Southern Legitimacy Statement:
I’ve spent my life in an area known as the south shore, which is just south of Boston. And despite just how northern that may seem to the rest of the country, believe me when I say you’d never confuse us south shore folks with those on the north shore. You’d think they’re all auditioning for a role in Good Will Hunting 2. And when my wife and I pack it up from time to time to get away, we always head the same direction to get to our favorite spots: Savannah, Nashville, New Orleans we love them all. Hell, I’ll even admit that we go down to see that mouse from time to time, as long as you don’t hold it against us.
Henry
Henry’s mother, hurrying to finish her grocery shopping, guided him toward a small, yellow box of chocolates. He examined it closely, thinking the cursive lettering and flowers on the border made it look a bit old-fashioned, like something he might give to his grandmother.
“She’ll like it,” his mother explained, sensing his concern. “It’s understated.”
He had no idea what she meant, but agreed to the purchase nonetheless and placed the box carefully in the child-seat section of the carriage where his mother often placed the eggs. He eyed the box protectively as they snaked their way back and forth along the remaining aisles, through the freezer section, past the bread and dairy and into the line at register seven. Henry helped load the groceries onto the belt, saving the box for last so the cashier would offer to keep it separate from the rest of the order like the Skittles and Kit-Kats his mother always agreed to at the checkout. Once their order was paid for and bagged, he carried the box back to the car and cradled it in his lap the entire way home.
“Trust me,” his mother said. “Her eyes will light up when you give her that. Any girl’s would.”
After dinner, Henry wrapped the box in shiny red gift paper, taking care to get the folds just right and to keep the tape straight on the edges. It sat next to him on his desk as he completed his homework: a bit of long division, some grammar exercises, and a reading packet about Lewis and Cark. When he was done, he tucked the box safely into the front pocket of his backpack so his spiral notebook wouldn’t scratch the gift wrap.
The next morning at breakfast, he appeared to eat his cereal like any other day, but all the while his mind was churning, mapping out his plan to deliver the box. He would waste no time, knowing she gathered with a small group of girls each morning by the doors leading into the cafeteria. It was off to the left side of the building, an arguably cooler spot than the patch of blacktop that spread out from the main entrance. He would walk straight up to her, ask if he could show her something, then pull her aside and give her the chocolates.
She was in his class the year before, had sat across the room, and most of the year went by without either paying the other much attention at all. But she’d been smiling at him recently, once in gym class, then again in the hall before lunch, and she had used his name when she said “Hi” to him one morning. That was the moment that clung to him, the way his name sounded in her voice. He re-played that moment in his head over and over until he was convinced that she liked him, and so he in turn had begun to like her back. Now that he had discovered how he felt, it was time to let her know.
When he arrived at school, Henry got off the bus and headed directly for the left side of the building, spotting her almost immediately amidst her small gathering of friends. As the other buses emptied, and small groups swelled into larger circles, he took the box from his backpack and wove his way through the crowds, losing sight of her for only one brief, frantic moment before spotting her once again. His heart quickened, and an ache formed in his chest as he took each breath of the cold morning air.
A punch to the shoulder knocked him backwards.
“Pay the toll, little-man.”
Chuckie—a year older than Henry, much bigger, and all too aware of his ability to bulldoze his way through life—laughed as he grabbed the box from Henry’s hand and disappeared into the crowd. Henry tried to push his way through, but the crowd had continued to thicken as more and more children filed off the buses. Before he even emerged from the group, he saw the shining red gift wrap on the ground, torn and discarded, trampled already by many feet. His panic turned to rage. He pushed his way out, but Chucky was gone. The box was gone. It wasn’t until the bell rang and the crowds dispersed, that he saw her in the distance, eyes alight with joy, as Chuckie held out his romantic offering, a small, yellow box of chocolates.
