It was Stephanie’s dumb idea but when we started we could not stop. We took turns sprinting down those big luxurious streets from Apple Wood Lane to Jefferson Place. Passed all of those wood-chip lawns and waving American flags, as if it still meant the same thing as it did when we were girls here. The windows were lighting up and our neighbors came out onto their lawns, looking severe at the spectacle: one of those crazy girls being chased down by some animal on two legs. Around ten, a security guard with a smooth young face drove by and rolled down his window at us. But when he recognized whose girls we were, he nodded solemnly and kept driving. Stephanie cackled at him. When I asked her if she wanted to stop, she would say, just one more round. Through the mask’s cut-outs, I could see her. She was rosy-cheeked and sweaty and heartbroken. I gave her Dad’s Doctor Zaius mask and we went again.
When it was my turn to be chased, I liked to start out in a jog. Then, when my arms and legs were hot and my skin felt tight, I would go faster. I liked to glance over my shoulder and see that wild shape picking up speed behind me: Stephanie wearing that rubber simian face and that golden hair flowing wild, her arms pumping in her green windbreaker and those white Addidas sneakers beating the black pavement. Whenever I did it that way, something deep in the pit of me, something that had been inert at his service, would bloom and go nuts and I’d start screaming with laughter and running as far and as fast as I could. And Stephanie would stay so close behind, barking and screaming, until it felt like we were sisters again.
FDM.
El Golpe Avisa 