They only steal from
big supermarket chains.
Somebody once told Katy, their Katy, with her ripped jeans and mint-blue hair, that she must be calmer, quieter, like those dolls that you see in vintage markets - pretty, but silent. If you know Katy - you can imagine her reaction, but, you probably don’t, do you? Her rage could be heard from the other side of the country, and her grandma’s roses didn’t bloom that year - this is how powerful she was. It is believed, that when God gave us patience, Katy stopped to flirt with a guy in front of her - and completely missed her turn. She probably was speaking to him a couple of hours, because she also missed the line for healthy relationship with her parents, money or ability to live without two cups of coffee each morning. This was the most interesting, because two other girls she declared her best friends were the definition of calmness, femininity and politeness. How did they not lost their minds watching her scream at the barista guy messing up her order every morning, it was a mystery. Katy and girls - said teachers. Mothers mostly cried when they heard Katy’s name, and other boys were scared of her, but somehow that friendship of three girls lasted from first grade to final year of high school. So, there they were - Mary, Marie (of course, who needed any other names is their deeply religious neighbourhood for girls with golden locks and blue eyes) and Katy - the unstoppable trio.
- So, yeah, think this time we can borrow some pizza and have a picnic, eh? - Katy said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
- Yes! - Marie winced. She liked that new game Katy made - after two-hour lectures about capitalism Marie was totally convinced that stealing from their big shop was a good idea. You know, support the local businesses and all that. Thinking about it, raising your child to be the perfect version of “pretty girl” has downsides. For example, they are easily can be talked into any crazy idea, because anything is better than sitting at home and reading another French independent author. Marie was happy to have Katy in her life - every walk home became an adventure, and years of overprotection made her fearless of consequences.
- It’s a wonderful idea, Katy. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that your brain is still working after today’s classes, - said Mary, the youngest of their friend group. Her parents lost their love when she was six, and couldn’t decide who were going to take the child home. Now she has two bedrooms, two homes, and zero affection - constant “talk to your mother” and “your father is a soulless bandit and will burn in hell”. Katy met Mary with open arms and south accent, so different from posh English they’ve been taught in school. - Are you sure that no worker will face any consequences?
- I’ve stolen their rules book yesterday, bab-y! - Katy whispered. - They have a manager change, so everything we take is from the big boss pocket, and that guy is literally murdering small businesses. - whoever gave her that marxist book was rolling around in their grave right now. Her loud words and big believes were too inspiring to be scared of stealing. No, not stealing, borrowing.
They went through the back door, black scarfs around their heads, blood boiling from excitement. They took two pizzas, some fizzy drinks, and run to the exit, bathing in the euphoria. “You’ll feel alive” - Katy promised beforehand. Mary and Marie never had drugs, put adrenaline in their ears made them think they were dying, or flying, or both at the same time. Laughing, they run away from the shop, happy and overwhelmed, leaving no alarm, no random guard, no mess back there.
Two pizzas and five small bottles of coca-cola. Great socialists.
The night was full of screaming, dancing around the fire and feeling like it was the greatest moment of their lives.
- Katy, I adore you! - Mary said, smiling and hugging her friend.
- Gosh, yo language is so strange, dolls. I love it. We just got free pizza!
- No, Katy, honestly, thank you. - Marie followed.
- No problemo, no problemo!
Life was spinning around like a ferris wheel on a busy market day.
And if in the morning, Marie, after a sleepless night went to the shop, nobody needed to know. If the adrenalin rush changed into a ride on a guilt-train, it was a secret. If her hands were sweating all night, her head full of screaming images of hell, and tears started falling as soon as she closed her bedroom door, you couldn’t prove it. If she left 50 dollars - her birthday gift - on the counter of that shop later, it would be none of your business. And, if, while walking away, she saw another 50 dollar bill on the shelf, tied with the same pink ribbon she gave Mary at her birthday, it will never be stated so in her memoirs.
And if Katy run away from home that night, without leaving a note or warning her friends, it would be such a bad ending, wouldn’t it?
No comments:
Post a Comment