Sugar Sour Baby Girl

Sugar Sour Baby Girl

Anna, the girl across the street, set up shop with her instant lemonade pitchers and single wrapped Oreos, prepared specially by her, sealed safely with saran. Her prices were reasonable. Quarter a cup, fifty cents an Oreo. Or they seemed reasonable. Sweets seemed more valuable than gold at this age, and her mother's willingness to purchase the packets of lemonade mix led her to think that maybe it wasn't too expensive. So came along the poster board sign, bought with last year's profits, slathered with yellow and pink glitter pens and oblong doodles of citrus and cookies. Her entrepreneurial spirit was acknowledged by old Mrs. Crocker across the street, who graciously braved the road, looking no less than five times before crossing. Anna greeted her with a toothless grin and a cup already poured, as she had ample time to pour into a red Solo after noticing she was moseying over. The clatter of quarters in the bottom of the glass jar sounded like collectible plushies and in-game purchases on online games to Anna. The chime of luxury, independence, and about ten dollars by the end of a busy day. She manned that sidewalk with the persistence of a Wall Street tycoon, eyeing passing cars with a small scowl when she didn't hear their brakes grind to a halt to come see her wares. The July sun baked her pale skin and freckled her shoulders. Still she sat, wiping the sweat from her lip and swinging her feet back and forth impatiently on her fold-out chair. With the sun sitting squarely in an empty sky and quarters littering the bottom of her jar, Anna watched greedily as a rusty Corolla pittered to a stop across from her. A tall girl, several years older than her, and therefore more intimidating, sprang out and hurried across the street. In the unforgiving heat of the afternoon no car had driven by for quite some time and Anna had almost neared the end of her stamina. Suddenly reinvigorated by the idea of a sale, she beamed at the tall girl.

"Hey," the girl said, instinctively kneeling in front of the table, crouching to Anna's level so she didn't have to stare into the brightness of looking up. "What's your name?" The warnings her mother had smoothed over her regarding talking to strangers were nonsensical precautions that she threw away when it came to business. "I'm Anna." The girl smiled back, amused at the spunkiness of the young lemonade salesman. "Nice to meet you, Anna. I'm Goldie." Anna looked at Goldie, from her bare feet, which were planted in the dry grass to avoid the smoking asphalt, to the top of her brunette head that was streaked with summer sun. She was tanned from the brutally bright months, with the same freckles that Anna bore with pride scattered on her own shoulders, which had a hot pink halter top tied over them. The bottom of her midriff was exposed and met with the denim from a worn pair of shorts. Anna thought she was incredibly cool and old and pretty. But she was not gold. "You don't have blonde hair," Anna observed, hoping she seemed cooler and older and smarter as she commented on the obvious.

Goldie laughed, light and airy. "No, I'm not gold. I was born with a head of dark hair, but I was yellow. Jaundice. The doctors had me wrapped up in a little glowworm blanket. Fixed me right up." "Yellow!" Anna exclaimed in astonishment, which was met with more laughter from Goldie. "I've never seen a yellow baby." "Yeah, that's 'cause they usually fix them up before they're let loose in the wild." Anna's face only grew more incredulous with disbelief. Goldie continued, "So, my dad thought it'd be funny to call me Goldie. Next thing you know my name was on the certificate and I was going home to an Italian family with a silly name." "No!" She exclaimed again. "I love your name! That's so cool. Wow. I'm Anna after my grandma, I think." Goldie nodded and eyed the table between them. "Whatcha selling, kid?" Anna usually bristled with stoic pride when she was called a kid. But coming from cool and tan Goldie she wore it like a badge of honor. Like an inside joke had been formed between them in the past few moments. "Twenty-five for lemonade, fifty a cookie. Sorry, Oreos are more expensive than lemonade so the price is more." "Inflation, kid. Supply and demand," Goldie said. "It's all economics." The words she was using were so big and unfamiliar to Anna, but she would never admit as much. She found herself sitting up straighter in her chair and nodding seriously along with Goldie, like a miming shadow. "Economics," she repeated. The rusty car behind them honked, short and loud. The girls both jumped before returning the driver’s copycat glares. "Who is that?" Anna asked. "A boy," Goldie stated back. When Anna thought of boys she got a little giggly and expected Goldie to be the same way. Instead, her answer was flat, one dimensional. Even little Anna could feel that there was nothing there. "Do we like him?" She asked again, inserting herself into the narrative. Goldie smiled at the idea that this little kid would have picked up on something so quickly. And that she seemed so extreme in her emotions regarding things she didn't know. Goldie couldn't remember the last time she felt extreme about anything. Quietly, she answered, "Yeah, I mean… I like him." Her hesitation was not lost on Anna, and she looked around Goldie to stare down the driver. The reflection of a scrolling phone screen illuminated his face with a pasty blue flush. His curly hair tufted out in chunks from underneath his baseball hat and his cutoff tank top showcased the unfamiliarity of armpit hair to Anna. She frowned hoping he would catch her dislike towards him. He didn't notice at all. Irritated, she asked Goldie, "Why didn't he come out?" "Oh, we are getting back from the pool right now and he's tired. I saw you setting up your table earlier and I wanted to come by again to see if you were open for business. I made him stop. Or, rather, I guess I begged him to stop." "Begged him? He doesn't like lemonade?"

