Freight Hopper

Kamry enters his room just as Frank finishes the last line of his book. He closes it gently, and looks up at her with a friendly smile.

“Hey,” she says, plopping onto the end of his bed, “I need to go to the store. Do you want to come-”

“Yes,” Frank interrupts, grinning. He’d been locked up for almost three weeks now. He misses the wind on his skin, the sound of the trees, even the heat of the sun. After three years on the trains, he’d rather be in prison than have to stay cooped up here for much longer; at least prisons let you outside.

“...if my mom says it’s okay.” She finishes. Frank narrows his eyes and pouts.

“You know she’ll say no!”

Kamry laughs, “I’ll convince her, don’t worry. You go shower. My brother brought over some real clothes for you to wear.”

Frank sighs with a smile, and heads for the bathroom, where too big jeans and a long sleeve shirt are waiting for him. He’s washing his hair when Kamry yells at him to “hurry the hell up already.” Grinning with the knowledge that Judy has agreed to let him go, he finishes up. Another shirt, a sweater, a large black winter coat, scarf, and hat are all waiting for him on the kitchen table when Frank comes in. Judy is bustling about the kitchen, a stern look upon her.

She stops and stares at Frank, “Now look here young man, you may be feeling just dandy, but you are not up to full health yet, and it is cold outside, and I don’t have another month’s worth of time to nurse you back to health again, so you will bundle up, no complaints, is that clear?”

Frank’s smile is humble, “Yes, ma’am.”

Her expression softens, and she touches his cheek gently, much like she does Kamry, “Good,” is her only reply.

By the time Frank is “bundled” he feels like an extremely unhappy Michelin Man, which Kamry, of course,feels must be documented. She snaps a quick picture and they’re on their way. The cold hits his face with a welcoming whip, and his childish delight is overwhelming. Kamry latches his arm, agreeing to walk instead of hailing a cab, much to Frank’s delight, but insisting they get a cab the second Frank feels cold.

The moment they arrive at the store, Kamry directs Frank toward the milk isle. When they’ve completed half the list, she decides they should spilt up, sending Frank away while she heads for the bakery. Frank takes the basket obediently, heading straight for the cereal isle....

Mikey
Gerard’s steps are lethargic and his normally upright posture is sunken, apathetically. Mikey is beside him, pushing their cart, doing all he can to brighten his brother’s mood, but doesn’t know what else he can really do. Gerard been acting like this for weeks nows, and Mikey is beginning to run out of distractions.

“What kind of cereal do you want?” he asks, but Gerard only shrugs, picking at his nails. Mikey sighs, and nudges his brother towards the isle to their left. He continues forward, not noticing Gerard he stopped near the end of the row.

“Excuse me,” he says quietly to a boy standing in front of the captain crunch, blocking the way.

“Oh, sorry man,” he answers, moving the basket and himself out of Mikey’s way.

“Not a problem,” he replies, scanning the cereals, “So, what do you want? Frosted flakes or something?” he asks again, assuming his brother is still behind him. He turns at the lack of response, “Gerard?” He’s staring confusedly at his brother, who hasn’t moved a muscle, but his body language seems suddenly alert; his eyes are fixated straight ahead, wide with shock, his arms hovering with a circular sort of energy, as if he were about to reach for something, yet he seems utterly frozen, stuck, right there.

“Gerard?” Mikey says cautiously, and the boy next to him stiffens, and Mikey watches as his hands, holding a box of fruit loops, begin to shake violently. The boy’s head turns Gerard’s way, with a stiff, lingering caution. Gerard whispers a word Mikey cannot hear, and suddenly the boy shakes his head, drops the cereal, and begins backing away, slowly at first, until he turns and breaks into a furious sprint. Gerard’s reaction is instant, and he passes Mikey so quickly, he’s nothing more than a blur.

A young woman with long chocolate hair and teal eyes enters the isle, and Mikey is too confused and shocked to move. She is staring intently at two jars.

“Frank,” she says, still examining the jars, “do you like grape or strawberry jel-” she finally looks up, expecting to see a young, slightly sickly looking boy of twenty, and instead finds Mikey. Her brow furrows as she looks around calling “Frank?”

Mikey opens his mouth to explain, but his words are lost, until he’s standing there with his mouth hanging open. When he finds the courage to move, he walks toward her, wanting to explain, but the only words he can seem find are, “Grape. He likes grape jelly.”