Gum
By Zia Bella Blair
Zia Bella Blair is a freshman at Chapman University majoring in Creative Writing. From Dallas, Texas, she graduated from Booker T. Washington HSPVA. With a background in playwriting, she has had a ten-minute play produced. Her favorite genres to write are non-fiction and poetry. In her free time she enjoys drawing and origami.
My best friend pointed at the Wintergreen pack of gum that had fallen from the plastic stand that held the rest of the gum. I looked at her and she raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“What?” I whispered.
“Take it,” she whispered back. I stood still, trying to think over the static in my brain.
“She’s not looking.”
This was true, the waitress was focusing on the cash register, adding up our check. I looked over at the booth in the corner where the moms sat, carrying out a thorough conversation while telling the kids to stop jumping on the chairs. Wiping ketchup stains out of t-shirts and searching for wet wipes in purses for the mess of a table we had just left. I felt the inside of my jacket pocket. It had enough room for a single pack of gum.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. My best friend groaned and in a quick motion slid the gum across the counter so it was inches from my hand.
“It’s only twenty-five cents.” She said into the top of my head. She was a foot taller than me, like most of the other fifth graders.
“I have a quarter.”
“That’s not the point. Steal it.”
She was looking around the small diner, watching my back like we were in one of the spy movies we watched during our Friday sleepovers. She liked being right and she liked doing things that other people wouldn’t. I put a hand on the counter.
“$10.56,” the waitress said, smiling at my best friend as she handed her mom’s credit card to her. She didn’t notice the gum.
“This is your last chance.” My best friend whispered out of the corner of her mouth. My leg was shaking and I felt stupid. I watched the waitresses’ long red nails swipe the card.
“Also, um, when you get the chance, I think my mom ordered two sides of fries to go.”
She was talking in her grownup voice. She was one of the smartest kids in the class and she wanted adults to know that. She had a big vocabulary and didn’t mumble or speak too fast like my mother said I did. It only made me jealous occasionally because I knew she still cried every time she lost a board game.
“Sure, I’ll grab that for y’all.”
The waitress ducked into the kitchen, opening the door long enough for me to smell hot grease.
“It’s right there.” My best friend whispered as she pushed the gum towards me with one finger.
“Take it.”
I twitched my finger. No one would notice, most likely. My hand wouldn’t move and I couldn’t think.
“Why don’t you steal it?” I asked, eyes still on the green wrapper.
“Because I would have taken it five minutes ago.” She said, she would’ve.
“Take it.”
The waitress came back with the fries in a white paper bag. My best friend sighed as she took the bag.
“You should have done it.” She said as we walked back to the group of parents and kids taking up three tables.
“I know,” I said, hands in my pockets, thinking about how glad I was that I wasn’t touching a pack of wintergreen gum. I knew it would have been something to brag about. A
token of coolness we were all hungry for, a blatant disregard for the rules. But it hadn’t been my idea and it was only twenty-five cents. It wasn’t worth it.
My best friend went on to be a kleptomaniac, boosting an impressive collection of holiday earrings, not one of which she’s ever paid for. I went on to be a person who didn’t steal things, not even a pair of underwear from Victoria's Secret or a lighter from 7/11.
Then I was seventeen and the summer before senior year was hot, suffocating and way too long. I ended up in an Albertsons checkout line, two water bottles and a pack of gum in my sweaty hands. All I could hear was my heartbeat.
“Fuck,” I breathed. I didn’t want to go in with them. We had all sat in Bleu’s car with the Christmas lights stringed along the roof and the two fluffy die hanging from the rearview.
“I don’t mind being the person who actually takes the wine,” Malena said from the passenger seat, finger wrapping and unwrapping a strand of her bright orange hair.
“I’ll go with you,” Violet said her large silver hoops touched her shoulders. They were best friends, this made sense. “So I guess Z can go buy water or something so it doesn’t look suspicious.”
“Yeah okay, hand me my bag.” Malena agreed. This was the third grocery store we had visited. The first one had a cop in the parking lot and the second one’s vibe was off according to Bleu.
“Why do I have to go in?” I asked, my foot tapping against the door.
“Cause Bleu just got off of probation,” Violet said. Bleu nodded, blowing out a big cloud of vape smoke.
I thought about how unfair it was that I had to steal a bottle of wine I wouldn’t be able to drink. I was supposed to drive Malena and Violet home. I know they only invited me to go with
them to the party later for a ride but I didn’t mind. They were the type of girls who smoked weed before, during and after school and never got paranoid. They were over-accessorized and critical of anything basic, bedazzled vapes sticking out of high waisted denim shorts from the thrift store. Their smooth composure was only interrupted by deliberate edges, the uneven crops of their ironic t-shirts. They lived for doing things other people wouldn’t. They took risks and didn’t care if it didn’t end well. It gave them a story, an identity. The express lane was moving.
The customer in front of me set his six-pack down on the conveyor belt. I looked around the brightly lit store for Malena or Violet. The six-pack was being put in a plastic bag. The paper encasing of the pack of gum felt soggy in my hand. I looked behind my back to see a mother, her baby sitting in the shopping cart staring at me. The cashier called for the next person in line. Legs shaking, I set the water bottles and gum on the conveyor.
“Find everything okay?” The cashier asked, a guy who looked a couple of years older than me, I noticed his name tag was upside down.
“Yeah,” I said.
“$4.25”
“Okay.”
As I fished my wallet out of my bag. I saw two pairs of platform sneakers join me. I glanced at Malena and Violet as I handed him my card. Violet’s cheeks were red and her eyes a little bright, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Malena looked normal if not bored. A hand gripping the tote bag over her shoulder. I caught a glimpse of shiny foil peeking out the top of the bag. They smiled at the cashier. I watched his eyes while he swiped my card, he glanced over at the tote bag. I dug my fingernails into my leg.
“Here you go. Do you want your receipt?”
“No, it’s okay.”
I slid my card back into my wallet and grabbed the water and gum.
“Have a good day,” The cashier said.
“You too.” We all echoed.
On the drive back to my house all the windows were rolled down and the music turned up. They had taken two bottles of rosé.
“An extra one to celebrate Bleu getting off probation,” Malena said. Violet loaded a one-hitter as Bleu drove. One hand on the steering wheel the other around the neck of one of the bottles already open. Violet passed the pipe to Bleu as she passed the bottle back to me.
“Have a sip.”
A sip was okay I decided. The rosé wasn’t that good but I knew the song that was playing and the sun was starting to set. I looked out the open window and tried not to think about how easily Bleu could get back on probation if a single police car pulled up next to us. I put a hand in my pocket, the pack of gum felt flimsy and small and I thought about how I definitely could have gotten away with stealing a fallen pack of wintergreen gum. I wondered if I had taken it that day in fifth grade I would’ve felt different. If I would’ve felt less like an imposter in their happy triumph of getting away with something they shouldn’t have. I studied the bottle, it was heavy, solid, more dimensional than a pack of gum. I felt possessive, a sense of ownership snaked through my hand, I gripped the bottle tighter. I was holding half of the proof for the story I knew was going to be told countless times at the party. I didn’t care for the rush of adrenaline that came with the stealing. I did like holding the rosé, the payoff for the risk. I didn’t feel guilty. In the backseat of the loud car, I silently pieced together the words of the story I was excited to tell my best friend.