The Strangest Places
Stealing to Lose
His heart pounds faster, beating to rhythm of a techno song. He runs, flying is more correct. His hair flies back, (he should cut it soon, never finds the time) and the wind crashes against his face. He tugs his leather jacket closer to himself, hiding the incriminating evidence. (Happens to be Aladdin's bread from Rainbow Elementary's school play) 'It's a prop,' he thinks, 'get a new fucking loaf of bread.'
Though this adventure is much less dangerous than a high speed chase, (he's had plenty of those) it's exhilarating enough. Enough that the a frenzy of parents and teachers chase him around the corner, and he runs straight into the nearby convenience store. (Convenient, very, very convenient.) They run past the store, not noticing the young hoodlum hiding behind a large bag of Tortilla chips. He sighs, and places the bag back onto the shelf.
Yes, he stole the bread for a reason. He needs to eat, and the school uses real bread for that scene. He needs to feed his mom, and she has no job. Actually, she has a job, but spends all of her “hard earned money” (He doesn't know what she does, but as a kid he always wondered why she paid people in one's) on pot.
He looks out the store window -it's dusty, and not very clear- he can tell the angry mob of PTA is gone. He walks out of the store, the cocky walk replacing his extious run. He turns onto 25th and two cop cars and a motorcycle are waiting for him. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes, and walks towards the policeman. The cop – short, blond, big nose- cuffs him and tosses him into the cop car. “It's just a fucking prop. Why do you need this many people for a loaf of bread?” He mutters, staring at the back of the driver's headrest. He thinks about Aladdin, and how all the guards went after him when stealing the bread. He and Aladdin were a lot alike. Except, well, Aladdin had gotten away.
When he's down at the station, they call his mother. She hurries her way over, and scolds him for his ridiculous acts. “Why would you steal stale bread from Rainbow Elementary? Huh? At least when you stole a four-hundred thousand dollar car, you had the decency to pick a good crime.” She pays his bail, (She has special money put away for these events) and brings him home.
They reach the apartment – one bedroom, one bathroom, box kitchen, and tiny T.V- and she sits him down for a “talk” He gets shoved into a kitchen chair, and a cold hard stare. She ponders what to do, pacing in front. He follows her with his eyes. Back and forth, back and forth. She is mumbling, he can tell by the small sound escaping her lips.
“That's it. I can't take care of you anymore. I'm so sorry, baby. Pack your bags.” She cups his olive face in her pale hands, and kisses his forehead. He stays stiff, bewildered by her words.
“What?” He asked, his voice raspy. “Where am I going?” He stands up, screeching the chair against the wooden floor. He scowls, knowing his mother has given up on him.
“Your uncle's. He lives in Vermont. Small town, Pineham.” She walks away, towards the closet. She pulls out a big moss bag. She tosses it at him, and motions towards the bedroom. “Pack.” As he walks into his quaint room, as she goes into the living and sits down on the couch, grabbing the phone on her way there.
She dials the number, the one she has called so many times for help. She hears ringing, then a gruff tone answers. “Hey, Harvey. It's Davis. He just got into some trouble. Look I need for you to take care of him. For awhile.”
Davis walked into the living room, his bag completely full- it consists of shirts, pants, books, and hair gel- and tosses it to the ground. His mom turns off the phone after saying goodbye to her brother, and looks at the teenage boy.
“I'll walk you to the bus station. Buy you a ticket.” She stands up, walks over to him, and places a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, picks up his bag from the ground, and walks towards the door.
“I'll go by myself. Don't worry about me ditching, I won't.” He opens the door, and leaves. The older women stands there, as a single tear falls down her cheek. 'I'm going to miss that boy.' she thought.
* * * *
Davis sits on a bus seat- next to a window no doubt- and watches as trees and building pass by. He can't help miss New York. The smell of hot dogs and drugs, the sight of homeless people and hookers, hearing train horns and swearing taxi drivers, the feeling of home.
He rests his head on the window, too tired to pull out a book. He closes his eyes, thinks about what happened and will happen from here. His mom gave up on him. Sure, he expected it, but not this soon. Not over this stupid prank. He had expected it when he stole a car. When he brought the drugs to a party. When he got into a fight over those drugs. Never, ever had he suspected it to be over stolen bread from a childrens' play.
He thinks about what Pineham is going to be like. He had heard of it a few times, when his mom was feeling all nostalgic. He remembers her talking about the town folk. He knows about his uncle's store. Harvey's. 'What an original name,' He thinks.
Hours pass, and Davis sleeps on the bus. For the last half hour, he read's. Anna Karenina, just because. His bus stop comes, he grabs his bag, and steps off the bus.
