tatum sloane 🧨 five

You're a firecracker boy. That's what they've always said: "Little firecracker!" Your mom says when you're three and you've just checked a bill collector in the knee with a toy golf club because he's yelling at your mom who cannot pay.

"Boy's a firecracker if I ever saw one, your principal explains to your parents when you're seven and in trouble for fighting on the playground.

"He didn't mean it, Ripley. I don't want to hear it! He's a firecracker just like you, and I told you both to stop playing rough ten minutes ago!" Your granny explains when you've broken your sister's toy and she's blackened your eye in retaliation. Firecracker boy: explosive flashes of color burning bright and then disappearing. Someone who was born with anger in his heart.

You.

Firecracker boy.

You lick the wound on your lip raw, certainly making it worse than it was already. You've been standing in line for five god damn minutes because Ms. Lonsdale's coupons are expired and she needs to speak with Gus when he's back from his break. Gus is always on a break. You see the issue.

Normally you would've told the old hag off by now and the rookie cashier whose letting her body him. You've even opened your mouth a couple times to tell her to beat it, but you've been kicked out of this place before and you don't want to risk losing the sandwich, soda, and bag of potato chips in your hand. You got twenty bucks today, so you intend on paying for your shit. No stealing necessary. You took the money from the same senior asshole who busted your lip, right after you finished beating the shit out of him. Mom's been on one lately, Ripley's focused on Exy, you don't know how to cook anything other than scrambled eggs and toast. This is probably your dinner.

"Help him while I deal with her." Gus sounds annoyed.

"Thank you, Gus," you say indignantly, eyes never leaving the other cashier. Then, under your breath, "Lazy fucker." Gus looks at you, more uncomfortable than offended but still, he heard you. Oh well. He's too much of a wuss to do anything anyway. He just sighs tiredly and turns back to Ms. Lonsdale.

"This it?" the other cashier asks.

I park the twenty on the counter as an answer.

"Are you working anywhere, Tatum?" This from Gus- his passive argument to you calling him lazy.

"Nope. Made this kicking ass and taking names." I chuckle.

Ms. Lonsdale seems amused by this, waiting for Gus to read her expired coupons.

"Resulting to violence..." She tuts. You flex your hand into a fist and then put it into your pocket for safe keeping. She continues, laughing hautily, "Who then? Some innocent toddler on his way to daycare?"

You smile.

"Aiden Lonsdale, actually. Three years older than me. Your grandson, right? Gave me this," you say, conversationally, casually, as you gesture to your mouth, "but I got him back pretty good. He looks a helluva lot worse than me, for sure." The other cashier hands me my change. Ms. Lonsdale looks confused, then like she doesn't believe you. When you don't budge, she shows her uncertainty and looks away. You might not have a good reputation, but you're no liar. She can see it, the truth hanging onto you, sewing your wound shut and making you god in that moment.

"Have a nice afternoon, everyone."

As you leave, you hear the other cashier snickering with laughter; you've impressed him. He swats Gus in the shoulder.

"Dude is a little firecracker, man."

So you've heard.