I usually don't believe in the black magic of Buzzfeed quizzes but I took one that told me what famous criminal I'd be. I was beyond relieved it skipped over Jeffrey Dahmer(because eating brains is gross) and straight to the queen-bee herself- Bonnie Elizabeth Parker- who I consider to be the brains of Bonnie and Clyde. Never did I think a Buzzfeed quiz could be so relatable. My pre-teen years of shoplifting convenience store earrings for attention never made more sense.
Then there's Cash. Calling him my Clyde would have the man rolling in his grave. The kid looks petrified at my suggestion of breaking in, his eyes so wide I can see myself in them. "We can't do that, it's illegal." He says.
Cash is more like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, untouched, untainted by the cruel world, but the kind that gets swallowed whole by hungry people. It's charming- when its not annoying.
"Then please, shower me with all you great ideas. I'm listening."
Crickets answer.
"I'm waiting-"
"Is the possibility of going to jail for breaking and entering not enough to deter you?"
"Your assuming this is my first rodeo. When I was sixteen, I broke into a Dunkin Donuts and stole four dozen Boston creams. They were out for weeks. South Carolina declared a state of emergency and I earned my name the Boston Cream Bandit." Only half of that was true. I may have worked at the Dunkin Donuts and may have been high at the time. I also got fired.
Cash lets out a heavy sigh. "Giving me your resume doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, now I feel bad for Dunkin Donuts." He groans.
"Cash, don't worry about Dunkin Donuts. I promise the Boston Cream Bandit didn't crash their stocks. There fine. Are you in or not?"
His sad eyes peak out from his arm- this kid pouts so much that I expect him to have wrinkles in his early thirties. "I just don't know-"
"Do you want your memories or not?" I growl.
"I do-"
"Then what do you have to lose." I emphasize the last word.
There's a long pause. Cash never moves from his fetal position. He mumbles to himself in Spanish or something. Then, he looks up, a deafed expression on his face. "Fine. I'll do it."
"Excellent." I smirk. Something about corrupting his moral compass was satisfying. "Ready to hear my plan?"
Cash looks like a kicked puppy. "Go for it." He sighs, as if my antics exasperate him.
The spirit of Bonnie is with me as I enter the lobby. I feel like a badass ready to slay. I can already imagine myself victorious- holding the memory box thing in my hands like a trophy. But my montage is interrupted by Cash tripping.
I glare and he mouths 'sorry' to me. Cash is already a mess, his hands shaking. He looks at me with these big watery eyes like my brother's hamster would every time it was taken from its cage.
"Remember, cough if you see someone coming and act natural." I say. Cash nods.
He takes his seat in one of the grey- worn out chairs in the lobby. His eyes focus on the hallway- he's on lookout duty.
I tip-toe towards the security guard. His grimy shoes are kicked back on the desk, while his chair is so far back that it squeaks with every breath he takes. His body is donut thicc and even if he catches us he won't be much of a challenge to outrun. His keys and I.D hang off of a hook that's latched onto his belt. The security guards face is too peaceful- I'll put my money on it that he's NyQuil drunk . Fun times. My hand reaches for the key ring, a squeak echoes in the lobby, and it takes me a minute to realize it's Cash coughing.
The second I pull out my phone, a couple walks past me. I don't even have time to look like I'm sending a text. This was almost a close call.
But then there's Cash- never did I think a person could struggle so much at 'acting natural.' I knew we were doomed when he makes direct eye contact with the couple as they walk by and his first instinct was finger guns. Once the already traumatized duo were caught in his gaze he gave them a smile so plastic that I hope he would recycle it. And if his lady killing smile didn't blind the innocent victims than the dangling tampon strings that were caressing his lips would surely do the job .
With fear wild in their eyes, they ran out the door.
"Was that good?"
"Perfect, you have a natural charm. But next time you cough give me more black lung and less-school-kid-playing-hooky. "
He gives me an okay gesture and I'm thankful that he didn't give me finger guns or dab. I don't want to think about the last one.
Going back to what I was doing, I give a quick look around the room before my fingers move to the hook. I keep an eye on his face, each breath he takes makes my heart race as I open the hook. The keys jingle slightly and his breath catches just as the tip of the hook comes loose from his belt.
Then Cash coughs. A cough so obnoxiously loud that I find myself making eye contact with the security guard. We both stare in silence. With each passing second that our eyes lock I try to summon the spirit of Bonnie to grace me with the courage, I need to yank the keys away.
