A Drink - Pam Davila

The hot rays beat on the boy’s back as he pedaled through the streets of the New Jersey town. He didn’t want to be home because the heat was heavy, and pushed on him when he stayed in the big blue house. On his bike, the wind he created himself cooled the sweat as it appeared on his brow. His breathing echoed in his ear as it became heavier and heavier. His dry throat could not be quenched by his spit, no matter how many times he swallowed.


He sniffed out the way as the scent traveled through the air. The neighbors were having a barbeque on this hot summer day, and where there were hot dogs and hamburgers there was sure to be soda and beer. The young boy pedaled harder yet; he arrived at the neighbor’s house. A big man stood at the grill, as the boy stopped at the fence.

“Excuse me sir,” The boy’s thin voice melded with the sizzling of the meat. He tried again.

“Ummm, EXCUSE ME SIR,” The man slowly turned, he hadn’t noticed the boy at all.

“What can I do for you, son?” The man had a jovial tone and a big voice. The boy was somewhat taken aback.

“Can I please have a drink?” He tried to ask as politely as he could so he wouldn’t be turned down.

“How about a hamburger.” His tone did not make it a question, the boy despaired. All he wanted was a cool drink on this incredibly humid summer day.

“That’s okay sir, I’d just like a drink.” He pleaded and begged. He just wanted one drink.

“No, I insist, boy- here you go. Eat it first and then have a drink,” The hamburger was shoved in his face; he reluctantly grabbed it. So the boy pedaled away, as far away as he could. He went around the corner across the street and down another alley. He stopped and blankly stared at the hunk of meat wedged between two pieces of white bread. A fly buzzed past.

The boy quickly checked around him: no one was here. The hamburger flew up in an arc and landed on the black cement. The birds descended. As the meat was torn apart, the boy raced back to the fence.

“I finished it all; can I have a soda please, sir?”

“Good hamburger, huh boy.”

“Yes it was.” He could see a cooler on the other side of the man. The man turned around to get him a drink. The boy fantasized about the cool refreshment sliding down his dry throat. The can was right before his face, when a cry was heard above the conversation.

“I saw him! He didn’t eat the hamburger he just threw it for the birds to eat.” A little girl in a yellow sundress pointed a finger at the tired boy. The can was floating, it was so close. It was wet and slippery and almost flew out of his hand. He grabbed it and rode away as fast as was possible.