your mind. Instead, all you see is the last 12-pack at the end of the aisle, waiting for you to take it. You can hear the beer chanting your name, so you call back. I’m coming, you declare as you start sprinting down the aisle.

But before you have made it very far on your journey, an obstacle sends you sprawling across the floor. Ow. You stand up, a scowl etched across your face, as you examine what has come between you and your Budweiser. It’s a scuffed baseball bat. You prepare to toss it to the side, but the green and navy bat grip forces you to come to an abrupt stop. An image flashes through your head– you, on the baseball field, taking swing after swing, the crack of that exact same bat echoing through the air. But how did my bat end up at Walmart? You think. You must’ve left the bat on the field after practice one day, and a coach probably picked it up and brought it here. But it's been over 40 years since you last played baseball. Why would your bat appear at Walmart now? As you turn the bat around and around in your hands, the memories slowly return. After that game your team lost to your district rivals, you returned to the dugout, only to find that your bat – your lucky bat with the green and navy grip – was missing. Where on Earth did it go? You fumed. Your eyes scanned every nook and cranny before pinpointing your target. Your bat was protruding from the bag of your teammate heading out of the dugout. And it was that teammate. The one who thought he deserved to play shortstop, your current position, and kept showing off to the coaches to try and prove it. You already hated this teammate with a passion, and combined with the anger from the loss of your game, you just couldn’t take it. You sprinted over and yanked the bat from his bag. I don’t tolerate anyone who steals my lucky bat! You screamed, so loud that even the other team turned to stare. Just like that, you punched your teammate in the face. Your brain never considered an alternate reason for the transgression – that your teammate had taken your bat on accident. After all, his bat grip was green and blue as well. Your brain also never processed the fact that the teammate you attacked was twice your size with years of jiu-jitsu experience. Before you knew it, you were lying in a hospital bed with a grade three concussion and four broken ribs, never able to play the sport you thought you were so good at again, the bat with the green and navy grip lying on the dugout steps serving as the perfect reminder of your lamentable decision.

Shaking off the memory, you toss the bat to the side and refocus on your goal– the beer. But before you can take another step, a wooden pole smacks into your head. Groaning, you push it away. It’s a fishing rod, leaning into the aisle. You rub the resulting red mark on your face, waiting for your vision to stop swimming. The first time you held a fishing rod was a long, long time ago. This is how you bait your hook, your grandfather demonstrated. Push the hook straight through… are you listening? You have to pay attention if you want to be able to fish on your own someday! But you continued to zone out. Of course I’m not listening, you thought. Who could with your droning voice? I don’t even care if I know how to fish or not! Rolling your eyes, you wandered off to wrestle with your cousins, ignoring your grandfather’s frustrated calls. On the heels of that memory follows another. You and your friends went fishing down by the creek, casting artificial worms into the muddy water. Your friends returned home with buckets full of bass and catfish, while all you brought back was a broken fishing rod and a bunch of soggy clothes. You reached for the phone to call your grandfather before remembering that he was long gone, shaking his head at you from up in the stars. 

Oh well, you think now, dropping the fishing rod. I never learned to fish, but I’m surviving just fine, right? With that, you continue on your journey to your Budweiser, until the cans of beer suddenly disappear from sight. An oversized casino chip with alternating black and white stripes blocks the aisle in front of you– and your view of your beer. Oh, the casino. What a wonderful place. It all comes rushing back– the chitter-chatter of the crowd around you making bets, the flashing lights of hundreds of slot machines, the musty smell of sweat and perfume. The thought of the casino sends jolts of excitement shooting through your veins. But that’s when the negative memories hit you. It was that one day when you had an hour to kill before work. Naturally, you thought, I have loads of time before my shift. Why not head over to the casino for a bit? I won’t play long. I can still get to work on time. So you hopped into your car and sped off to that enormous building with its promises of easy riches, begging you to enter. You headed inside, and upon feeling that familiar tingling sensation, you couldn’t resist. You sat down for a round of poker, and by the time you checked your watch, your shift had already ended. Nonetheless, the casino became a routine. After a few missed shifts, your boss called you in for a meeting and spoke the dreaded words. You’re fired. Even your jobless status couldn’t convince you to quit the casino. Every time you gambled, you lost money. I’m going to keep on trying until I win something, you thought. Perseverance is good. But before you knew it, your debt had piled up so high that you were evicted from your apartment and forced to eat your meals at a soup kitchen.

