Wednesday, August 29, 2012
The Purchase
by
Phoenix Hocking
Ten dollars and fifty cents.
Misty rolled a fat blond sausage curl around her finger and looked at the coin rolls in front of her. It's not enough, she thought, unnecessarily. She knew it wasn't going to be enough when she started.
She put the excess (she liked to think of the coins that weren't quite enough for a roll as excess; it made her feel rich) back into the piggy bank, then sat back, spreading her legs out in front of her and placing her hands behind her on the floor. It's not enough.
Misty Mae Morgan was ten years old. She was a bright child, chubby-cheeked and cheery-eyed. Well, usually her eyes were bright and cheery. This morning, though, her little brow was creased with frowns and her eyes were dismayed.
It's not enough, she thought again. Then she brightened. Not by itself, but maybe . . . .
Misty Mae clambered to her feet, put the piggy bank back on the shelf, and stooped down to scoop up the rolls of coins from the floor.
She rushed from her room, down the hall, and through the kitchen. She barely remembered to stop the screen door from slamming as she hurried out.
“Where are you going?” Misty's mother called.
“Over to Tommy's! I'll be right back!” And she was gone.
Tommy Johnson was a monster. He had dark hair and dark eyes that matched his spirit. He had often been described as “that spoiled rotten little brat,” and that wasn't far off the mark. To say he was a despicable, nasty, horrid little boy would have been selling Tommy short.
All of those things were true. Tommy was a hideous child, mean to almost everyone. Nobody liked Tommy. Even Tommy's parents didn't like Tommy. In turn, Tommy didn't like anyone. Well, almost.
For reasons known only to themselves, Tommy and Misty liked each other. Perhaps Misty saw a spark of goodness hidden way far deep in Tommy's black little soul. And maybe Tommy saw in Misty a hint of what he could be if he'd just let his guard down for two seconds. Their friendship made no sense to anyone but each other.
Now, Tommy always had money. His parents weren't rich, not by any stretch. Both of them worked long hours, (Tommy was pretty sure they worked so much just to get away from him, and he may have been right) and Tommy was left to his own devices most of the time. And if your first thought was, “that can't be good,” you would be right.
Tommy knew people didn't like him. People would actually pay him to simply go away. And he was very good at going away. He just wasn't good at staying away.
This is how he would earn his money: Tommy would come and stand in front of someone and just look at them.
“Good God, Tommy,” the person would say after a while. “Why are you looking at me like that? Go away!” And Tommy would hold out his hand, his palm would be crossed with silver, and he would go away.
So, on this occasion, when Misty Mae needed money, she went to Tommy for a loan.
“Tommy!” Misty banged on Tommy's back door. “Tommy! Are you home?”
It was a silly question. Tommy was almost always home. He came to the door holding half a peanut butter sandwich, chewing with his mouth wide open.
“Close your mouth, Tommy,” Misty said. “That's disgusting.”
Only Misty could get away with a statement like that. If anyone else had said it, the person would soon be scraping peanut butter and jelly from their face. But for Misty, Tommy closed his mouth, swallowed, and said, “What do you want?”
“Gosh, Tommy,” Misty said. “Can't I just come over to say hi?”
“You could,” Tommy replied. “But you don't. What do you want?”
“Can I come in?”
Tommy held the door open. “Sure.”
Misty and Tommy sat at the kitchen table, looking for all the world like Darkness and Light come together for a chat. Misty outlined her need. Tommy thought and agreed.
Tommy went to his room and came out again with the requested amount.
“Here,” he said, and put the rolled coins into her hand. “You know this is just a loan, right?”
“Oh, Tommy, you know I'll pay you back.”
“With interest!”
“With interest,” Misty agreed, and they linked their pinkies together, and swore.
Two days later and Misty was back. It was late afternoon and clouds were rolling in, spitting big blacks dots onto the pavement.
“Did you get it?” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” Misty replied. “It's in my backpack.”
“You took it to school?”
“Nobody ever checks backpacks any more. Besides,” Misty grinned, “they'd never think to check mine. I'm too good.” She paused. “Now, yours they'd check.”
“Maybe so. So, can I see it?”
“Not now. I have to go home first.”
“Okay. See you after dinner.”
After dinner, safely ensconced in Tommy's room, Misty carefully removed her purchase from her backpack and put it on the table. They looked at it for a while, not speaking.
Then, “I don't get it,” Tommy said. “How can this thing be so dangerous?”
“I don't know either,” Misty replied. “All I know is, if I get caught with it at school, I'll get expelled. Go to prison maybe.”
“Nah, they don't send kids to prison for something like that.”
“I sure hope you're right.”
“They say this . . . this changes you. Do you think that's true?”
“I don't know,” Misty wrapped her purchase and put it back in her backpack.
“Wait,” Tommy said. “Aren't we . . . .”
“Not tonight. Tomorrow. At school.”
For the next couple of weeks Tommy and Misty met on the playground during their lunch period. Tommy's reputation as a troublemaker kept everyone, students and teachers alike, from investigating too closely.
And it seemed to people who were paying attention that the two children were different in some undefinable way. Misty seemed a little more brash, while Tommy seemed a little more mellow.
But one day, a shadow passed over the two, who were huddled over Misty's purchase.
“And just what do you think you've got there?” Mr. Brown's booming voice startled them both.
“Nothing,” they said in unison.
“Nothing, my foot,” said Mr. Brown. “Why . . . that's . . . . Ok, you two, come with me.” He held out his hand. “And I'll take that. What is wrong with you two? You know this isn't allowed in school!”
He snapped up Misty's purchase and asked, “And where did you get this?”
Misty straightened up, and with uncharacteristic boldness replied, “I bought it.”
“You bought it? With what?”
“I saved my money and I borrowed some from Tommy and I bought it.”
“Well, we'll just see about that!” He said. “March!”
Misty and Tommy sat outside the Principal's office, listening to their parents holler at the Principal.
“For THAT?” Misty's mother had never sounded so angry. “You're expelling my daughter for THAT? Are you CRAZY??? What did you expect her to DO with it, anyway?”
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan,” the Principal sounded sheepish. “But those are the rules. Misty knew better and she brought it anyway.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Just fine.”
Mrs. Morgan slammed out of the office, with Tommy's father close behind. “Come on, you two. These people are crazy. Let's go get some ice cream.”
In the car, headed for Baskin Robbins, Misty asked the one question her mother didn't know how to answer.
“Mom, I don't understand.”
“What, honey?”
“What's wrong with bringing a Bible to school?”
Mrs. Morgan sighed. “I don't know, honey. I really don't know.”
# posted by Phoenix MaryGrace Hocking : 1:19 PM
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