Page 49 of Mace

Mace

“We should not have stopped.”

I replaced the gas pump and screwed the lid back on. “We still have about two hours, babe. There was no way we were going to make it to San Diego.” Bags rustled, and I turned to see Imogen with two plastic bags in her hands. “What the hell did you buy?”

“Something from our childhood that I haven’t seen for years. I bought too much, and I don’t know where we are going to put it all.”

Something from our childhood? Imogen and I had both grown up pretty poor. The only special thing I could think she had in those bags was some spaghetti o’s. “What did you find?” I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head and leaned against the bike.

She dropped one of the bags at her feet and pulled out a long strip of button candy from the other. “Do you see this?” she laughed. “I haven’t seen this candy for ages. Remember when we would get it from the gas station when we had change?”

I remembered. Imogen loved that candy, and I thought it tasted like sugared paper. “I’m worried that might have been sitting in the gas station for the past twenty years, babe.”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “That’s not even the thing I am the most excited about. I just happened to see that.”

“Please tell me you did not buy spaghetti o’s,” I laughed.

Imogen rolled her eyes. “I also haven’t had that in forever, but I did not buy that in the gas station. I honestly did not like that but ate it because I was hungry.”

That was the damn truth. “So what else did you buy, babe?”

She smiled wide and pulled a canister of cheese balls from the bag.

“No way,” I laughed. “I haven’t seen that container for years.” Cheese balls were still very much around, but the ones that came in the blue canister and had a yellow lid had a special place in Imogen’s and my childhood.

Every Monday, we would scrap together change until we had enough to buy a container for each of us.

“And,” Imogen drawled. “They had the cheese curls, too.” She pulled out another container and smiled proudly. “Do you think they taste the same?”

I grabbed the container of cheese balls and pulled off the lid. “Only one way to find out, babe.” I pulled back the paper seal and held the container out to her. She waited till I grabbed one, and we popped them in our mouths at the same time.

The crunch was familiar, but the taste, well, the taste was not what I remembered.

“It’s like cheese-flavored Styrofoam,” Imogen groaned.

I looked at the container to confirm this was what we ate growing up and was disappointed when I realized it was. “Is this what they used to taste like?”

Imogen swallowed and smacked her lips. “That was not good,” she laughed.

It was not. “Maybe these have sat on the shelf for the past twenty years.” It was a damn good chance they had.

I snapped the lid on the container and handed it back to Imogen. “Just cram them in the saddlebags, and we’ll put them at the clubhouse. They’ll get eaten.”

“How in the world did we think those were good?” Imogen laughed.

I crouched next to the bike and opened the saddlebag. “We were hungry, babe. Everything tasted good if we could get our hands on it.”

“I guess you are right.” Imogen handed me the containers of cheeseballs and crumbled up the plastic bags when they were empty. “It’s kind of crazy how you don’t realize how bad things are until you’re looking back on them years later.”

I managed to cram the last canister of cheese balls into the saddlebag and zipped it up. “We had each other, though. Those are the times I remember. Sure, we were hungry a lot, but we always made do.” I stood and wiped my hands on my pants.

“And you’re right again,” Imogen laughed.

“Ready to get to San Diego?” I asked.

Imogen leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Let’s go, handsome.”

*

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