“Doodle Pens” MacKenzie Mazzarisi, XII: flash fiction

Doodle Pens

It’s so close. It’s afternoon rest time in K-W and I’m the only one who can’t fall asleep. I’m not normal. Everyone else is rolled over and eyes closed and making the heavy-breathing-sleeping-noises and I’m wide awake and my feet are tapping and my hands are shaking because I can’t sit still. I could reach up and grab it while the teacher’s on the other side of the room. The thin purple mat under me isn’t enough to keep me comfortable on the cold tile. Who can sleep like this? Maybe they’re not normal. My mom never packed me a pillow, either. Olivia has a sleeping mat with a built-in sleeping bag, cushion, and a purple pillow. It takes up her whole cubby, and her backpack usually ends up on the floor because of it. Right next to me. She also has a green doodle pen, which was one of those pens that was very clicky and sort of too fat for my hands. But the reason it was cool, especially from the perspective of every kindergartener ever, is because of the thin rubber hair it had on top. Each pen was different. Sometimes they were characters from superhero movies. Captain America had red white and blue hair. Sometimes they were just the goofy-looking standard doodle-guys, with too-big eyes and a toothy smile. She has so many she probably won’t even miss it. Olivia has several. A whole stupid-looking arrangement, pathetically chained to the same zipper on her sequined backpack. My mom never got me any, no matter how much I asked at the check-out line of the local Acme, or the first aisle of Five Below when we bought my brother party favors. She said they were dumb, that they didn’t even write well and that the keychain would snap in half after a day of being pulled to open my backpack. It’s the one from Acme. Green body purple hair. I scooch to the edge of my mat. The teacher walks by, I can tell because of the dull clicking moving next to me, farther and farther away. I pretend to be asleep. Go now! I slither my hand across the floor. Check back behind me again. All good. The silver plastic hook comes off the zipper easily, except when I can’t figure out which chain belongs to which pen, on account of her having so many. Whatever guilt I initially felt is gone now. I hear the clicking coming closer now. Just grab one! I snag the one I unhooked, and shove it under my belly. I look at her bag again to make sure it doesn’t look like I stole something. The green doodle pen stares back at me under his purple hair.

- Mackenzie Mazzarisi, XII: flash fiction