Trap

They crawled low, dragging through the mulberry, the small thorns pulling at Hannah’s jeans and grabbing the loose threads of her sweater.

Molly sat, crouched near the brick wall, nervous, picking at the garbage that had blown into the cracks: cigarette butts, candy wrappers, pull-tabs and the cap of a black, Bic pen. “Hurry up you rat”, a name they’d been calling each other since middle school. “She left her house, should be here soon.”

“Shut it.” A punch of words, classic Hannah.

They’d been here for half the day, waiting. Coiled rope filling their backpacks, a thick roll of duct tape stuffed into the front pocket of Molly’s blue hoodie. Their fingers were numb, they’d forgotten gloves and their white shoes damp and caked with spring mud.

“How are we going to get her into the basement, you know your sister is going to be just sitting there.” Molly had been thinking this through ever since dad woke her up with a kick to her bed.

“She’s stupid, she won’t care.”

“Aubrey bites me and I’m going to wipe the blood on your stupid face.”

Hannah was ready for teeth, ready to knock them out if she had to. “Just try it”.

Cars were passing, crossing from New Hampshire, over the river and under the old train bridge. Molly remembered spray painting their names on the old stone supports when they were in 10th grade, adding a little flair on her “y”. They could hear a woman talking to neighbors from her porch, complaining about the “shitty” weather and wondering if the town was going to fix the “road holes” in front of the Crowbar. A dog was barking from near the football fields and they both jumped a little, imagining police and handcuffs. “We should have brought handcuffs”, Molly mused.

“Where would we get handcuffs?”

“Don’ know.”

Hannah was getting ready to stand up and stretch her legs when Molly poked her back with a stick she’d picked up and was now pointing down Union towards the school. There she was, moving at more of a dance, clearly singing and completely oblivious to the trap.