Killing Time

We'll go Downtown to kill some time.

Mama will guide me past the guards and plant herself in front of her favorite slot. It's the one in the unlit corner between the elevators and a row of snack machines.

After a while, she'll shoo me away.

I'll study the candies, chips, and frosted buns behind the smudged glass--waiting, waiting, waiting.

Time crawling by.

Soon she'll lose herself in bells, bars, and clusters of cherries--pushing life and soul into the hole.

She'll say, "It'll pay out if you just give it time."

And I'll turn to my new friend as he steps away from Mama's notice. After a moment he'll offer me beer-laced kisses and little else but the darkness and cold of his run-down truck.

"Come on. Just for a little while."

I'll hesitate, not wanting to admit I know what's on his mind. Several seconds will pass as I stare at Mama's back, willing her to stop playing and turn around. But she'll never look up.

For me, Mama never has even a second.

After a long pause he'll give an uneasy cough. "Ah, come on," he'll whisper. And then he'll give my back what to him will seem a reassuring rub.

"Yes," I'll finally say to his over-eager face. "Only for a minute or two." And he grabs my hand and leads me away, relaxed.

Because, we're just killing time.