Leo Trying Hard

Leo's day began well enough. He opened one eye, then two, then got up out of bed. He raised the window shade and made his bed precisely to San Quentin's standards--sheets smooth, blanket tight. It was not 7:30 yet, but already the morning was bright and cloudless. His father had taught him how to make a bed, and every time Leo performed this chore he thought of his father in San Quentin.

Downstairs, Leo poured himself a bowl of Cheerios. On the counter near the phone was a car key and a note. Leo slid over one seat and reached for the note; his mother's handwriting: I love you.

Leo stared at the child-like handwriting and took a deep breath. "In through your nose, out through your mouth." Coach had taught him this procedure.

Leo lifted the cereal bowl and drained the remaining milk.

So far so good...

On the street, the Vietnamese were sweeping. Storefronts were opening.

Two blocks down Leo found his mother's car. Four tires were missing.

His eyes closed. Then opened.

He ran across the street to Eugenie's. He yelled “Eugenie!” at the fifth floor. “That's my mother's car!”

Leo knew his friend was unaware. His mother's car was brand new on the street. A piece of shit with good tires.

The Combine started at ten. Every scout in the nation would be there. St. Louis had already given him the "wink". Good running-backs were hard to come by.

“License to steal,” Coach had said. "Do your best."

I love you...

In through your nose. Out through your mouth...

“Mr. Bi'ne, I need a ride!" Leo said standing before the shopkeeper.

Mr. Bi'ne knew this already. “My car at corner,” Mr. Bi'ne said, and hurried to lock his storefront door.

-300 Words-