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  • The gas station on Lindsay and 11th was where we rode our bikes.
    It was our new found freedom; the furthest our parents let us go alone.
    I was the older sibling, so I was in charge of the money.
    I stopped after each block to make sure the five-dollar bill our mom gave us
    Was still safe in my pocket.
    Gatorade, Butterfingers, bubblegum, potato chips.
    What are you going to get?
    Snapple and five different colored AirHeads.

    We hit our breaks and locked our bikes to the rack.
    We were greeted with the sound of a ding followed by the smell of donuts and hot dogs,
    But it was the second aisle that called our names.
    We grabbed our candy and snacks and placed it on the counter.
    I proudly handed the clerk the wrinkled five-dollar bill,
    And he put our goodies in a white plastic bag that said “THANK YOU” in red.

    The bag rested on my bike handle as we started to ride home.
    The house behind the gas station had a little girl in front on the sidewalk,
    Probably close to our age,
    Holding a stick of pink chalk.

    We stopped.
    She didn’t move for us.

    Come on, Hannah. Let’s go! a woman shouted from a green car in the driveway.
    The girl ran to the car and hopped in the back seat,
    Then they were gone.

    We looked down at the ground.
    Next to the pink chalk it said “R.I.P Michael”.

    I wonder who Michael is?

    I wished I shared my candy with her.
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