“No more than two weeks later,” Allen sighed, stepping back inside from yet another successful arrest. “As the crow flies,” he added, for no reason in particular. Or rather, he said the first part because he’d just seen Norman, and the second for no reason... particularly.
Allen walked deliberately to a square of ugly white linoleum about ten paces away from Nor, knowing the kid would have to step right into him or go around, which would mean acknowledging that he existed in the first place.
Nor had other plans.
The little, squeaky-sneakered dude looked up from the floor, caught one glance of Allen, and veered sharply to the left, and directly into the women’s clothes section. It would teach him to show more respect to his elders if one of his friends saw him in there, Allen thought, smirking slightly. He glanced around, pledging silently that if he saw a likely shoplifter, he wouldn’t heckle Norman. However, it wasn’t the kid’s lucky day, for no one nearby hinted of prospective crime.
“Ah, poor little dude,” he chuckled, starting off at an inconspicuous pace towards Nor’s likely location. Allen almost pitied the boy for having to be subjected to such a strange acquaintance. All the same, he found it terribly amusing, and made this very clear when he found Norman.
“Why,” he asked dramatically, “are you avoiding me?”
Nor, who finally seemed to understand that he wasn’t going to escape another conversation with Allen, made a half-twirl to face the man.
“What, are you practicing ballet, now? Y’just need a little black tutu.”
Norman glared, quick to answer. “I claim the right to only answer one of those questions. You choose which.”
Comprising a complete attitude of disappointment, Allen slumped, pouting as well as a thirty-five-year-old can.
“Aww, man. And I was gonna make such a wicked joke about that tutu, too.”
“Tough luck, throw-back-from-the-sixties. Who says wicked anymore?” Nor taunted.
“Only very, very, very cool people. And my joke deserved the description.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. What was it? ‘Because your stupid.’ I bet it was even worse than that.”
Allen tugged aimlessly on the sleeve of a particularly ugly grey jacket. Sounding wounded, he said, “No. You were going to ask, ‘Why black?’ and I was gonna point at you and say, ‘Because your insecure enough to not want to wear pink!’”
The man burst out laughing, while Nor gave him a pitying glance. Shoppers nearby didn’t judge him worth notice, and so continued on buying hideous clothes and unhealthy food they couldn’t afford.
“That was… wow. It would’ve been funnier if you’d just said, ‘Your face is black’. Dude, you need help.”
He stopped in mid-laugh, face turning mockingly serious. “Uh-huh, sure. You just don’t appreciate good literature.”
“Since when did we start talking about literature?”
“When you said ‘you need help’. Gayest sentence in the entire world. If that had been written out, it would’ve been bright pink text, covered in little rainbows and purple flowers. And so, from ‘text’, we reach literature,” Allen explained, sounding as if he thought it certainly connected.
“I still don’t see how—”
“Is your mom doing okay?” Allen cut in. Norman rolled his eyes, thoroughly exasperated.
“You look like someone just hit you over the head with a huge, hollow cucumber. Don’t do that. To go back to that better string of conversation, how’s old mumsly?”
“As ancient and hideous as always. I’m not even allowed to come here anymore, as far as she’s concerned. I only came ‘cause… why are you doing that?”
Allen had suddenly started opening and closing his mouth in the biggest, loudest way possible, teeth clicking together with a cik, cik, cik.
“Your mom has just now stormed through the front doors,” he said through clenched teeth. Nor’s face drained of all color, and he instinctively stepped closer to Allen.
“Hide me,” the boy whispered.
“Funny, she looks kinda look a rabid bull,” Allen commented, obviously missing the urgent tone in Nor’s voice – or perhaps simply disregarding it.
“I said hide me!”
“No can do, brutha. You’d better run fast. O-o-o-o-or,” Allen hinted, smiling wickedly at Norman in a way the kid seemed to find horribly childish, by the look on his face.
“We could hide in that ugly little sandwich joint across the street. I’m sure your mom won’t look there.”
Even through his squirming terror, Nor looked suspiciously up at Allen.
“You’re asking me out on a date,” he accused.
“Huh. Define ‘date’. Maybe I’m just leading you to the place where policemen will toss you in the back of a cruiser and take you away to lock you up. Then your mom will come in and wring her hands and ask God why He let her son be such a complete failure at life.”
“Hey, my mom couldn’t care less what happens to me. And I define ‘date’ as two people going somewhere and talking, or eating, or like, making out.”
Allen let a silence drag on between them, watching Norman squirm beneath his own scariness and picturing it like a two-ton anvil atop the kid’s chest. He chuckled, finally taking pity.
“Yeah, I didn’t really imagine your mom would be worried. Besides, I don’t have proof you stole anything, that last time. Then again, fingerprints could—”
“Screw fingerprints! Let’s get outta here before she sees us.”
Allen frowned, wagging a finger at Norman in a way he knew the kid would find endlessly infuriating. “Language, language. Missus Skorn would clean your mouth out with the toilet plunger if she heard you!”
“Hey, she’s said worse. But, yeah, if she used anything, it probably would be a toilet plunger,” Nor acknowledged, and then jumped as he remembered why they were talking about his mom in the first place. “Whatever! Come on, let’s go!”
“As long as you never make that horrible squealing noise with your sneakers again,” Allen said, stalling as long as he could for no other reason than that he was amused by the way Nor acted under pressure.
“Deal! Now get going!” Nor nearly screamed, bolting towards the exit.
“Alright, alright… gawd.” Allen recognized the end of his game, following at a much slower pace. The whole way out, Nor never made a single noise with his sneakers, dying-piglet or otherwise. “Well, I’ll give him one thing. The kid is no promise-breaker.”
And then they disappeared out the sliding doors, leaving Mrs. Skorn to resemble a rabid bull all by herself.
What a shame.
_
Eheh, yeah. Feel free to review quite mercilessly, you good critics, you.
