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The Smile

Susan Gene McCartney

    Sara stares at herself in grandma’s bathroom mirror. Her skin is the color of wet chalk. Wet-chalk forehead six feet wide.
    “Look at that nose! It takes up half my face!” She smiles just to watch her big, fat lips widen out flat. “Clown lips!” No wonder I never smile.”
    “Sara, you there?” Roy calls.
    Sara places one foot on the edge of Grandma’s bathtub. Catches hold of the windowsill. Pulls herself up to peer out the high bathroom window.
    “Yeah.”
    Roy stands in the rhubarb patch. A sunbeam has found his thick copper hair. Sara thinks: He’s as skinny and pale as I am, not as tall though.
    Roy squints up at her. “You comin’ down?”
     “Yeah.”
    “Meetcha in back then.”
    Sara hops off the tub and crosses the kitchen. Roy is settled on the backporch steps, crouched over the narrow sidewalk watching the ants. Sara squats beside him. They both watch the ants.
    “You wanna play gangster?” Sara asks.
    “Okay,” Roy says.
    They follow the narrow sidewalk past the clothesline and Grandpa’s vegetable garden to the garage. Open the side door. Slide on in.
    Sara smells dusty oil. The floor is red gravel. Sawdust logs stack to the ceiling against the back wall. Late afternoon sun bounces through dirty panes of one tiny window onto the hood of Grandpa’s gray Ford.
    “There it is,” Roy claps his hands, “the get-away-car!”
    Roy opens the door on the driver’s side and climbs in. Sara gets in on the passenger side. She feels the soft, fuzzy car seats. The dash with its knobs and dials gleams dull silver. Rolling down her window, she dangles one long, white arm over its edge. I’m Molly the Gun Moll now, I’ll soon be part of a great bank robbery.
    “Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!” Roy turns the steering wheel this way and that. “Are you ready for the big job, Dolly?” His voice is raspy.
    “My name is Molly. Don’t call me Dolly,” Sara says, “or I won’t play.”
    “Vroom! Vroom! Vroom! We’re almost there. You remember the drill?” Roy snarls. He is Kelley now, Machine Gun Kelley, famous bank robber.
    “Of course,” Molly drawls.
    She looks over at her partner-in-crime. He has the longest eyelashes ever seen. What I wouldn’t give for those eyelashes.
    “Screech!” Machine Gun Kelley shouts, then whispers, “We’re here,” easing his door open. His step crunches on the gravel.
    He disappears behind the car.
    Molly’s heart races. This is it. I, Molly the Gun Moll, will save the day once more with her excellent driving skills. She scoots behind the wheel. Grips it tightly.
    “Vroom, vroom,” she whispers, giving the wheel a yank. Her hands sweat.
    “Arrgh” she hears from behind the car. Machine Gun Kelley stumbles into view on the passenger side. Pulls open the door open. Throws himself on the seat.
    “They got me, Dolly!” He gasps for breath.
    “Molly!” She corrects him.
    “Get us out of here!” Kelley yelps.
    “Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!” Molly jerks the wheel to the right, then to the left. “Vroom! Vroom! Vroom! Screeeeech! Whew, we made it.”
    Molly wipes damp hands on her dress. “You hurt bad, Kelley?”
    “Naw! Just a scratch,” Kelley groans. Sits up.
    “That was a close call,” says Molly.
    “It sure was, Dolly,” Kelley rasps.
    “Don’t call me Dolly,”
    “Dolly Dolly Dolly...,” Roy edges across the seat toward her.
    “Roy, I told you I wouldn’t play if you —.”
    Roy’s boy lips press against her girl lips. They sit there, lips locked, eyes open wide. They pull apart. Barrel out of the car on opposite sides. Slam! Slam! Out of the garage. Slam!
    Outside, they stop short. Sara examines her big toe. Roy stares at his left thumb.
    “I gotta go.” Roy makes a dash for the front sidewalk.
    “Me, too.” Sara stomps up the backporch steps. Opens the screen door.
     “Hey, Sara!” Roy calls from the front sidewalk.
    “Yeah,” Sara says through the screen.
    “See ya tomorrow?”
    Something chimes inside Sara, a tiny golden bell maybe.
    “Okay?” Roy’s voice cracks.
    The golden bell chimes louder. Sara’s insides tingle. The tingle moves up her spine to her just-kissed-by-a-boy lips. Her lips quiver, open into a little smirk, then a small grin and then into a big, wide smile.
    She softly closes the kitchen door.

    ‘The Smile’ was first published by Sleet Magazine several years ago.

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