“So then he finally let me go,” Matt finished. “That’s why you never talk to freakin’ pigs.”
“I thought you said he was a police officer,” Kevin replied, quizzically raising an eyebrow.
“You poor, sweet little child,” Matt sighed, putting his hand on the preteen’s shoulder as they strolled deeper into Woodruck Park. “‘Pig’ is what grown-ups call police officers.”
“You aren’t that grown-up,” Kevin replied, unimpressed. “And that seems a little mean.”
“18 is grown up,” Matt muttered, trying very hard to suppress his temper, “and what’s meanis racial profiling me to try and have me executed for a murder on the other damn side of town.”
“Is it racial profiling when you’re totally identical to a million other white punk rocker gach--”
“Yes, Kevin,” Matt loudly snapped, “it most certainly freakin’ is.” Kevin recoiled like a scared puppy from the sharpness of his tone, cowering and throwing his hands up instinctively for a moment before processing the situation and slowly lowering them.
Matt sighed. “Look, I’m-I’m sorry. That was--I shouldn’t get that tone with you.”
“Y-you r-really shouldn’t,” Kevin pouted in agreement, his voice still trembling. The boy spat on the grass to look tough and hide his fear.
“Look, you’re right. I shouldn’t--I gotta’ do better. But you’ve also got to stop being so weak, kid. If I piss you off, you should tell me, hey, you pissed me off, and if I’m still a punk about it, then you should rough me up a little bit, you know? You can’t get all jumpy when someone raises their voice. It’s a tough world. You should know that. You’re a street kid, you gotta--you gotta know how to scrap, yeah?!”
“I’m a homeless kid, not a damn newsie,” Kevin groaned, shoving his hands in his pocket.
“Alright, alright. Point taken. I was a big old fu--uh, jerk. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
Matt’s eyes wandered. “Uh… do you still want a GameBoy Color?”
Kevin’s eyes lit up, and it took a lot of willpower to keep from jumping up and down. “Of course I do! Can… can you afford to get me one?”
“Suuuure can, kiddo,” Matt replied, trying his best to not sound suspicious. “Uh, sit under this tree where you’ll be safe, and I’ll go get you one. I’ll just… run real fast to… to Babbages.”
“Why do I have to sit under the tree? Can’t I just come with you?” Kevin blurted, excitedly slurring the phrase into a single barely coherent word.
“N… no,” Matt replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a fingerless-glove clad hand. “I want it to be a surprise.”
“What? How can it be a surprise if you just told me?”
Matt froze for a second, his eyes shifting awkwardly in all directions, as if the right answer would be floating in WordArt in front of him. “Because... I’m also going to get you a game with it, and I don’t want you to know which one. Like, duh. Come on, you’re--you’re a smart kid, you should have figured that out.”
Kevin eyed him suspiciously, with a look that said you’re being terribly suspicious, and I’m not a five-year-old, I know you’re up to something… but he knew Matt enough, even after just a couple of days, to know he wouldn’t promise something he couldn’t provide.
“Close your eyes and count to… uh… some really high number.” Kevin found this childish, but he’d finish a hundred coloring books or watch fifty episodes of Barney or any other foolish kiddy pastime someone asked of him if it would get him a GameBoy. He sat down in the moist soil under the black cherry tree, unflinching as the damp dirt further soiled the seat of his weathered Levi’s, and covered his eyes.
“N-no, count out loud,” Matt called from a good distance away. Kevin shrugged and did so.
“One… two… three…” the sounds of some sort of altercation rang out muffled in the near distance, but Kevin kept counting, “four… five… six… sev--”
“Ta-da!” Matt boomed. Kevin opened his eyes and saw Matt shoving an Atomic Purple GameBoy Color in his face like someone in an obnoxious commercial. The device was turned on and had an oversized Pokémon Pinball cartridge sticking up in the back. Kevin frowned. “Y-you’re not smiling. Do you not like Pokémon, or--”
“Give it back,” Kevin spat.
“To Babbages?”
“Matt, you didn’t go to Babbages in seven seconds. You stole it from the kid over there who’s crying now.” Kevin pointed to a much younger child several trees over who was lying on the ground weeping profusely.
“He could be crying about anything,” Matt replied.
“My GameBoyyy!” the child wailed. Matt glared at the child, who stopped weeping and recoiled in terror.
“Please tell me you didn’t threaten that child’s parents,” Kevin replied, exasperated, his hand sinking into his face.
“Listen, it worked to get kids to return their Disney movies when I worked at Blockbuster, so I figured--” But Kevin just stared right through him, angry and hurt. “Kev, if I had the money to buy you one for real, you know I would.”
“I’m starting to see why you don’t like police officers,” Kevin mumbled, shoving Matt’s hand back and turning away.
A wave of guilt swept over the gacha--Matts weren’t known for their kindness or regard for the law, so he was often clashing with the boy over such things. He couldn’t understand it. How could a boy who had lived on the streets, who had nothing to his name but a backpack full of school stuff and one outfit, find fault with him for turning his anger against the system? For bending the rules to their benefit? Didn’t the kids who could buy GameBoy Colors have enough going for them already, and real older brothers who could buythem another one?
But though he couldn’t understand, Matt desperately wanted to. He wished he could be the kind of person Kevin could look up to and be proud of. When he disappointed Kevin like this, it felt like a hole had been punched in his chest and had a chain affixed to it with a hundred-pound weight on the other end. He didn’t say anything, exhaling and walking back over to the crying child. “I’m sure your mom is a fine lady, and I won’t really cut her head off,” he mumbled, disgruntledly shoving the GameBoy back in the kid’s hand. He walked back to Kevin and plopped down next to him, but the boy stubbed up and shuffled to face away.
“I’m sorry, Kevin,” Matt said again. He really was, but he knew there was no way to change the way Kevin felt at this moment, so he didn’t try. He just sat there, feeling angry and guilty and rotten inside. Kevin didn’t reply. The silence was finally broken a couple minutes later when Kevin’s stomach loudly rumbled.
“Again? You just ate yesterday!” Matt joked. Kevin didn’t find it so funny. “Alright, come on, stop moping and we’ll find you something to eat.”
“You can’t steal it this time,” Kevin sternly replied, reluctantly rising to his feet.
“Your choice, but if I don’t, we’re going diving for it,” Matt matter-of-factly replied, leaping to his own feet. “Will it be Italian trash or Mexican trash for your cuisine this evening?”