Story Snacks: A Collection of Bite-Sized Ideas

Crash

"Virgin screwdriver, please," I mutter hesitantly. The burly barkeep raises one bushy brow.

"He means we'll take two whiskeys on the rocks," The dark-haired woman folds her heavily-tattooed arms and rolls her dramatically lined eyes at my dorkery. "Always a pleasure, Harvey."

Paulina perches on the pepto-bismal pink barstool, elbows propped up on the neon-green counter, her eyes glinting with curiosity as they flick back to mine. It's that look she had when we were twelve and snuck out to catch fireflies after Mom explicitly told us to get back to sleep, or else. The very same sparkle that appeared when she was fifteen and I was thirteen-and-three-quarters, and she stole Dad's forty and filled it up with iced tea before stowing it back in the liquor cabinet like the devilish genius she is. That look says, You're the good one, Sammy, what could you have possibly done?

Her faith in me makes the anxious waves rolling in my belly crash harder than usual. My eyes dart to the poppy rendition of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" inked onto her forearm and I search for the right words in those swirls of stars. Abruptly, a glass lands in front of me, a hand smacks between my shoulder blades and Paulina flashes an irritated expression. "Just spill, Kid."

I nod, take a sip of whiskey, and my face scrunches up like Yoda's. After regaining myself a bit, I begin in a low voice. "It was two weeks ago. I was taking Buster out because he was getting antsy—you know how he gets when he's cooped up—anyway, I took a different turn than usual, and I ended up at this... this Catastrophic Playground of Terror." Paulina's face reads, Oh Jesus, drama queen much?, but she gestures for me to continue. "Seriously, Lina, there were at least thirteen visible health code violations. Visible! And there were these kids playing, not much... much older than my class." I choke up.

Paulina hands me a tissue from her patchwork hobo bag and roughly tousles my hair the way she's done for as long as I can remember. I attempt a grateful smile, but it doesn't stick. "So these kids," I go on. "They were climbing on this rusty swing-set without any seats. Just chains hanging from an old metal bar. There was a little girl I recognized, Alan's kid. You did his most recent tattoo last month, didn't you? It was one of his twins, I don't know which. She climbed up those chains like a circus performer and pulled herself onto the highest bar. It wasn't a tall swing-set, but she's so tiny. And the others, they thought it was hilarious to start shaking the thing, yelling, 'Earthquake, earthquake!'. I remember thinking that I should really tell them to knock it off, it's dangerous."

"Well, did you?" I shake my head, gaze downcast. "Sam..." She bites her lip. "What happened?"

"I told you, it was an old and rusty piece of junk. It toppled over, and so did she. Crashed right onto the concrete." I can hardly get the words out, my tongue feels too big for my mouth, my saliva, too thick. "I called an ambulance right away and rushed over there, but... there was so much blood."

"Is she okay?" Paulina's voice is soft, nearly drowned out by the music coming from the jukebox.

"She's in the hospital. She's been in a coma since she fell." I down the rest of the whiskey in one go. "I could have stopped this, Lina. I saw what was happening and I did nothing. I couldn't... I couldn't tell her father the truth. Said I was just passing by. He might lose his baby because of me."

My sister shakes her head. "Stop it," she chides, letting out a sigh. "It isn't your fault. Sometimes these things happen. If you feel bad about it, don't wallow. Get their family some flowers or cookies or whatever and go visit that little girl in the hospital. Alan's by himself. Give him someone to lean on."

I nod, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes. "You're right. I'll go tomorrow morning."

"Good,"Paulina's eyes crinkle as she squeezes my hand. "Harvey, another, please."