I can talk about this now - long past the statue of limitations. I had a friend, a scheming friend - always up to his knees in ways to earn money without making a living. His ideas went from burying his car in a pit to breaking his arm in a fall at some big-box store. I would never allow myself to be included in his schemes until one time - I realized my role would be a large adrenaline rush better than any drug I had ever taken, so I could not say no.
I wasn't sure how the glass would break - in big, smoothly sharp pieces or tiny safe crystals. Standing outside the window the burger flipper guy looks through, I swung the stolen axe with the angst of a rookie in his first big game. It bounced off. Twice now and the awe of my accomplishment was only vaguely dismissed by the sudden scream of the alarm. Like testing the bathtub water, I stuck out my gloved hand and filled my palm with the falling droplets. I ran as fast as I could - the heat of the rush buzzing around my head.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hardly drive. But I did - I made it home and called him. The next day, he ordered his "number 1" with a root beer. He sat in dead silence and waited for his role in the scheme he devised - not easily visible to the burger flipper now behind a plywood barrier. He took the burger home, cut his lip, got a thousand bucks. I don't even remember how I spent my portion. My biggest regret was tossing that smooth handled into a creek. That was a fine axe.
These days, I wonder what ever happened to my friend. The last time I saw him, he stole a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet.
You pack a lot into a short piece, Delcie. I'm impressed! We see a complex portrait of your criminal past here -- the rush and the plotting, but also your curiosity, the part of yourself that observed the situation even as it happened. My favorite image is your comparison of the shattered glass to bathtub water. I especially like your focus there on the quality of testing, conveying to me your
ReplyDeleteuncertainty, your desire to touch the destruction with your own hand. I feel like I'm with you as you do it, as though time is standing still. That still moment tells your reader a bit of what you got out of the scheme, and you reemphasize the sensory dividends of the experience to us when you tell us that you "don't even remember how
[you] spent [your] portion." Original, interesting work.