Seven Matchbox Cars

Chicago,  March 1952

‘What a perfect way to spend a Thursday morning!’ Gilbert thought to himself, feet pounding against the pavement as he ran, chocolate becoming gloriously melty in his hands. He turned his head to make sure that he wasn’t being followed as he approached the street corner, when he suddenly collided with something about his size in a skirt, knocking him to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“You watch where you’re going!”

The collision had sent the coins in the girl’s hand as well as the candy in his flying out toward the street.

“Now look what you’ve done,” the girl said, rolling to her knees and gathering her money frantically.

“What I’ve done? You ruined all my candy!” Gilbert picked up a broken piece of chocolate and blew on it before sticking it into his mouth. He stood and surveyed the girl who was counting her money. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she said, gingerly peeling a penny out of freshly chewed sidewalk gum.

“Why do you care so much about a stupid penny?” he asked.

“Because I’m poor.” She stood and brushed off her skirt.

“You don’t look poor,” Gilbert said, observing her dress and shoes that didn’t appear to have been passed down from an older sibling like all of his clothes had been. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school.”

Gilbert nodded. “Fair enough. I’m Gilbert by the way.” He stuck out his candy coated hand to her.

“I’m not shaking your hand.”

“Fine. Won’t you at least tell me your name?” he asked as he wiped his hands on his trousers.

“Why?”

“I told you mine.”

“Not a good enough reason.” She finished counting her money for the third time and slipped it carefully into her jacket pocket. “You owe me a nickel,” she said pointedly. “Have a nice day.” With a snide smile and a nod of the head, she turned to continue on her way.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I got all this chocolate?” Gilbert called after her. She kept walking. After a couple of seconds, he decided that her silence in ignoring him was not a good enough answer, so he ran to catch up with her. “I said aren't you going to ask-”

“I heard you,” she said. “But I’m not interested in how you acquired the chocolate. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

Gilbert caught her arm and his eyes grew big as he looked over her shoulder.

“What is it?” she asked. He pulled her with him as he started running back the other way. “What is it?” she repeated as they ducked through a group of businessmen.

“Just keep running!” he shouted back. They weaved through the throngs of people, dodging light poles and trash cans along the street. Gilbert rounded a corner and screeched to a halt in front of a butcher shop, causing the girl to nearly run into him again.

“Was it the cops?” she asked as they were crouched under the awning of the shop, catching their breath.

“No. It was my friend Billy’s dad. Why would you ask if...? Wait...” Gilbert gasped. “Why are you running from the cops?”

“Why are you running from your friend Billy’s dad?”

“Why are you running from the cops?” he repeated.

“I asked you first.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Just... answer the question!”

Gilbert puffed up his chest, preparing to impress. “Well if you must know, I’ve run away. I’ve decided it’s time to face the world on my own. No family, no school, nothing holding me back. Just me against the world.”

“That doesn’t explain the problem with Billy’s dad.”

“Well Billy’s dad is friends with my dad, you see, and if he saw me not in school today, he would likely tell my dad, which would mean someone might come looking for me, and we can’t have that now can we?”

“No indeed,” the girl snorted.

“So what is your story?”

The girl looked at the ground, calculating how much she wanted to tell. “Let’s just say that I also decided not to go to school this morning. I took a little detour, had my money knocked out of my hand," (here she glared at Gilbert) “and wound up here, with a nickel less than I need for a train out of the city.”

“So you ran away too!”

She gave him a look that said ‘yes, idiot,’ and shook her head.

“Who knows?" he asked her. "If you’re running from the cops, someone must know already.”

“Well,” she started, “I can’t be sure. I hope no one knows, but my teacher at school is strict...” she broke off, deciding to stop while she was ahead. She stood from where they were crouching and looked around for a bus stop, wondering if she had enough money to take her to the edge of Chicago at least. She glanced up and down the street, observing silver, cream, and pastel cars passing between glinting stop lights, under which men, women, and very small children scampered from corner to corner. Honking horns, shouted greetings, and the smell of fried food mixed with trash filled the air. She would miss this city.

“Was it your mom?” he asked.

The girl froze, wondering if she had accidentally said something she meant to avoid. “What?”

“Did you run because of your mom?” No response. “I only ask because for me it was my dad, and I just got a feeling that maybe you--”

“Yes,” she responded quickly, trying to stop him from continuing with his guesses.

“What’d she do?”

