Whether you realize it or not, everyone has expectations. They are weaved into our daily lives, as normal as sleeping and breathing. There are certainly times in life that show you just how many you have, good or bad, and my trip to Legoland, New York definitely made me realize that.

     Vibrant color filled my vision, a thousand shades of red, yellow, blue, and green. They were pieced together in pictures of dragons, flowers, and ships. Sounds of music, talking, and laughter mixed together in a theme park harmony that I could listen to all day long. There were structures and figures made out of LEGO bricks in every direction. A while earlier, I had made everyone pause so Mom could take a picture of me in front of a realistic artist with a large, colorful painting in front of her. It was a little chilly, winter only just slipping into spring, but it didn’t bother me; all my focus was on the amazing sights surrounding me.

     I walked lightly and joyfully along the curb, as graceful as a gymnast on a balance beam, staring out at all the rides and attractions. My family had just finished eating lunch at an Italian place called Brickolini that had delicious pizza. There was so much I wanted to do, and the ideas crammed themselves into my brain, ready to overflow, which is why I didn’t hear my dad the first time.

     “Renee!” Dad called again. I turned swiftly to find that everyone was much farther behind me. “Mom forgot something in the restaurant, so we need to go back for a second.” 

     The only thing I wanted to do was get on more rides, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain. So Max, Spencer, and I turned it into a race to see who could get inside first. Remembering that our table was in a back corner of the orange-brown restaurant, I opted for the side entrance. Spencer followed me as I leapt over a bed of flowers and flew around tables and chairs, the shade of the red umbrellas cooling me even more. I reached the glass door first and flung it open, slipping inside with Spencer close behind.

     The second I saw the concern on my parents’ faces, the second I saw the small crowd around our table, I knew something was wrong. Every single thought of winning the race exited my mind. Besides, Max was already there. His big blue eyes, the ones that matched his brother’s, were clouded heavily with confusion. 

     “Mom, what’s going on?” I asked, wanting to know so badly why everyone seemed stressed. She just shook her head in response, so I pivoted sharply and went to stand by my brothers, out of the way. Even as a kid, it always annoyed me when adults didn’t explain things.

     I waited, watching and wondering, for a few minutes, the scene unfolding in front of me. Other than the crowd surrounding the place where we had just eaten pizza, everything seemed normal. Brickolini was decorated with vintage posters of fake LEGO movies and music, the colors popping against maroon and brown walls. A few plants, real and fake, dotted the room, and glass display cases held awards made out of LEGOs. Lights illuminated the metallic gold edges on the glass. The atmosphere was bright and fun, the noise level split between loud and deafening. 

     The thing was, I’d always been good at piecing things together like a puzzle. I heard the word “purse” exit people’s mouths, a quiet chorus of gossip and concern sweeping over the restaurant like a tsunami. I peered over at the table again, though there was nothing to see. It had been cleaned, completely clear with the chairs empty. 

     It was then I realized that the empty chairs were the problem. 

     Mom wasn’t wearing her purse.

     She wasn’t holding it.

     My mom’s purse was nowhere to be seen. I waited longer, hoping that it would magically pop up so we could get on a roller coaster that turned our stomachs inside out and forget all about this, even though I didn’t love roller coasters. At some point, Dad stormed off to the front, demanding security camera footage, the rest of us just standing around awkwardly.

     “The person came to clean the table, but I didn’t see anyone else over there,” supplied a lady with dark red hair and a black hat that she had put on backwards. A woman sitting with her family said something similar to Mom, reaching over to make sure her son didn’t spill pizza sauce on his shirt. 

     “Mom, did someone steal it?” The quiet, tentative words slid out of my mouth, and I wished I could shove them back in and zip my lips shut. At the same time, I had so many questions that I wanted to get out. 

     “I think so,” she said, but her mind was somewhere else, miles away. Suddenly, an expletive flew out of her mouth, something I never heard from her. Her eyes began to look watery, and I threw my arms around her in a huge hug, Max and Spencer doing the same.

     “It’ll be okay,” I kept repeating, over and over, trying to soothe her.

     “I knew I felt lighter, like I was missing something!” Mom fumed, trying to take a deep breath. It broke my heart to hear her blaming herself. It wasn’t her fault that someone took it. Wasn’t her fault that someone couldn’t do the right thing. Wasn’t her fault that they were greedy, taking and taking for themselves, or inconsiderate, not thinking about how the owner of the purse would feel.