With one good tug- I have them in my hand.
The security guard and I share a handful of awkward stares. I jump off him, running full speed out of the way. I half expect Cash to be following, but instead he's landing a rocket on the moon. The kid is so spaced out that I have to grab him by the hand to pull him from his seat. I turn right down the hallway to the museum side of the Department of Mnemonic Devices. I jump over the metal chain that reads 'closed.' Cash flops over it, landing on the floor. I pull him up and start running blindly in the dark.
There's whispering and footsteps behind us. The long shadows of dinosaurs, animals and humans from the exhibits tease me, making it harder to tell if we're in the clear. I squint my eyes, a door that reads Authorized Personnel Only catches my attention. I give a quick look around and pull us in. I close the door as the footsteps get louder.
The supply closet is smaller than my shower and it reeks of lemon-scented bleach and ammonia. Cash and I are so close that were basically grinding against each other in the worst game of Seven Minutes in Heaven I've ever played. We both quiet, the only sound is the dying animal noises that Cash is making . The footsteps outside the door grow softer but they never stop. Then without warning- maniacal laughter.
Cash's laughter is unsettling, like an evil villain before they monologue.
"Ssshhhhh..." I kick his shoe. It doesn't help. "Why are you laughing?"
"Because I'm terrified and it's better than crying."
I sigh. "Stop worrying. The Boston Cream Bandit has this under control."
"You said that before we had the entire security staff after us."
"Cash, you have to be flexible with these things."
"Flexible? Do you think are legal system in flexible for poor minorities? I can already see myself in an orange jumpsuit-"
A light flashes under the door."Sshhhh." My breath hitches and I worry that Cash's strangled sounds will attract the guards.
When the light moves away, I sigh. Cash melts to the floor. I assume he's curled up in a ball but its hard to see in the dark.
"Vega," Now he's hysterical. " I'm not going to do well in jail."
"Your not going to jail."
"Yes, I am."
"Cash," I growl. " I already have a plan. I saw a sign for stairs- there just down the hallway. We'll take the stairs and figure out where to go from there."
He mumbles something in either cry-baby or Spanish- I don't know, but I ignore him.
I rest my ear on the door and listen. No footsteps. It's quiet. I poke my head out the door and see no lights or people- only the shadow of a model T-Rex outside.
"Come on Cash, where going." I try and speak softly to him as to not agitate his fragile state. In reality, I really want to smack some bravery into the boy.
He almost knocks a chemical shelf over, standing up. Once he's standing, I open the door and make a run for it, but Cash is slower than my internet in a dead zone.
I grab his hand and drag him. Never did I think hot yoga would have a real life use, but here I am, dragging a boy twice my size by the hand and through the museum on a recon mission like some hardened criminal.
When we get to the stairwell, I scan the keycard and a little green light flashes. I open the door and see that a set of stairs goes up and down.
"Down," Cash croaks. "The department is downstairs."
I drag him two flights down, only pausing at the door to breath. I feel sweaty and gross. I'm sure that between doing sprints in the museum and almost dying in the forest my makeup has long sweated off.
Cash's face is red and he has this dead look in his eye, as if I killed his dog.
The double-door at the bottom of the stairs is metal. It looks heavy and unwelcoming. I scan the keycard and another green light flashes. I take one more deep-breathe and pull the door open.
I find myself in a place so familiar that I get goosebumps. The walls are Prozac grey and the lights are a yellow toned fluorescent. The first thing I see in the entryway is a sign that says Employee of the Month. Eerily enough, all twelve photos have the same guy in it. He wears a teal vest and a name tag that reads Cardboard-Carl. His name didn't disappoint as his lifeless eyes and balding head screams divorced father of two awaiting a midlife crisis.
"Why do I feel like I'm at a big-name convenience store?" I say, looking at the shopping carts with one defective wheel that line the walls. The place reeks of cheap labor and being overworked and underpaid.
"If I remember correctly," Cash clears his throat. He has a sickly look on his face- not saying he always looks like he's ready to die. "From what I've read, they help fund it."
"Interesting."
"I guess-" The sounds of footsteps behind the door has Cash tugging at my shirt. "Come on, let's hurry up."
I nod. We walk around the corner and standing there is Cardboard-Carl, but his pictures didn't do him justice. It's not just his eyes that are lifeless but his whole aura. This guy needs some heavy crystal therapy.
