What We Carry by Leslie Grollman
“The violence in my scream startled us both”
Fiction by Leslie Grollman
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I found my Friday resting spot: a dingy corner of a parking lot at an office building. Butt-sliding down the wall, I settled onto raw concrete. Stared out at nothing, past everything. My eyes weren't a window to anything.
The lot was almost empty. I kept a well-dressed woman under surveillance: she carried shopping bags; hurried to her car. Maybe she was in a rush to wear her purchases for a big date.
Our eyes met. I looked down, begging in silence, ‘don’t see me’. My plea failed. The woman approached, removing a navy blue blanket from a Macy's bag.
"Will you please take this blanket? Yours has so many holes; it can't possibly keep you warm."
Her kindness hurt.
My gaze lingered downward as if I saw miles through the concrete. "No, thank you."
"Please let me do this for you."
She came too close.
I shook my head hard, then harder.
"Go away." Please. Just. Go. Away.
She put the blanket down in front of me. I couldn’t let my eyes meet hers again. I stalked her shoes approaching my backpack. Reaching for my blanket, she made a request. "Can I take this one in exchange?" Her voice was soft and angelic.
I snapped. "NO!" My voice echoed in the open space, choking desperation.
"Can I wash your blanket and bring it right back to you?"
A deep grunt almost burst my eyes from their sockets. My heart clutched the roll and held it close.
The lady put her hand on it.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The violence in my scream startled us both.
"It's only a blanket," the woman insisted, moving her hand away with such gentleness. 'Trust me to bring it back, clean and fresh-smelling." However subtle, her eyes couldn't hide the disgust she felt at the layers of crusted dirt and urine stench.
I couldn't tell her that this was the blanket my little brother was wrapped in after I pulled the trigger on Daddy's gun when we played cowboys. I couldn't let her wash the blood from the blanket; she might wash the blood from me, as well.
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Cover Image for the piece by Amoxi
If you enjoyed this piece of fiction, you may also enjoy "Letter: To Ted Turner From a Dime" by Ben Bailey, which you can read here.
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Leslie Grollman has lived many lives: Baltimore, New York City and Albuquerque. Her current one is in Portland, OR.