Old Bones: A Collection of Short Stories Page 11

Then

  “A LOAF OF bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter!”

  Derek and I laughed at my mom’s shopping list for bread, milk and butter as we walked beneath the gentle May sun to the grocery store. We had my eight-year-old brother with us, and the three of us sang again the segment from television’s Sesame Street.

  “A loaf of bread … a container of milk … and a stick of butter!”

  We carried on, two high school eleventh graders and a third grader sharing a wonderful moment together. Then Derek and I got into a serious conversation about school and classes and girlfriends.

  “Julie and I have a date to the movies Friday night,” I told him. I’m sure my face beamed as bright as the high beams on headlights as we made plans to double date.

  When we left the store, an ambulance screamed past us toward the hospital as we came to an accident scene three stores down. While we waited for the police to let us cross the street, someone—an elderly woman—told us a car had run a red light and hit another car broadside. The driver from the second car was okay, she said. However, a passenger in the car was in critical condition.

  We stared at the dented cars and broken glass on the street. I’m sure I prayed for the injured passenger. Derek and I even reflected on our own mortality. It frightened me to think someday I would die and never play baseball again. When my little brother began to cry, we detoured the scene and took the long way home. The accident was soon out of mind.

  “A loaf of bread,” Derek sang out.

  “A container of milk,” sang my brother. He looked up at me and waited for me to finish.