He wave at us lifelessly, he's standing at the entrance with a roll of stickers in his hand. "Welcome to the Department of Mnemonic Devices and Dreams," his voice is what I assume dying sounds like. "Where memories are made and remembered. "He hands Cash and I stickers like we're children.
I crumble mine and stick them in my pocket. Cash just stares wide eyed at his hand. "Can you show us how to get to our vault." The sound of the door opening has me antsy.
"Soulmate or single."
"Soulmate." Cash says.
Cardboard-Carl pulls out a scanner- like the kind at the grocery store- and holds its infront of us. "I'll just scan your forehead and-"
There isn't any time- heavy footsteps are around the corner. I pull the scanner from his hand, grab Cash and run.
"Sorry! Hope you don't get fired!" Cash shouts behind me at Cardboard-Carl.
I hold his scanner in my hand as we run. When I pull the trigger, an infra-red light flashes. I smirk. "Oh, Cash," when he turns to me, I point the scanner to his forehead and scan him like an apple. "Thanks."
I look at the scanner. It lists aisle fifteen, but the number on it is longer than my phone number so I don't bother trying to memorize it. I tuck the scanner in my backpack, as I turn, I make the mistake of looking behind me. Three people in security outfits are chasing us.
I think about all the popular tropes from cops and robbers books in which the robbers escape freely. Putting on disguises is too unrealistic and hiding in vents sounds like a nice way to breathe in some black mold or asbestos. I don't need to set myself up for a risk of Mesothelioma.
My third thought is the 'pushing the shelf over on the cops trope.' While I can't do it, Cash can- at least I hope he can. Spaghetti arms and two left feet might be a hindrance, but with all the shaking he does maybe it's helped build muscle? Maybe?
"Cash," I say between breathes. "I need you to do us a favor. Por favor." I said the words as sweetly as possible.
It's disturbing how he looks past me, like there's a monkey with cymbals in his head calling all the shots.His breathing is heavy and it takes him a couple seconds to answer. "I-I don't know if I can do anything right now."
"I mean, you don't have to do anything if you want to get caught and go to jail-."
I can see the gears in his head turning. I'm sure he's picturing that orange jumpsuit again."Okay," he breathes. "W-what is it?"
"I need you to knock some shelves over. I'll run down one aisle to distract them," I motion my head to the security guards behind us. " Just push the shelf over, once you see them."
Cash's eyebrows crease together. "I really don't think I can do that." He shakes his head. " I could kill someone and then I'd go to jail for the rest of my life or I'll be given the death penalty-"
"Cash,trust me, please?" I pout, pushing my lip out as far as it goes. "I wouldn't survive in jail, there's no Netflix."
Cash's face is like a kaleidoscope of emotions and every single one of them reads clearly on him. This kid would be terrible at poker. "Okay," he sighs. " But can we pick a soft aisle. Like one with pillows?"
I point up to the ceiling. A sign hangs that says 'Grandma's Sweaters- Aisle Twelve'.
"Grandmas sweaters are always soft." Except my grandmother's sweaters- she must have crochet with barbed wire.
We turn a corner and pick up speed, running to aisle twelve. Cash ducks in aisle eleven and I stand in front of the aisle, with my hands on my knees as if I'm catching my breath,
In the distance, I can see the security guards catching up. They're red faced and their bodies jiggle as they run. When there close, one shouts, "ma'm, don't move!" As if I'm going to listen.
I don't let them finish. I charge right down the aisle with them in tow. I try to keep a safe distance.
"Ma'm please! Be reasonable!"
Hahaha, reasonable.
The shelf sways and shakes, and I look for something to keep them distracted. Christmas sweaters. I grab a couple and chuck them. The security guards are dazed by my offensive move so I keep throwing. I'm like Rambo with ugly Christmas sweaters as my ammunition.
But one sweater leaves me awestruck. I can't throw it, it's the ugliest of sweaters and its meant to be worn ironically. Plus, it's teal- the only shade of teal that looks good on my skin. I need this sweater- a shadow in the corner of my eye catches my attention and I realize the whole self is falling over.
I swallow hard, tuck the sweater under my arm and try my best to jump out of the way. But it's too late. My jump is too short and my leg catches under a corner. I'm pinned to the ground but at least the sweater is safe, I stuff it in my bag.
The pain is shooting. I try and lift the edge to move it, but it won't budge. And with how much noise the collapsing of the shelf made, we probably don't have much time.