Well, why does that matter anymore, now that my brother is lending me money to live on? I have a stable living situation, so gambling wasn’t that bad after all. Shrugging the memories off, you make your way around the gambling chip, and thankfully, your Budweiser becomes visible again. You have just broken into a run to reach your beer when a piece of yellowed paper floats down from the ceiling. Curious, you pick it up. It’s a picture. A picture of a man, one arm resting on the shoulder of a wide-eyed girl, the other wrapped around a blonde-haired woman cradling a squirming baby boy. The family’s mouths are frozen in joyous grins, a moment of pure bliss captured perfectly. But this isn’t just a picture of any family. It’s a picture of your family. Well, your previous family, to be exact. As you examine the picture again, you are hit by the force of your wife’s sheer beauty inside and out, your daughter’s bubbling laughter when you would tickle her belly, your son’s fierce determination to become a Major League Baseball player one day. What happened to these memories? The answer tugs at the edge of your mind, but you try to push it away. Still, the realization comes bursting through. The day you trudged into the apartment after being fired was the breaking point. Your wife confronted you, tears welling in her eyes. I want to get a divorce, she croaked, her voice nothing more than a whisper. At first, you thought you had misheard. What? You frowned. I want to get a divorce, your wife said, more firmly this time. Like divorce, as in we split up forever? There had to be a mistake. Yes, your wife replied. But… but what? Why? What could you have possibly done wrong? You know why. You know I’m sitting at a desk writing papers all day, trying to make enough money to afford basic necessities like food and clothes. And despite what you know, you spend all your time at the casino and pub, washing all my earnings down the drain. And now you come home to me saying you were fired? I can’t live like this anymore. Your kids can’t live with this person for a father. Your mouth dropped open. I’ll do better! You promised. I’ll find another, better job and I won’t go to the casino anymore and I’ll be the best husband and father you could ask for! Please, honey, you begged. But your wife shook her head. I’ve given you too many chances already. Just like that, the person you loved most turned her back on you forever. You could only watch as your wife and children packed their bags and walked out the door. It was just you in your dilapidated apartment, still struggling to understand what you did wrong.

Blinking back tears, you let the picture drift to the ground and attempt to refocus on your Budweiser. But as you trudge towards the beer, it becomes more and more difficult to concentrate. Your family keeps on making its way back into your mind, no matter how hard you try to clear the memories. You’re back there again, sitting on a park bench with your wife, your cheek brushing hers, as the breeze tousles your hair and the last rays of sun slip under the horizon. You’re back there again, standing by the bookshelf, the edges of your mouth curling into a smile as your kids bicker about which bedtime story you should read them. You’re back there again, gripping a baseball bat in your hands, fingers curling around the rubbery grip, cleats digging into the freshly chalked dirt, stomach fluttering when you lock eyes with the pitcher. You’re back there again with your grandfather, his homemade apple cider warming you on a chilly autumn evening, the rosiness in your cheeks fading away as you beg him for more.

But you’re not back there. You’re here. You turn away from your Budweiser for a moment and think. Living in a run-down apartment, relying on your brother for income, your gambling buddies your only company… if only I could go back to when I was a kid. I could’ve changed everything. But you can’t. 

Slowly but steadily, you turn away from your Budweiser and head back up the aisle. 

That’s when you notice the banner hanging from Walmart’s ceiling, the words “WE’RE HIRING” screaming at you in bold, black print. You stop, staring at the sign in silence. An idea starts to tie together in your mind, but unravels just as quickly. Why would Walmart want to hire you, a man who can’t hold down a job? You scold yourself. But how many options do you really have? Before you can change your mind, you force yourself to exit the store and walk to the local library. As you sit down at a computer and start searching for the Walmart job application, your stomach churns with doubt. But you soon realize that you’re tapping your feet against the ground with anticipation. And maybe even excitement for what lies ahead.