Saturday's Storyteller: "Close your eyes, bitch!"

by Belinda Roddie

"Close your eyes, bitch!" hollered David, before he darted into the darkness, sneakers squeaking against the wet asphalt.

The others also ran, finding suitable spots for their adolescent game of hide and seek. Caitlin and her posse, Patrick and Ivy, all concealed themselves behind the same row of waste bins, which didn't seem entirely conducive. Terrence, all tats and chains and black painted snapback, squatted amid tombstones in the cemetery that sat gloomily on the nearest hill. And Eileen, bless her heart, snuck into one of the plastic tunnels on the playground and giggled loudly enough for everyone to hear from as far away as the gazebo.

I, meanwhile, sat among picnic tables and pulled out my vape pen. Vincent, who was the seeker, had closed his eyes and was counting loudly, alternating between English and Spanish as he sat the top of a neon green slide. The tang of mint, which I'd sorely miss once the city shut down the sales of flavored e-cigs, soothed me as I listened to my friend's incessant barking.

"Thirty-eight...thirty-nine...cuarenta! Cuarenta y uno, cuarenta y dos, forty-three..."

Why is he doing that? I asked to myself, as I took a long pull from my pen. My lungs felt clotted from the stuff, but the temporary high was worth it. Oh, well. I'm not playing, so...

It wasn't like I could move around much, anyway. It had been two years since I had been confined to a wheelchair. Bad knees. Botched surgeries. Chronic pain and a long journey away from the tempting kisses of codeine. No walking for me. Thanks, healthcare system.

Despite my handicap, my friends were more than happy to push me along to the local park, where they'd wait until dark to drink out of paper bags, smoke weed, and yes, play childhood games. David once suggested we play kickball in the grass. Eileen had us all make and throw water balloons on a stifling summer night a few months back. Caitlin was a big fan of freeze tag, and Patrick loved good old fashioned baseball. In the case of the baseball, I got to be the home plate umpire, shouting from my perch and thrusting two pointed fingers into the air with each strike.

My group and I had been doing this ever since we were children. That was when I could run faster, jump higher, and climb better than anyone. I had been a medalist in track, a rock wall enthusiast, a soccer player. Now I was taking a break under the wooden canopy, sweet vapor leaving wet trails in the cold air.

When Vincent started counting in the eighties, I heard rustling of dead grass behind me. Lily, all curly-haired and red-rim spectacled, sat on the closest bench to me, her shoulders hunched beneath her enormous hoodie. She gave me a look, smiled wide enough to stretch out the freckles dotting her cheekbones, and stretched out a hand.

"Can I have a hit?" she asked.

I gave her a look. "You vape?"

"No. But it smells good."

"No hide and seek for you?"

"Noventa y uno, noventa y dos..."

Lily shook her head. "Gives me anxiety. Plus I couldn't find a good spot. Except for some blackberry bushes. And who the fuck wants to hide in blackberry bushes?"

"You could eat the blackberries while you waited," I pointed her, waving my vape pen for emphasis before handing the device to her.

She crinkled her nose, even more freckles standing out in the thin light of the lamppost to her left. "It's the dead of winter. There are no blackberries."

"Tragic."

Lily inhaled from my vape pen and exhaled loudly; the cloud she emitted somehow looked lumpy, rather than misty. "Tastes like toothpaste," she opined.

"Cien! Ready or not, here I come!" Vincent bellowed.

I watched as he disappeared into the night, the only flash of color being his red pleather jacket, and we could hear the shrieking and laughing of those who were supposed to be invisible. I retrieved my vape pen back from Lily. She had always been my favorite. We had been closest during my surgeries, her bringing me tea as I sat in my hospital bed, the premature osteoarthritis eating its way through the cartilage around my knees. The doctor was convinced that it wouldn't affect my hands, but I was already starting to feel stiffness in my fingers. At only seventeen, I was apparently too old to function physically.

But she had been there, at least. We had kissed once, before the sedative hit me, but we didn't talk about it. I think Lily pretended it hadn't happened. Her parents were strict and religious, so we knew that they wouldn't take a couple like us well. The term "faggot cripple" came to mind. But we still hung out. Still talked for hours on end. Still pretended that we had a chance.

These nights were always blessings to us.

"So," Lily said, pulling me away from my ruminations. "Have you decided on a college yet?"

It was January. We hadn't gotten acceptance letters yet. I knew where she wanted to go: USC for film. Or Chapman. UCLA had been out of her league.

"I dunno," I replied. "Probably State."

"That's a long drive from me."

I sneered. "What, you want me to be closer?"

"I know you applied for Redlands and Irvine," replied Lily. "Those have good art programs. We could hang out on weekends. Go for pizza. Hang out at the park like we're doing now."

"You'll make plenty of friends in college," I chuckled. "Ones who aren't prematurely aging, at least."

She glared at me. I knew how pretty she thought I was; I wasn't talking about looks, though. "I don't care about that."

Meanwhile, Vincent had easily found Caitlin, Patrick, and Ivy behind the garbage cans. Now they had been recruited by him to seek out the rest. I wondered if any pioneer ghosts had taken over Terrence's body yet. In his mind, that would have been "sick."

Lily and I sat in silence for a while. I think she knew that, deep down, I didn't even want to go to college in the first place. My mom had already been bogged down with my medical bills, and at least the local state university could provide me a presidential scholarship (using my condition as a sob story helped in that regard). I very much would have rather gone straight to work in a tattoo parlor, or traveled for a year; European cities could surprisingly be more accessible to me than American ones.

Another chorus of shrieks cascaded around the park like a waterfall. Caitlin had found Eileen and was half-dragging her out of the playground tunnel. I sighed.

"You wanna get out of here?" I asked Lily. "Grab a milkshake at the Farley's or something?"

Her freckles were like stars as she smiled again. "C'mere, you goof," she teased, as she stood up and grabbed the handlebars of my wheelchair. "Lead the way."

This week's prompt was overheard from a teenager at Pioneer Park, where my wife, family, and I were taking a walk. Ah, youths.