"He might. He just thinks kids are sticky." "Lemonade is sticky, too." "Yeah, maybe that's why he doesn't like it." Anna huffed and felt herself slip into a childish pout. After knowing Goldie she had become quite determined not to be childish, but old habits do die hard. "I can buy something," Goldie started again, picking up a wrapped cookie. "I mean, I want to buy something." "Okay," Anna said, matter of factly. "I just don't know why he didn't come out of the car." "He just–I don't know, maybe he didn't want to. Maybe his stomach hurt. Maybe it's too hot to stand on the side of the street and watch a little kid shakily pour from a pitcher. He always has his excuses. His reasons. His limitations. Anything I want has to be fought. I can't just ask him to pull over. I can't just say 'hey, baby, let's go splurge on some crappy lemonade from that little kid'. No, Anna, I'm sorry, it's not crappy. But let's be real, we know this came from a pre-made packet. I remember squeezing dozens of lemons in summer. The cuts on my fingers ached with fire. None of this pre-packet stuff. I'm sorry, I'm sure it's fine. Here, let me buy some. Please?" "You're scaring me," Anna took an instinctive step back. "No, listen– I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you. I just don't know. I just don't know when I got here. When I stopped being the little kid on that side of the lemonade stand and became," she gestured to herself, "this. When did I grow up? When did I start wearing this? When did I start dating that? I just– Anna, please, don't be scared of me. I see so much of myself in you. I was you! The girl peddling lemonade for a quarter and saving for things that felt so big to me. The toys and the stickers and markers and… I don't know, Anna. I don't know. When did I get old?" Anna had no answers. Her stomach felt stiff and still inside her and she wanted nothing more than run into the house and grab her mom. But she stayed still because she felt like that's what Goldie needed. Goldie needed someone, or something, to be still for her. Even if just for a moment. The car honked again. This time longer and louder. "I've lost so much of myself, Anna," Goldie's voice wavered for a moment before she stilled it with a rehearsed determination. "More than that external stuff. Yeah, I lost friends, but those can be replaced. At least he said they can be. I don't know. I don't think I've had a friend in a long time."

Anna swallowed and watched Goldie. Whatever was in Goldie that was once intimidating and beautiful looked broken and soft now. "I can be your friend." She smiled but it never met her eyes. "How much do I owe you, kid?" "Nothing," Anna answered. "I've been told it's crappy." Goldie shushed her and looked behind her towards the front door of the house, which now harbored Anna's mother who was watching critically. "Don't let your mom hear. You might get in trouble." The old Goldie was back. Joking and smiling at Anna. But now Anna struggled to keep up with the sudden changes in tone. Goldie shifted from inconsolable ranting to gleeful giggling and

back to sober reflections like heat lightning cracking against an overcast sky. Anna felt dizzy at the sight of things that felt familiar and foreign at the same time. Like she feels Goldie's aching but hasn't lived through it yet. Now Goldie was holding two plastic cups and turning towards the Corolla. She flipped her hair over a pinkening shoulder and flashed Anna one last mischief-laced grin. "You're gonna be fine, kid. I'm sorry I freaked you." That was the last time Anna would hear a teenage girl endearingly call her kid. The next older girl to come across Anna would find her annoying and small and insignificant. Anna would only let it sting the first few dozen times. Anna would age into a young adult and still think about the sun-streaked girl whose eyes were a little cold and dead. She would always remember Goldie, who snuck a twenty in her glass jar.