I wave down Cash but he's stock still and staring at the fallen shelf. In his mind, he's probably envisioning himself doing twenty years hard time at the state prison. "Help me! I'm stuck." I yell directly at him, but the lights are on and nobody's home.
"Cash?" I repeat, waving my arms.
When he finally looks at me, he's biting his lip and bouncing. "I-I-I'm so sorry Vega."
"Then help me-"
What I don't expect is for him to start deadlifting the shelf back up.
"What are you doing?" I shout.
"Helping." I want to choke him and the second my leg is free I might.
I pull my leg out. It's red and swollen and the thought of standing hurts. But, I steady myself using the adjacent shelf and stand. Each step is agonizing but I'm running on pure bitch energy right now. I can't even limp, I have to hop over to Cash.
By the time I get there the shelf is upright and the security guards beneath are trying to stand.
"Why did you do that? Why are you helping them?" I spit. Physical assault is below me, unless a bitch slaps me first, but I momentarily entertain the thought of choking Cash.
Though I can see him shaking, he tries to hold his head high. "They were groaning in pain- they were hurt. You're hurt." He points to my ankle. "They shouldn't have to suffer. No one should."
I roll my eyes. "Cash, they would have been fine-"
But Cash isn't paying attention, his eyes are focused behind us. I sigh. I would have more riveting conversation with a rock. Maybe next journey, I'll replace Cash with a rock. Shit might get done.
"We have to go-" He says.
"Yeah, and I'll just hop everywhere at the speed of light-"
Then, with no warning, I'm being picked up and tossed under Cash's arm like a wood plank. I have to hold my flower crown to my head and keep my front pocket on my overalls closed to keep the stupid golden egg from scrambling on the floor. "What are you doing- let me down!" I bet Bonnie never had to put up with this shit.
"We don't have time. I'm sorry." We haven't moved far but he's already out of breath.
"Just FYI you don't carry footballs like this, let alone other people." Last time a guy did this to me, I bit him.
"Vega, again I'm sorry." He stands between two aisle, pacing back and forth. "Can you tell me what aisle our vault is in? Or which one it is?"
"Aisle fifteen." I growl. All I can feel is disjointed running beneath me. Cash runs like he's flat-footed on ice. He trips three time.
We turn down aisle fifteen, and I'm confused. At first, I thought it was an illusion from my wonderful view, under Cash's sweaty arm, but it can't be.The aisle is long- it goes on forever- and rather than groceries on the shelves some sorcerer has encrusted doors in them. Full-sized brown doors with little golden knobs. I find myself wondering if Cash dropped me at some point and this is just a coma dream, because this must be some of the weirdest bibbidy bobbity bullshit I've ever seen.
"What's the vault number." Cash wheezes.
"It's on the scanner, in my bag."
I can hear my bag unzip, then more of Cash's left-footed walking. He doesn't walk for long, before setting me down in front of a door.
I use the handle on the door to steady myself, being careful not to put weight on my leg.I fix my clothes and my flower crown until everything is back in place. Then, I turn my attention to Cash.
He's breathless, his face is red and he's rubbing the back of his neck. I make sure to glare at him- I want him to feel me staring into his soul.
"Next time you pick me up without my permission, I will bite you in self-defense."
"Again, I'm sorry, wait-" His eyebrows pull together. "Did you say bite?Like-" He bites the air like an idiot.
"Yes, I will bite you. Don't look so confused."
"Aren't you a germaphobe?"
"That's rude, I support all LGBTQ+ people."
Then he has the nerve to laugh at me. "No." He says. "Germaphobe is a fear of germs."
I knew that."Oh, I must have misheard you from your mumbling." I snapped my fingers. " And just so we're clear, I'm not a germaphobe, I'm just cautious of bacteria." If he was smart he would know there is a difference between human germs and bacterial germs.
"So,"He says. I want to smack his stupid smile, right off his face. "are you going to spray me with Lysol and then bite me-"
"Shut- up, Cash." I point to the door, twist the knob, and it's locked. " Do your incantations and open the damn door."
He looks down the aisle and when the coast is clear-which we wouldn't have to worry about if he did his job right- he has the audacity to smirk at me. Then he holds his finger up to a little black reader on the side of the door.
The door clicks and Cash pulls his finger away, shaking it. I can see blood on its top before he sticks it in his mouth, which is applauding."They require DNA to open."
This time when I twist the door knob, it opens.