THE TRUCK by Alex Natalizio

The Truck by Alex Natalizio

MY LEGS WOULD NOT LET

me stop running. I couldn’t stop to take a breath, check the time, or even to help my little brother who fell behind. I had to reach my end goal. The breeze seemed to want me to run the other direction, but I blew through it like any ten-year-old kid would if they were in the situation that I was in. The sand made it feel like there were pins and needles on the soles of my bare feet. Running on Cape Cod sand is almost as hard as trudging through three feet of snow. You don’t know which way you are going to slide each time you step. This is why my brother quite literally, fell behind. I could hear it before I could see it, and I knew I was getting closer. It was the time of day when the tide was coming in, so there were some points where I had to walk through small pools of water, trying my hardest to avoid stepping on a crab while still running at full speed. My shorts were now soaked, although about fifty percent of it was sweat, my feet hurt, I was almost completely out of breath, and I was about halfway done with my journey. But I stuck with my attitude of not giving up. I kept going. The sun suddenly came out and almost immediately burned the sand beneath my feet. “Bring flip flops,” my mom had told me. Well, Mom, it’s too late now. I could feel the shade of red that my feet were turning. It was like running on a bed of hot coals. After the scorching Cape Cod sun burnt the sand beneath my feet, I was grateful whenever I encountered a small pool of water. That is until I was pinched by a crab. I screeched in pain so loudly, that I started getting looks from all directions. Now, I had a breeze going against me, burnt feet, and I looked like I had jumped into a pool of sweat. There were two huge red marks on my right foot and I was out of breath, but I was almost at my final destination. That’s when I saw it, parked there in all its glory. It wasn’t much on the outside, but I was only interested in what was on the inside. As I approached the long line, I reached into my pocket for a crinkled up tendollar bill my mom gave me... shit. I was at the point where I thought I couldn’t even notice if I was sweating more because I was drenched. This thought quickly slipped away as I could feel myself sweating more profusely when I did not feel the money in my pocket. I must’ve dropped it, I

thought as I started to slowly retrace my steps, moving my head and eyes along the sand back and forth like a metal detector.

After ten minutes of scanning the ground and even doing some digging for my ten-dollar bill, my little brother finally caught up. I started making fun of him for falling and not being able to keep up. Without acknowledging a single word I said, he held up my money and said, “did you drop this?” A wide smile instantly jumped onto my face. I grabbed the money out of his hand and started to run. The line was shorter now and I finally reached my end goal. I went up to the side of the truck and placed my order. After I handed the man my ten-dollar bill, I was given eight dollars and fifty cents in change and the most delicious treat ever. Every time I made this journey, which was most days while I was in Cape Cod, I would always ponder on my walk back, Was all that really worth it for a rocket pop?

Gabi Garozzo ‘21