The sun is bright, birds are chirping, and people with happy smiles pass by. He comes face to face with his uncle. He has a backwards baseball cap, with rugged brown hair underneath. He's wearing flannel and jeans, and stands in front of Davis awkwardly.
“Davis.”
Though this adventure is much less dangerous than a high speed chase, (he's had plenty of those) it's exhilarating enough. Enough that the a frenzy of parents and teachers chase him around the corner, and he runs straight into the nearby convenience store. (Convenient, very, very convenient.) They run past the store, not noticing the young hoodlum hiding behind a large bag of Tortilla chips. He sighs, and places the bag back onto the shelf.
Yes, he stole the bread for a reason. He needs to eat, and the school uses real bread for that scene. He needs to feed his mom, and she has no job. Actually, she has a job, but spends all of her “hard earned money” (He doesn't know what she does, but as a kid he always wondered why she paid people in one's) on pot.
He looks out the store window -it's dusty, and not very clear- he can tell the angry mob of PTA is gone. He walks out of the store, the cocky walk replacing his extious run. He turns onto 25th and two cop cars and a motorcycle are waiting for him. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes, and walks towards the policeman. The cop – short, blond, big nose- cuffs him and tosses him into the cop car. “It's just a fucking prop. Why do you need this many people for a loaf of bread?” He mutters, staring at the back of the driver's headrest. He thinks about Aladdin, and how all the guards went after him when stealing the bread. He and Aladdin were a lot alike. Except, well, Aladdin had gotten away.
When he's down at the station, they call his mother. She hurries her way over, and scolds him for his ridiculous acts. “Why would you steal stale bread from Rainbow Elementary? Huh? At least when you stole a four-hundred thousand dollar car, you had the decency to pick a good crime.” She pays his bail, (She has special money put away for these events) and brings him home.
They reach the apartment – one bedroom, one bathroom, box kitchen, and tiny T.V- and she sits him down for a “talk” He gets shoved into a kitchen chair, and a cold hard stare. She ponders what to do, pacing in front. He follows her with his eyes. Back and forth, back and forth. She is mumbling, he can tell by the small sound escaping her lips.
“That's it. I can't take care of you anymore. I'm so sorry, baby. Pack your bags.” She cups his olive face in her pale hands, and kisses his forehead. He stays stiff, bewildered by her words.
“What?” He asked, his voice raspy. “Where am I going?” He stands up, screeching the chair against the wooden floor. He scowls, knowing his mother has given up on him.
“Your uncle's. He lives in Vermont. Small town, Pineham.” She walks away, towards the closet. She pulls out a big moss bag. She tosses it at him, and motions towards the bedroom. “Pack.” As he walks into his quaint room, as she goes into the living and sits down on the couch, grabbing the phone on her way there.
She dials the number, the one she has called so many times for help. She hears ringing, then a gruff tone answers. “Hey, Harvey. It's Davis. He just got into some trouble. Look I need for you to take care of him. For awhile.”
Davis walked into the living room, his bag completely full- it consists of shirts, pants, books, and hair gel- and tosses it to the ground. His mom turns off the phone after saying goodbye to her brother, and looks at the teenage boy.
“I'll walk you to the bus station. Buy you a ticket.” She stands up, walks over to him, and places a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, picks up his bag from the ground, and walks towards the door.
“I'll go by myself. Don't worry about me ditching, I won't.” He opens the door, and leaves. The older women stands there, as a single tear falls down her cheek. 'I'm going to miss that boy.' she thought.
* * * *
Davis sits on a bus seat- next to a window no doubt- and watches as trees and building pass by. He can't help miss New York. The smell of hot dogs and drugs, the sight of homeless people and hookers, hearing train horns and swearing taxi drivers, the feeling of home.
He rests his head on the window, too tired to pull out a book. He closes his eyes, thinks about what happened and will happen from here. His mom gave up on him. Sure, he expected it, but not this soon. Not over this stupid prank. He had expected it when he stole a car. When he brought the drugs to a party. When he got into a fight over those drugs. Never, ever had he suspected it to be over stolen bread from a childrens' play.
He thinks about what Pineham is going to be like. He had heard of it a few times, when his mom was feeling all nostalgic. He remembers her talking about the town folk. He knows about his uncle's store. Harvey's. 'What an original name,' He thinks.
Hours pass, and Davis sleeps on the bus. For the last half hour, he read's. Anna Karenina, just because. His bus stop comes, he grabs his bag, and steps off the bus.
The sun is bright, birds are chirping, and people with happy smiles pass by. He comes face to face with his uncle. He has a backwards baseball cap, with rugged brown hair underneath. He's wearing flannel and jeans, and stands in front of Davis awkwardly.
“Davis.”