The Duffel Bag
Anthony stared across the bustling street towards the old man sitting on the bus bench at the edge of the park. The man wore wrinkle-free trousers and a button-down top with a fedora resting on the top of his thinning hair. On the man’s lap was a small dirty duffel bag, which he rested his hands upon. Anthony frowned and thought of what could possibly be in the bag. It became a routine; Anthony would watch the man walk to the bus bench and slowly sit, and he would sit there for two hours; this Anthony had kept track of. Buses would stop at the bench, and the man would neither acknowledge nor enter any of them.
“Are we going to do this, man?” Anthony’s cousin, Rico, asked. He leaned on the graffitied wall with his bike; his bagging jeans and large t-shirt hung loosely in his thin frame.
“Yeah, man. I’m just waiting for him to get going. It’s just about that time that he gets up to go.” Anthony said, rolling his bike back and forth underneath him.
Across the street, the old man got up, holding on to the metal armrest for support. He shifted the duffel bag to rest on the crook of his left arm and began to shuffle along the sidewalk. Anthony placed a foot on one of his bike’s pedals; as he leaned on the bike, he pulled up his jeans. The man had turned the corner, the duffle bag swinging slightly.
“C’mon. Let’s go.” Anthony said.
The two of them pedaled across the street, weaving in between cars, who honked and swore out their car windows. Anthony paid no mind; his sight was on the duffle bag. He imagined trading whatever was in the bag for cash at the pawn shop. Rico had wanted half of what was taken, but Anthony had pointed out that it was his idea. With what was left, Anthony planned on purchasing a PS5 and a few games. He saw himself spending the rest of the summer playing and ignoring his drunk father, who always found something to blame him for.
Entering a littered alleyway, Anthony and Rico followed the old man. The man never once looked back. Anthony wondered if the old man was partially deaf; it gave him the courage to get closer. Rico was pedaling a few inches behind him, his bike making a dull metallic thunk. Anthony glanced back and, with his hand, motioned for him to pedal on the other side of the man. Rico frowned, Anthony hoped that he had understood him.
Anthony swung his bike to the left and lowered his chest to the bars. Stretching his right arm out, his fingers twitched towards the duffle bag. His middle finger and then his index finger touched the straps. Then, his hand gripped and pulled. The old man yelped and swayed; then he cried out. Did he say My Velma? Anthony wondered.
Anthony glanced back as the old man toppled over onto Rico, who pulled his arm up to cushion his fall onto the backside of someone’s garage door. Pumping his legs, Anthony sped out of the alleyway with Rico calling out his name.
Making his way to a deserted open space not too far from his house, Anthony adjusted the duffle bag; it weighed more than he expected. He imagined it being worth much more than the PS5 if it was heavy. Pedaling into the sparsely wooded area, he hoped that it would give him enough coverage to hide. Hopping off the bike, Anthony let it crash to the ground. He crouched down and slid the duffle bag off his arm. He noticed the dark blue duffle bag had a broken zipper pull; the old man had replaced it with a paper clip. Anthony pulled at the zipper, which caught a few times before it slid open. The stench pushed Anthony onto his bottom. He covered his nose with the back of his arm; the chemical burned his nostrils. It reminded him of being in his uncle’s funeral home.
Gradually, Anthony peeled open the duffle bag and stared inside. The object was mottled and droopy with a paleness like the waning moon. The nose poked out through the stringy brown hair; its eyes were shut tight. A purple swollen tongue inched out of its thin lips.
Anthony scrambled to his feet and ran, leaving the duffle bag and bike behind.
