LitStack Flash Fiction Challenge #7
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| Chris Galvin took this brilliant photo. Her blog is always a great read! |
Just Another Saturday
He
traced the shape of a blunted arrow with his finger. The iron gate was covered
in city dust, white and fine like plaster. The early morning sun felt good on
his face. The humidity made it impossible to shake off the slight chill in the
air. He turned to look behind him. He felt like he’d been waiting alone for
hours. Seconds later, a sharp tap on his shoulder made him jump. There she was.
“Hey,” he said nonchalantly.
“Hey,”
she replied breathlessly. Her mischievous smile made this Saturday seem like
any of the last hundred days they had spent going on adventures, eating candy,
and talking about important stupid things.
“Did
you run here?”
“Some
of the girls wanted to say goodbye. I didn’t want them to follow me, but
they’re all slow anyway.” She shrugged with an air of superiority. “You should
take this,” she said, shoving something into his hand. It poked his palm hard
and he flinched as he closed his fingers around it.
“You’re
my best friend.” He hated himself as the words rushed out. His face felt hot. He
examined the dusty flip-flops that were almost too small for him.
“Dummy,
you’re my best friend too.” Just for a second, her face did something he’d
never seen it do. She frowned. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them
away and exhaled, sounding annoyed. She talked fast, as if she were reciting a
poem at school. “I know I’ll be back even if it’s not soon. Grandma says life
is long. We’re ten. Life is still really long!” She gave him an exasperated
look, waiting for agreement.
He
nodded, looking down at his feet again. Her red flip-flops shuffled closer to
his. She threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her back tightly and
whispered their unofficial credo as he let her go, “No one has more fun than
us.”
“We’re
still friends. No matter where we are.” He threw his arms out to punctuate the
statement, and the ladybug pin slipped from his hand. It landed just inside the
gate, but one of the wings was missing. His heart dropped into the soles of his
feet. The broken wing had flown into the tiny space beneath the café’s inner
door. They looked down at their found treasure and remembered how delighted
they were to discover the wings opened when the antennae were pressed,
revealing the broken clock inside.
He
dropped to his knees and picked it up, half of the dead clock exposed. He
rubbed it on his shirt and looked around frantically for a stick. “It’s okay. I
can fix it.”
She
shook her head. “Just leave it, Superman. It’s just like we found it.” Giving
him one last hug, she turned and ran—fast—toward her house. As she disappeared
around the corner, he looked into the closed café, then shoved the pin into his
pocket and ran toward the other end of the city.
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