Page 20 of Glass Half Full
“Good. Grab your coat. We’re going to the grocery store.”
Six
Dylan
ALLUSION: An indirect literary reference to a person, place, thing, or event
“We looklike those little old ladies who go out power walking on Sunday mornings.”
Renee’s laugh comes out in a puff of breath as we both strain our shins speed-walking along the crowded sidewalk of Avenue Mont-Royal.
“Now we just need matching tracksuits,” she pants.
“I want a shiny purple one.”
She laughs again, and a very messed up part of me with no grasp on socially acceptable behaviour wants to record the sound so I can play it again and again. She laughs like music, like wind chimes and clock tower bells.
“You sure you’re okay to stay this late?” I ask for what feels like the tenth time.
“I told you, it’s fine. It’s not even that late. It’s barely eight o’clock.”
“God, I hope this place is still open,” I grumble as a group of tipsy college girls gets in our way.
“It’s open, Dylan. I told you I already checked Google Maps.”
I’m being insane. I’m being a fucking maniac. I should be back at the bar, admitting that I screwed up and dealing with the consequences of my actions. Instead, I’m going to blow a ridiculous amount of money on grocery store potatoes that will only save us a couple dozen orders before we run out for good.
I just couldn’t take the weight of all those disappointed faces in the kitchen. Not yet. Not until I can stand in front of them knowing I did everything I could to make this right.
“Screw this. How’s your sprint, Renee?”
She squints at me as sorority row continues to teeter on their heels in front of us.
“My sprint?”
“We’re sprinting. Three-Two-One-Go!”
I dodge the girls and tear off up the sidewalk, letting out a deep laugh when I hear Renee’s lighter strides catch up beside me.
“People...are...staring,” she pants.
From somewhere in the line of a bar beside us, a guy shouts, “Run, Forrest, run!”
“Important diplomatic business!” I call. “No need to panic, citizens!”
“Dylan!” Renee does her best to hiss her disapproval as she jogs after me. “Slow down!”
“I can see it!” I don’t slow down in the slightest. “It’s right there! I’m gonna beat you to the door.”
“Oh no, you are not.” Her voice takes on a dangerously competitive edge, and before I know it, she’s blasting past me full tilt and careening towards the revolving door up ahead.
I could probably catch up to her, but I don’t. I just watch as I jog along in her wake, my eyes tracking her shape as it darts between gaps in the crowd. Her hair bounces against her back, forever slipping out of its ponytail. She gets to the door and slaps the brick wall of the building before turning around and throwing her arms up in the air.
“People are staring,” I mock when I finally meet up with her.
She continues jumping up and down in victory. “I’m okay with the staring if it’s because I’m a winner.”
She exaggerates the last word with a toss of her head and beams at me.