     As I stepped away, I ran through a mental list of everything in Mom’s purse. Her driver’s license and ID, COVID 19 vaccination cards so we could go places, and Epi-Pens for Max and I, since we both had food allergies and you are supposed to carry those with you. Obviously her credit card and money too, I thought. That part annoyed me. 

     Tears pricked my eyes, but I fought them down. I could have easily started sobbing if I wanted to. I could have let the anguish and fear and misery take over. However, there was a little spark of anger inside my heart, flickering on and off, and I desperately wanted to be strong because that would be my way of letting it out. I’d always loved to read, and things like this happen all the time in books. It’s entertaining then, the suspense of wondering who stole something, the shock of when you realize who it was, the joy of possibly guessing the culprit correctly. In real life, it was scary, sad, and, for me, angering. 

     Just then, Dad came storming back. The host had told him they couldn’t look at the security footage from there; we would have to go to the security office. When he asked if they could call, the employee told him the phone didn’t work. Dad was furious, so he left for the security office with Spencer.

     Mom was getting upset again, and as I tried to comfort her, the little spark of anger began to grow, and finally, it blew up. 

     “Come on, we’re going with them,” I said, confident and sure. 

     “It’s fine, we can stay here. They’ll come back,” she replied, inhaling sharply. 

     “No, come on.” The argument popped out of my mouth.

     Mom was quiet, just giving her head a slight shake.

     “Let’s go.” 

     She relented, and I led the way, leaving her and Spencer’s twin, Max, behind, although I stopped a few times to make sure they were behind me. The fury fueled me, and I speed-walked out to the sidewalk. Immediately, a sign reading Security Office with an arrow pointing down the side of the building caught my eye. Everyone outside seemed so cheery. It felt like we were in our own melancholy bubble and everyone else was outside of it, enjoying their vacation. Dad was just coming back with two security officers in tow when we arrived. 

     “Ma’am, could you please describe the purse for us,” a lady with curly blond hair and a shiny badge requested.

     “It’s a gray Tory Burch crossbody bag. It has my license, my credit card…” I tuned out the list of everything inside her purse. Thankfully, she had her phone in her pocket. Dad had already started talking about deactivating her credit card so the thief couldn’t spend any money. At that moment, all I could think was, Why did this have to happen on our vacation? It was supposed to be fun! This is ruining it! My rage had dissipated, leaving me like a dried out well, nothing left to give.

     Time passed, the minutes never defined by anything significant, the details blurred together. One of the security guys handed the boys and I LEGO figures, which gave me a little speck of delight, but the awful situation was hanging over us like a scratchy blanket. I spent the time watching people go by, seeing their smiles, looking at the store across the cobblestone street, and dreaming about other things we could do. The little figure was clutched in my fist, and I looked down at it every so often. 

     At some point, a man poked his head out the door and handed an object to the blond lady, who started to come toward us. The color was pale, a few shades lighter than an elephant’s rough, dry skin, looking softer and less like tree bark. The bright sun allowed me to notice a few glimmers of silver attached to it. The item was familiar, something I had seen on the worn bench in our mudroom, or strewn on the kitchen island. 

     When she got closer, I recognized the object,  Mom’s purse! 

     “We found it! It’s okay!” the lady said, putting an arm around Mom and handing back her bag. Mom looked inside and confirmed nothing was missing.

     “Everything’s here!” she cried triumphantly. As if a switch had been flipped, both of us started sobbing. The tears were a mix of happy and sad. I had to let out the ones that had been piling up from before, but there were new ones marking my relief. Gratitude mounted inside me. I was grateful everything was still there, Mom had gotten her purse, we could be done with sadness, and our vacation could continue. A little part of me was disappointed that the thief had not returned it, that the officers had to find them. I heard someone say it was a waitress, which made sense considering the table was clean when we got back. It didn’t matter though. Mom had her purse. 

     As we walked away, I let pride wash over me. I’d been strong and comforted my mom, making me a pretty awesome kid, I figured. Our vacation was back on track. Everything was okay. In fact, it was better than okay. The security workers must have felt bad after the inconvenience and all the crying because they gave us passes to skip the line on one ride, throwing Max, Spencer and I into a debate about which one we would use it on, strolling down the sidewalk without a care in the world. 

     That day in LEGOLAND, I thought the person who stole my mom’s purse would eventually decide to give it back. I was wrong, but the whole disaster ended up having an amazing outcome. The truth about expectations is that we have a lot of them. They can give you hope, fear, anger, sadness, and joy. You can’t always expect someone to do the right thing, even if that’s what you would do. When something doesn’t go your way, it’s not the end of the world, and you may eventually feel better than you did before. 

-Renee B.