They were all focused on the same goal, which was to get the candy, as much of it as possible, and whatever it took in the way of preparation and strategy, well, that was what had to be done. Frankie explained that to her grandmother. Her grandmother was only half-listening, counting out change for the cashier, so Frankie didn’t take her nod very seriously. Behind her in line were two young women wearing matching sweaters streaked in faint rainbow. They were outrageously attractive. Frankie was honest enough to admit it. One of them held a baby, the other a large bag of flour, though in the baby position. Behind the two young women was an older man wearing a black ski hat and a white t-shirt that said, in red letters, “Occupational Hazard.” He was buying a flashlight. Behind the older man was another young woman with a baby, this one so young that she might have been a babysitter or older sister. Her free hand clutched a magazine. And behind her was a woman whose age Frankie estimated at four thousand. Her face was stone. Her eyes were clouded glass. On one bony arm hung a basket filled with dried flowers. Frankie wondered if this was her lunch. “Francesca,” her grandmother said, tone taut and unfriendly. “We must go.” Frankie turned to get one last look at the people stretching out the line, five mortal enemies who might soon need to be dispatched so that she could get her hands on the candy. Six, if she counted the cashier. Seven, if she counted her grandmother. Which she did.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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