My ears start burning for some reason. Burning and getting in the way.
“But you liked it. Try it on,” she says, pushing the vest at me. “Come on. I need to know how it looks on someone.”
I take off the two I’m wearing and put on this one. Do the buttons. It’s totally mine. In all possible respects.
“Cool,” Mermaid says, circling the wheelchair. “Perfect fit. Almost like I made it with you in mind.”
I start to undo it.
“Oh no.” She shakes her head. “It’s yours. A gift.”
“No way.” I pull off the vest and hand it to her. “That’s not how it’s done.”
Well, all right. I had this unsavory habit once. Coming down to the first on a Swap Tuesday with nothing, choosing something I fancied, and then asking the owner, “Mind just giving this away?” And they did. What choice did they have? Then they started running away at the sight of me, or hiding their stuff. That’s when I quit wheedling gifts. Got tired of it myself. But I never would have taken something like this for free. I still have my pride, after all. So I keep shaking this marvelous vest at her, begging her to take it back.
“I brought it so I could give it away,” she keeps explaining. “But only to someone who would get it. You get it, so it’s yours now. Take it, don’t make me angry.”
Hair the color of milky coffee, falling below the knees. Green shirt, pairs well with her eyes. She’d be perfect for my bead necklaces. So I untie the bundle. And the first thing to fall out is the tawdry flashlight. Horribly embarrassing. But she’s only seeing the necklaces. It’s obvious, just by the way she looks at them, that she knows her stuff.
“Beautiful,” she says. “Did you make them yourself?”
“Take them,” I say. “All of this isn’t worth one single pocket on your vest.”
“This one.”
She picks up the date pits and puts them around her neck. There aren’t many girls in the world who would look good in that. She’s one.
“These, too. Don’t make me angry,” I say, shoving the rest at her.
I’ve got to rush, because I spy with my little eye that Lary is trying to force his way through the mass of swappers, and he looks loaded for bear.
“Bye! Thanks for the present!”
Driving away swiftly. Lary is almost there, except he happens to step on someone’s cigarette stash and is consequently waylaid for an important discussion. So I have a momentary reprieve that I intend to use fully.
“Hey! Who’s up for giving me a lift to the Fourth? Cash on delivery!”
Three solicitous Rats jump in to volunteer. Microbe and Sumac I reject. Not enough brawn. So Viking gets the job. He hoists me on his shoulders, and we’re off to the races. I am positively dashing in my new vest, and he makes a handsome mount.
“Hold it, bastard!” Lary squeals somewhere behind us. “Stop!”
Naturally, we don’t stop. It’s a chase, the thing I like more than anything in the world. Viking’s legs are pumping, white boots flashing. Jostling me rather hard.
“Yoo-hoo,” I shout. “Step on it!”
Viking flies up the steps. The yellow bangs keep falling over his eyes, so I tuck it away. Wouldn’t do for him to stumble. Then I dig his earbuds from under his collar and stuff them in my ears. The cords are barely long enough, so it’s not very comfortable, but now we have music along for the run.
Indeed! One never knows how many delights one simple Swap Tuesday can bring.
We run. The music is plenty bumpy. Viking is plenty fast. I maintain a tight grip on my bundle. Then I spot a familiar shiny dome in the sea of hallway heads.
I tear out the earbuds and shout down to Viking, “Whoa! Right here is fine.”
He puts on the brakes and unloads me on the floor. Right under Sphinx’s feet.
“What’s with the horsemanship?” Sphinx inquires.
“That’s not horsemanship, that’s a matter of life and death,” I explain, paying Viking.
“Where did you get this gorgeous vest? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
Lary arrives, spoiling the story of the vest.
“You swapped it!” he screams. “My Yngwie! Sphinx, let me at him! I’m going to kill him!”
Sphinx, naturally, does not let him. Lary is spraying snot and spit, looking like he’s about to go apoplectic at any moment.
“Keep yourself together,” I say to him. “There are Logs all around us. What are they going to think? I’ve never swapped your precious Yngwie. As Sphinx’s legs are my witness.”
“Where is it then, you bloodsucking merchant?”
“Back in the wheelchair, I guess. Downstairs. Where I left it, having had to depart urgently.”
Lary smacks himself in the face, turns around, and runs back.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if Rats get to it first,” I tell Sphinx. “You know how they are. No respect for other people’s property.”
“Look who’s talking about respect for property, Tabaqui,” Sphinx says, crouching down. I climb on his shoulders. “If his record gets swiped, you’re giving him one of yours. Got that?”
