Steal My Sunshine

Listen to the story’s song before reading

I stood to the left of the store’s automatic doors finishing my third cigarette in a row; I’d rather risk cancer than go shopping with my girlfriend. It’s not that she took long, it’s that she didn’t take her wallet. I’d say she was lucky to have me outside, ready to drive away, if she was ever at risk of being caught.

But the angel and demon on her shoulders, everyone else’s conscience, counted employees and eyes in the sky. She’d never take from me and tried to leave other people alone, but companies, mega-stores, she victimized at her discretion.

I blew smoke at a passing mother and daughter because parents with small children shoot dirty looks around regardless; I flicked the butt, then my lighter to spark a new cigarette when a cardboard box, taller than me and almost as wide, came out of the store and sat itself down.

“Why isn’t the car started- I texted you. Let’s go.” My girlfriend said to me from behind the box before picking it back up and speed-walking into the parking lot.

I jogged after her. “Did you just steal a gazebo?”

***

She’d left the set-up to me; of course I was having a harder time starting than she’d had stealing. “How the hell’d you walk out with this?” I jammed the metal pole I held into the ground and it fell, same as last time.

“Not everything can be watched at once.” She said from her back a few feet over; her head went from me to the sky, “If you’re in tune, you know the certain times to take certain things.”

I stabbed at the ground again, didn’t even break dirt. “Whatever you’re in tune with it isn’t the seasons,” I javelined the pole across our yard then dropped next to her, “Ground’s been frozen for a week.”

She shivered, wriggled her head onto my chest. “I just thought ice-cream under a setting sun sounded nice.”

“Sure. But we have a house. With windows.” The ground was colder than she made me warm.

“You just gave me an idea.” She jumped up, ran inside and I sped after.

I slammed the door, rubbed my arms to replace the warmth. “Please tell me it’s hot-chocolate instead of ice-cream.”

“Nonono. This will be better.” My girlfriend opened the freezer, grabbed the carton of ice-cream.

I groaned, she ignored it, set the ice-cream on the table then forced me to sit; instead of sliding into the other chair she turned on the faucet, soaked her hands. “You know how my Mom calls me Sticky Paws?” I nodded, she didn’t see, continued anyways, “It wasn’t just cause I stole from stores.” She went to the counter, unlidded the sugar jar, stuck her hands inside then brought them back out coated in white.

“You stole spices too? Edgy.”

She went to where the failing rays of the day’s sun came through the window, swept her hands through the beams; wherever they went no light remained. Two more passes then she was sitting on my lap, rubbing her hands together, rolling shine between them; her palms opened to reveal two perfect cylinders, straws of pure sunlight.

They cut through the ice-cream like rocks in water; we drank the entire carton without getting brain-freeze.

Back to My Mixtape

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