Vivian and her mother are going to the grocery store. It's a real adventure. Vivian likes this kind of expedition, because she gets to ride in the shopping cart. She looks forward to it in her naïve, childlike way.

As soon as they enter the parking lot, Vivian leaps out of the car and runs up to the line of shopping carts, bouncing up and down eagerly. With a flat expression, her mother puts a coin into the first cart, releasing it from the others. She pulls on the chain, then remembers to put Vivian in the seat. She squeals with glee.

Once they are inside the grocery store, her mother starts piling cabbages, carrots, and kale into the cart. Vivian kicks her legs gently, gazing at her surroundings with awe. She enjoys the vibrant colors of the store, and is fascinated by the orderly appearance of the stacked produce. It's like a rainbow of consumer cubism.

As they make their way out of the vegetable section, the smell of water fades away. It is replaced by the cold, scentless aura of dairy. Vivian doesn't like this section as much, because it is mostly white, and not very colorful. Here, the organization feels more sterile. It's like a hospital. A hospital for cheese.

They then make their way to the pale brown world of baked goods. It sometimes smells fresh, but today it is stale. That's the problem with Wednesdays. Everything is old. Vivian eyes a pretty cupcake with a plastic horseshoe on top. It's blue, and blue is her favorite color this week. They move past it, and she soon forgets about her craving.

They make their way to the checkout. Vivian is fascinated by the rubber carpet that carries the food towards the plastic bags. It's almost magical, in a way. If only the world could be that simple. People would stand on moving sidewalks, never bumping into each other and always heading to the same place. It would be so easy. Vivian doesn't understand why people have to make things so complicated. Wouldn't it be better to go with the flow?

As she ponders this thought, her mother pays for their groceries and rolls the cart out the automatic doors. She pushes it into a stall outside and removes her bags. Heading for the car, she shakes her head in agitation, probably thinking about all of the chores she needs to do. Vivian sits patiently in the cart with her hands in her lap. She expects her mother to return, but to her surprise, her green minivan pulls out of the parking space and drives away. Undaunted, Vivian scoots into a more comfortable position. Maybe her mother is just playing a game.

Hours pass. Vivian is still in the cart. Every once in a while, someone will give her a curious look. She waves at the strangers pleasantly without saying a word. For the most part, people don't notice her. It's always been that way, ever since she can remember. She's just not one of those people that sticks out in a crowd.

By the time her mother's car returns, the sun is setting. Vivian is kind of hungry, and more than a little tired. She's relieved that the game is over. Now she can go home.

Her mother comes running up to her frantically, huffing and puffing like a fish out of water. Vivian reaches out, and her mother wraps her in a tight hug.

"Vivian! What the hell! You let me walk away! Why didn't you say something?"

Vivian shrugs.

"I thought you knew what you were doing . . ."

Her mother sighs loudly, turning her eyes to the heavens.

"You were so quiet that I forgot you were there. Speak up next time, okay?"

Vivian smiles and nods.

"I will, Mommy."

Her mother exhales and lifts her out of the cart. Vivian's legs are very stiff from sitting all day. The car seat is much more comfortable, however, and soon, she feels herself dozing off. She stares out the window with exhaustion, feeling her eyelids droop heavily. Her mother looks at her through the rearview mirror with worry.

"Don't ever let me do that again. Okay, Viv?"

Vivian nods drowsily. Her mother taps her acrylic nails on the steering wheel and sniffs in agitation.

"I just don't understand it. Why are you always so quiet?"

"I'm watching, Mommy," Vivian replies.

"Watching what?"

"The world."

Her mother clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

"While you're busy watching the world, life will pass you by. You can't be an observer forever."

Vivian blinks.

"What am I supposed to be?"

Her mother twists her mouth.

"Whatever you want to be, I guess."

Vivian pouts.

"Then why can't I just watch? Can't I choose that?"

Her mother groans.

"No, no. You have it all wrong! Listen, Vivian: life is not a spectator's game. You have to participate, and for the love of god, don't let people make stupid decisions if you can stop them. Adults make mistakes too, you know."

Vivian cocks her head.

"But why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you make mistakes?"

Her mother smiles.

"Nobody's perfect."

"Can't I be nothing automatically?"

Her mother frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"If I'm always watching, I can't make a mistake," Vivian explains.

Her mother shakes her head.

"Vivian, letting other people make mistakes is just as bad as making them yourself. Don't be a bystander. Be a hero."

Although Vivian is too young to understand this, she is absolutely certain that her mother is wrong. Being involved means putting oneself in danger, so logically, if a person just watches, they won't share the blame when things go wrong. What's the use of getting involved if it puts a person at risk? Vivian's reasoning is flawless.

Of course.