Doing a Runner
Flash Fiction
Are you ready?
Mmm, no wait. She looked at me the way she probably did when she did a mischievous thing as a little girl. What if we get caught?
We just paid and that’s all, I said, whispering so the server and people around wouldn’t hear.
I love you, Mike!
Mia, chill out. We are not gonna die, jeez. I started laughing a bit to release some anxiety I must admit I had. But Mia was on the 400m track team at our high school, so I was not particularly nervous about the running; it was more about the act of doing it.
The plan was simple. Since she was faster, I was going to pretend to go to the bathroom, then dash towards the plaza and run two blocks away to where our car was parked. Mia would pretend to get a call on her cellphone, move to a quieter area closer to the entrance, and run as fast as possible.
We thought there was no chance of the restaurant staff stopping us. We had always wanted to do it. We were in a foreign country where nobody knew us, even in the worst-case scenario of being arrested.
I dashed with all my might, not looking back. I ran through the plaza with ease, and by the time I reached the streets near the rental car, I looked back to see Mia. I waited.
Fuck!
I got into the car. I looked at the side-view mirror and saw a guy with a dirty apron holding a huge cleaver. He was looking toward my street and started walking fast, looking pissed. He was like a bull coming toward me; I could see the anger fuming even from far away. I knew if I tried to drive away, he would get the license plate or I’d get stuck in traffic at the next corner.
I slid through the passenger side, opened the door carefully, and got out. I slowly got in front of the car and squatted. That’s when I realized I was covered in sweat — cold sweat. I splayed over the sidewalk.
Help! Help!
¿Qué pasa? He said, his cleaver shining and his eyebrows lifted.
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¿Viste algo? I didn’t understand, so I tried as much as possible to tell him somebody had tried to take the car keys.
¿Viste a un hombre correr?
¡Sí! ¡Sí! That way!
He just made an ugly face, looked at me with pity, and left. I almost smiled with relief when he started walking toward the next block. An old lady perching on her balcony right above me nodded her head. She made a movement with her hands and mouth as if she were about to shout to the man with the cleaver, who was still in sight.
Oh, god! It’s over, I thought.
But the lady just faked it and kept smiling with gusto, watching me on the sidewalk, covered in sweat and now with a big, wet soaking spot on the front of my pants.
Mia came after ten minutes. She was walking normally with her shades over her head, without a single sign of sweat.
I was waiting for you! There’s a guy looking for you with a big-ass knife!
No babe, she said. He’s looking for you.
What the fuck, Mia? Let’s go, alright, I said, whispering to her that an old lady was watching the whole scene so we had to leave.
She started laughing uncontrollably. You wet your jeans, dork! she barely managed to say through the laughter. I was confused. What happened? I yelled at her.
Mia couldn’t talk; she just kept laughing. Smells like pee in here. I thought it was not a big deal like you said, Mike, she said with a smirk. That cheeky smile used to be cute, but now it was evil.
What a bitch… what did you do? Fuck, Mia, are you serious? Just tell me why you didn’t even run. You are fucking dry! You didn’t run a single block, did you?
Hahahahaha!
I’m done. Let’s just go to the hotel. I need to change my pants.
Good idea, she replied. I need to change my tampon.
