To See the bear
Josh Peterson
By noon, David had a severe drunk on, so Brooke took her sons out for pizza. The gas gauge was well below E by the time she pulled into the Casey’s gravel parking lot. Her boys were six and four, and before the car came to a stop, Jeffrey, the elder, had the back door open and was leaning out of it. “Pizza, pizza, pizza,” he said. Curt, the younger, had his palm against the passenger window. His hands were always greasy. Faint fingerprints streaked the glass. He pointed at a sign that read Piccadilly Circus Pizza. There was a smiling lion on that sign. Brooke scolded Jeffrey for opening the door before the car came to a complete stop. His apology was sincere, but while giving it, he was unable to quell his pizza-excitement, his leg bouncing up and down. She helped Curt out of the car and led her sons, hand-in-hand, into the store. It was nearly one, and the store was empty, except for the cashier, an obese woman with a wide smile and crooked teeth. Her hair was gray and pulled back into a bun. “Afternoon,” she said, waving at the children. They smiled and returned exaggerated waves. Brooke was glad to see that the store’s only table, two red benches sandwiching a yellow dining surface, was unoccupied. Farmers would often spend all day in the store talking, smoking cigarettes and drink-
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