Shortly after I understood what the picture was, I slammed my board on the ground and pushed away as fast as I could.
I regret it. I regret it so deeply and hate myself for it that I clench my fingernails into my palms, leaving bloody crescent moons into my callased flesh. I don’t even feel it. Blood soaks through my hoodie and stains the inside. It dries quickly.
I want to go back. Turn around and run to the boy to demand an explanation.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier. The little girl looks so much like me it’s undeniable that it is. Even if the woman holding my hand wasn’t indefinitely my mother.
Somehow, this little boy has a picture of me. He must have seen me roaming the streets and recognized me. It wouldn’t have been difficult to tell. As I come to the corner store, I pick up my board and slide it under my arm. The deck scratches at me and it stings slightly.
I enter through the back and find Ash there. His usual seat in the far left corner is a small beanbag. There’s a hole that he is trying desperately to patch.
The place is about six by fifteen feet. The walls are entirely constructed of rotten wood pallets, except one which is made up of the graffitied concrete wall of Mel street. The makeshift roof has sun streaming through it, as it’s made of thin tapestries and a tarp. In the far left corner is the giant beanbag, which is where Ash, the resident here, sleeps. Across from that is a pair of curtains that lead into the store front, which is an enclosed three by four foot space. There are two chairs and shelves about a foot deep under a counter.
When he finally notices that I’m here, I’m practically through the curtains that enter into the front of the lemonade stand. I grab a cup and fill it with water. I drag out the dog, give it the water, and regrettably sniff the bottom of my bag.
“Stupid dog.” I mutter.
I grab a towel on the seat next to mine and swipe it up before Ash strolls in with his usual flirty stature. I mop at the disgusting urine-soaked bag.
“Hey pretty lady,” he says. I ignore him. “Mind telling me what this is about?” he gestures at the puppy and starts play-fighting with it.
“No.” I say. I have no interest in Ash and he knows it, but he somehow thinks he will win me over. I do not understand his theory- we aren’t even friends, as I’ve made it clear- but he’s relentless.
“Ok, fine, but we both know you’re not just here to have a delightful conversation with yours truly. What do you need?” He questions.
His black hair is falling into his eyes and his eyebrows slant in a stare. His normally icy green eyes always have a sort of warmth in them when they look at me. I reply simply.
“I need a job. My mother died and I just need a little extra cash for food. I’m already getting evicted so I won’t need enough for rent.” I stare back down, playing with a string on my pants, ”You're the only person I could think of.”
His stance changes to look at me directly. He slumps into the chair beside me and puts a hand on my forearm. I want to pull it away but something in me freezes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” it’s the only thing I can think to say. “So will you give me the job or not?”
He gives me a wink and says “What are you gonna give me in return if I do?”
I roll my eyes and realize he’s still grasping my arm, so I shrug it off.
“What, so I’m not allowed to touch you?” He says with fake offense, slamming his open palm against his chest. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt.
“Nope.” I say, but allow myself to smile a bit up at him. It falls off my face as he smiles back, and I look down at my bag. He has perfect teeth. I fill a cup with lemonade and drink it amidst the awkward silence.
Ash is a month younger than me. He has a thin, muscular body and olive skin. He is an inch taller than me. He works at the lemonade stand on the corner of Mel and Pine Street, and he is not my friend.
But he’s the closest I’ve got to one.
On my way back I don’t see the little boy, and I fall asleep on the couch thinking of him and the photo.
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