***
She ran fast; her bare feet chewed up by the dirt road, hair
stuck to her sweaty face, right hand jammed deep into her pocket. She knew he
was right behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around. She just kept running.
In her pocket she felt the coin pressed deep into her palm.
She imagined that when she finally pried it loose, George Washington’s face
would be burned into her flesh. Maybe
forever. She’d seen his sharp profile staring at her from under the porch and
wiggled her arm through a crevice in the wood, all the way up to her shoulder
before she managed to pinch it between two fingers. She’d pulled it out and
licked it clean and had admired Mr. Washington for only a moment when the boy
had yelled,
“Hey! That’s mine!”
And she’d started running.
Turning the corner tightly now, almost running into the
building. It was kind of hard, running with one arm pumping and the other
stuffed into the pocket of your dress. Don't
turn around, she thought, and then, falling victim to the jinx, glanced
behind her.
He was right there.
Right there, so close she didn’t know how she hadn’t felt his breath on her
neck. So close that he could reach out and push her lightly, just enough to
make her fall. She felt tiny pebbles dig into her knees and the palm of her
hand. She rolled over in the dirt onto her back and he jumped on her, sitting
square on her stomach.
She kept her hand in her pocket, elbow locked, George safe
in her closed fist.
“That’s mine,” he growled, pulling at her arm.
“Is NOT!” she yelled between clenched teeth, “Finders
keepers, and ain’t no way you dropped that dumb quarter under the porch! If
you’d lost a quarter, the whole town would’ve heard you crying about it!”
He grew still and leaned down, his face blotting out the
sky.
“Don’t you do it!” she squealed.
He stuck out his tongue. Fat and pink and wet, he let it
dangle there, spit sliding down the sides. “Beware the Tongue of
Dooooooooooooom!” he slobbered, and moved closer to her face.She screamed and jerked her knee up hard, slamming his
delicacies into his pelvis and making his whole face go white.
“Oof,” was all he
could manage to say before he rolled off of her and into the dirt.
She didn’t wait to see if he was okay. She was up and
running again, fists closed tight, arms windmilling, feet scraped all to hell,
but the end in sight. The drugstore stood tall and gleaming at the crossroads.
Through the glass doors she could see people smiling and laughing, clean and
cool and safe. No one in there had been chased in.
“Give it to me!” she heard him yelling, recovered and in pursuit.
But he was too late.
She pushed open the doors and made a hard right. Her hand had
cramped up around the quarter and, for a minute, she was afraid it wouldn’t
open. But it did, and she held the coin between trembling fingers. She could
see him through the window, storming towards the door. She carefully placed the
quarter in the slot and turned the handle once, twice, and back again.
Plop.
She closed her eyes and made a quick wish.
Red.
Her favorite. His favorite, too.
He threw open the door and she gave him a long look before
popping the gumball into her mouth. She smiled, and began to chew.
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