The scanner beeped as I ran it over the red box of cigarettes. I looked up at a boy with thin whiskers.

"Can I see ID? You look kinda young-ish," I said with a smile.

He fumbled with his wallet for a moment and I awkwardly looked at the young man. The driver's license snapped down on the counter and I scanned it for a birth date, not the expiration date, there it was. Eleven, thirty, nineteen-ninety-four. Is he old enough? I'm sure he is. I joined the army the day he was born. Eighteen and twenty-two make forty.

"Doing math..." he said, breaking into my thoughts.

"Oh sorry. I'm sure you're old enough. I joined the army the day you were born. But your mom probably doesn't think you're old enough, unless she's like my mom, then she wouldn't care," I said, and felt awkward, like I was just babbling.

"Oh, my mom cares," he said.

"When I lived in Texas," I began, "there was a little boy who mowed my yard. He was a nice boy, and he worked hard, but you had to get after him a bit, and only pay him after the work was done. Dark skinned kid, with hair that was always buzzed with a number two guard." I watched to see if the kid I was talking to was listening, I saw interest in his eyes so I went on with my story.

"Over the years the kid grew up, but it happened so slowly that I never noticed. Until one day, I was walking in the park and I saw him sitting with a bunch of girls, wearing a 'wife-beater' and smoking a cigarette. I came unglued. I grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and stomped on it.

"'You're not old enough to smoke,' I said. My face was hot.

"'Miss-Paula, I'm joining the army next week. I'm old enough.'"

The boy in the convenience store and I shared a smile.

"Have a good evening," I said.

"You too," he said, as the door chimed at his leaving.