Brendan doesn’t know about the swords yet. They’re still in his future, buried under mothballed Sansabelts, wigs, and a stack of vinyl thick with Motown 45s. But even so, a giddiness flares within him as he sweeps the kickstand of his bike and pedals into the heatless midday sun: today is overripe with possibilities, a pinata of a Saturday ready to break open and yield its treasures.
The boys cut into an alley, one of many they’ve trawled scavenging for things to fix, bust, or play with. Bottles and lightbulbs and huge cardboard boxes. An Etch A Sketch leaking powdered aluminum. A waterproof radio in perfect condition, which Brendan kept. Of all his beloved possessions—a He-Man figure still in its package; a model of the space shuttle Endeavour; a pearlescent geode—the bike is Brendan’s favorite. A few days ago, after nearly an hour of practice and one twice-scraped elbow, he taught himself how to pop a wheelie. If he could just maneuver into Kyle’s line of sight . . .
Once inside Bernie’s, it takes their eyes a moment to adjust. Three aisles of canned goods, cereals, and sodas. From the far corner the glowing screen of the Street Fighter II game throws light onto a stand of Hostess Ding Dongs. The damp, fragrant air suggests wet leaves and clay, and its richness transports Brendan so completely, he forgets whether it’s autumn or spring. Beside the cash register sits a jar filled with foil-wrapped hearts and a sign—valentine’s chocolates 50% off—and the sight of it returns him to the present, to this Saturday in March 1992. Easter, the next of the four candy-bearing holidays, is mere weeks away. He’d know exactly how many days, if only he had a Casio digital watch like Kyle’s. Its beveled face shines like obsidian as Kyle counts his money. He wears the watch to bed, and he’s never let Brendan touch it, despite the younger boy’s solemn promise not to fiddle with the settings. The watch was a special birthday present, their parents said, because Kyle was entering a special time.
That’s why he invited Kyle here today, even though Brendan sucks at video games. He hands the clerk two weeks’ allowance and says he’d like five dollars in quarters and the rest in chocolate hearts, please. And though Kyle will probably win every match and eat most of the candy, they’ll be together again.
“The right. I jumped over you.”
“Can’t I go with?”
Fiction Issue 2015
“Migration” by Latoya Wolfe
“Myrna’s Dad” by Cyn Vargas