“It’s really none of your business.” She tried to walk away once again, but Gilbert was persistent. He followed annoyingly close behind, but not within swinging range of the girl’s fists. The few inches of height she had on Gilbert convinced him that if they were to get into a fight, she would likely win.

“So I bet you were wondering how I got all that candy.”

The girl rolled her eyes.

“I stole it.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“It’s true.” Gilbert crossed his arms proudly in front of his chest.

“Why don’t you prove it?” she taunted, stopping just across the street from a toy store. “Why don’t you just go in there and take something?”

Gilbert balled up his fists and sized up the store. Whether in his head, or out loud, he could hear the girl saying ‘What? Are you afraid to go in there?’

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he convinced himself, and marched right across the street with the girl following close behind.

The toy store wasn’t particularly large or exciting, but it had toys all the same. There were rows along one side of the back of the store that held child sized kitchens, dolls, and doll houses. On the other side were toy guns, train sets, and tool chests. Close to the cash register in the front, there were bins of smaller toys such as yo-yos and bouncing balls. Gilbert fixed his eyes on the target bin full of little plastic cowboys. He dug his hand in and closed it around a number of figures when…

“May I help you?” The cashier who had suddenly appeared at the cash register asked down his nose.

“Um…” Gilbert just started back.

“Where is your mother?”

“Um…”

“Our mother is at the butcher’s shop across the street,” the girl cut in. “She told us to look at toys in here and stay out from under her feet while she runs a couple of errands.” 

The cashier looked from the girl back to Gilbert who was still standing frozen.

“You’ll have to excuse my brother. He often forgets his manners.”

“And why are you not in school?” the cashier asked.

No one had planned to answer this question. “Ah, our grandmother is in from out of town, and mother wanted us to be out of school today so we can spend time with her,” the girl responded, thinking quickly on her feet.

“She’s dying!” Gilbert added hopefully, to which the girl could only refrain as best she could from hanging her head in embarrassment. She forced herself to nod grimly.

The cashier surveyed the children skeptically, then turned back to the registers shaking his head, muttering something under his breath that might have been “modern mothers.”

Gilbert would have to change his plan of action. Nothing could be stolen from under this man’s nose. He looked from the bins to the girl. She shot him a meaningful look which communicated her plan to save him. She strode off toward the section with matchbox cars and train sets. He watched her reach up high over her head, and sweeping her hand artfully, she upset three boxes of small tin cars that went skittering in every direction. “Oh no!” she said.

As soon as the man at the cash register turned like a hawk from the boy to the girl, and fumed over to her, Gilbert took his chance. He shoved several sets of jacks in his pockets and even took a lollipop from the counter after glancing over to see how the distraction was coming along.

“Young lady, the girls’ toys are over there,” the stern man lectured. “Perhaps if you had been looking over there, you wouldn’t have caused such a scene.” Gilbert watched as his companion narrowed her eyes and balled her fists. He feared an explosion.

“Um… Polly!” he called to the girl, even though that was not her name, “I see mother! We should go and not keep her waiting!”

The girl who was not named Polly jumped up and ran past the kitchen toys, making sure to come close enough to a large stack of small pots and pans to accidentally kick them over on her way to join Gilbert at the door. “My apologies, sir! Have a nice day!” she called to the cashier as they made their escape, leaving the man to stare after them in exasperated disbelief.

They ran laughing for three blocks, until Gilbert tripped over his own shoes and sent them both toppling to the ground for the second time that day. “That was brilliant!” he laughed, clutching his side. “Did you see his face when you kicked over those pots and pans? Oh, it was so funny!” he chortled.

She shook her head, but smiled at the compliment Gilbert had paid her. “What’d you get?” she finally asked, still catching her breath from the laughter and adrenaline.

He pulled four sets of jacks and a lollipop out of his pocket, grinning triumphantly.

“Is that all?” She reached into her own jacket pocket and revealed seven matchbox cars. Although she had told herself she would never steal again after she had slipped the money for the train from her step-father's wallet, she seemed to care very little that she had broken her own promise to her conscience. As Not-Polly watched Gilbert count and compare the loot she began to recognize a camaraderie between the two of them that might prove quite useful in the near future.

“It’s not Polly, by the way.”

“What?” Gilbert asked, looking up. She extended her hand to shake his.

“My name is Vanessa.”

Gilbert grinned. “Nice to meet you Vanessa!” And they shook.