𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. ✭ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄

JULY 4, 1977; CHANCE
8:58-9:04 p.m.

"Go home!" Eddie pleaded before veering off into the woods. He left me. He left me so I could escape. He was leading the boys in the opposite direction. They totally bought it too.

"Get him! He went over there!" Cried one of the pursuers. The pack followed along, abandoning me to go chase down Eddie. Taking my chance, I dove behind a large crate in the alley. My body was pressed against the store's exterior as I squirmed my way into a hiding place.

I'm okay.
I'm okay, I'm safe.
Just breathe.
They're gone.
The boys are gone.

Or so I thought.

A boy's whistle twittered through the darkness. The tune he came up with was haunting, melodic torture I could never forget. I could see a shadow through the crate's slates. One of them had stayed behind. One of them had decided that the possibility of getting me was far too good to pass up.

My chest rose and fell sporadically from under the top I wore. The brand-new sandals I had been playing around in all day had given the heels of my feet blisters. I felt sore standing. Running was self-mutilation.

Night tickled my skin that had been sunbathed ritualistically that day. Sunburns and popsicles were as traditional as barbecues and fireworks on the fourth. My tank top was soaked from sweat, clinging tightly to my frame. The boy kept whistling, sharpening his trill as he got closer.

Time after time Eddie and I had found ourselves in these precarious situations. We shouldn't have in July though.

Summer was supposed to be our free months. Summer meant that Jason Carver was whisked away by his parents to disgustingly luxurious hotels in third-world countries. Summer was not supposed to entail chasing and hair pulling and taunting and beatdowns and wailing.

Summer was supposed to be for us, for Eddie and me. For hands sticky with barbecue sauce and fresh salad and the smell of gunpowder and big, beautiful, fireworks popping in the sky.

The word was that Jason was supposed to be traveling the Gulf of Mexico in July. Unfortunately, God decided to be sadistic and change his father's mind when he found out the town was throwing its very own fireworks show that year.

We were just sitting on lawn chairs on the big patch of grass in the town square. A sea of families sat with us, some seated on picnic blankets and others on raw blades of the brush.

My face had been painted earlier that afternoon. A cluster of red, white, and blue stars had been perfectly placed on my cheekbone. Aunt Ronnie had even come over earlier and done my hair up in two braids. The ends were tied with sky-blue ribbons.

Eddie had just come back from the food stands that people had set up at sunset when he spotted us. Daddy and Wayne were off getting beers. They didn't see him. We were unsupervised and caught off guard, the perfect victims.

"Marco..." Jason's figure was ghastly larger when I stole a glance at the brick wall opposite me. His shadow was a monstrosity. He was a lurking creature waiting for me to play along. "You're supposed to say polo!"

A clang echoed in the alley. I flinched at the harsh noise. He had kicked a pile of full soda cans over. Mr. Harvey, the owner of the convenience store, must have been storing them there during the fireworks show.