Izzy
Presto, Pennsylvania
168 days after
Izzy peeked over the back of the couch, watching Erin stoop to pull on a boot. Not one of the big snow boots, but one of the black stompy ones. The combat boots.
Izzy bounced a few times on the couch cushion, the excitement getting the better of her. Then she stopped, remembering she was supposed to be playing it cool.
“I don’t see why I can’t come with you,” Izzy said, pressing her nose into the upholstery.
Erin continued lacing her boot, pulling the ties into a knot and looping them into a bow in one fluid movement. Izzy didn’t understand how grownups could tie their shoes so fast like that.
“How many times do I have to explain it? Every trip out burns extra calories. The more calories we burn, the more food we need to eat. If only one of us goes, then only one of us needs extra food.”
Erin didn’t come right out and say it, but by “one of us,” Izzy knew she meant herself. Sometimes Erin was fun. When she played with Izzy, she did it for real. Most adults only half-played. She wasn’t sure why. Did you lose the ability to pretend when you got old? Did your imagination go from pliable to hard, like a dried-up wad of Playdoh? Or were they too embarrassed, afraid they’d look or sound silly? Whatever it was, Erin actually got into it, so it felt like playing with another kid.
But other times, like now, she was just like all the other grownups. Assuming Izzy was a dumb baby that couldn’t do things. It wasn’t that hard to go out and find food. Izzy knew that. She buried her face in a couch cushion to smother the sneaky smile spreading across her lips.
When Erin opened the door, Izzy followed her out onto the back porch. The floor boards were cool under her socked feet. It was an unseasonable 40 degrees. Most of the snow had melted with only a few patches in the shadier areas remaining.
“You said that once winter was over, I could come out with you again.”
Erin zipped up her coat, pulling her hair out of the way of the zipper.
“It’s January.”
“Yeah, but look at it,” Izzy gestured at the lack of snow. “It’s Spring.”
Erin shook her head.
“This happens every year. There’s an early thaw, and everyone says, ‘Oh look, Spring came early! Hallelujah!’”
She threw her arms out and spun around like the hills were alive with the sound of music.
“It lasts for a week, maybe two. And then- BAM!” Erin stopped spinning and hammered a fist into the palm of her hand. “We get douched with snow. And usually it’s the biggest snow of the year, too. A full-on blizzard of bullshit.”
Izzy stomped her foot.
“Language.”
“Yeah, well. Mark my words. Winter ain’t over.”
Erin pulled on a pair of gloves.
“I’ll try to make it a quick trip. A few hours.”
Izzy crossed her arms and heaved a sigh, making a show of pouting.
“When I get back, we can play a game.”
Izzy straightened, eyes bulging a little.
“Can we play Mall Mania?”
“Maybe,” Erin said.
Izzy clapped her hands. Maybe meant yes. If she begged enough it did, anyway.
Her toes were starting to feel like ice cubes, so she hopped back inside. She pressed her face against the screen on the door so the weave would leave a criss-cross pattern over her nose.
“Remember to lock the storm door.”
“I know,” Izzy said through the screen.
“And remember that the gun isn’t a toy.”
“I know.”
“But also, if you have to use it, don’t forget about the safety.”
“I know!” Izzy’s voice got a little louder. There was a beat of silence, and Izzy thought Erin was finally done lecturing her.
“And if you go to the bathroom, remember to wash your hands after.”
“I know that, Erin!” Izzy slapped the door with her palm for emphasis. Really, wash her hands? She wasn’t some dumb baby.
Erin turned back toward her then, and Izzy saw the smirk on her face. She’d been teasing. Well, at least with the stuff about washing her hands.
“Just be safe, dorkus. I’ll be back soon.”
“You’re the dorkus!”
She watched Erin mount the bike, standing as she pedaled to get some momentum going. And then she was gliding down the driveway, out of sight in seconds.
The drawer squealed as Izzy slid it open, revealing the pistol. She wrapped her fingers around it, the metal chilling her skin. She pulled it from the drawer. It was always heavier than she remembered. Heavier than it looked.
She wanted to shoot it again and to feel the buck and jerk of it as she pulled the trigger. Maybe later, though. She had something better in mind to pass the time.
The gun clanked as she set it on the counter and waited.
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