Squeaky Sneakers!
by Kathy Warnes
My brother Robby races with squeaky sneakers past the lady giving away little cups of fruit juice. He yanks a kiddy kart from the long silver row that fits together like leggos.
I grab the handle of the nearest one and yank it out of line.
Mom pulls out a grown up kart and puts her suitcase size purse in the kiddy carrier. I rode there last year.
I put my feet on the bars of my kiddy kart. It runs like a scooter.
Mom heads for the macaroni and cheese. "Stay with Robby, Jason," she tells me over her shoulder.
"I don't want to stay with Robby."
I don't wait for her answer. I fly down, down the aisle that is as long as an airport runway. Zoom, zoom, zoom! Crash! My kiddie kart hits a lady holding a gallon of icecream. She drops it and it lands on her toe. I fly away. "Robby did it!" I yell.
I zigzag through a lettuce jungle, a forest of orange carrot trees and a meadow of yellow lemon flowers. I land next to Robby in front of the chocolate candy.
"Jason." Mom's voice floats from two aisles away. I stretch my voice on spaghetti cables. "I'm in front of the candy, Mom."
"Stay there," Mom says.
I stay. My kiddy kart travels. It travels to a piled up tin can mountain. Red, orange, and blue label flowers bloom all over the tin can mountain. My kiddie kart hits the mountain. Crash! Clatter! Clink! The cans thunder and flower labels roll on the floor. "Mom! Look what Robby did!"
Mom rushes over two aisles. Mom looks. Mom yells. Cabbage leaves wilt and oranges roll away at the sound. Mom snatches her suitcase purse out of the baby seat. She grabs Robby and sits him there.
"I didn't do it, Mom!" Robby yells. "Jason did it."
I stick out my tongue at him behind Mom's back. "I did not. You did it Robby!"
Robby sits there in the baby seat. He's crying.
I stick out my tongue at him again.
"Mom, Jason's sticking his tongue out at me."
"I am not!" I yell, but not as loud as I did the first time. My stomach feels like I ate too many tootsie rolls. Robby doesn't cry very often.
"Why can't you be good like Jason?" Mom asks Robby.
Robby looks at his shoes. They don't squeak anymore.
Mom turns the corner. "You can help me pick out spaghetti, Robby."
"Mom, wait a minute!" I yell. I point to the cans that are still rolling.
"Mom, look what I did!"
My brother Robby races with squeaky sneakers past the lady giving away little cups of fruit juice. He yanks a kiddy kart from the long silver row that fits together like leggos.
I grab the handle of the nearest one and yank it out of line.
Mom pulls out a grown up kart and puts her suitcase size purse in the kiddy carrier. I rode there last year.
I put my feet on the bars of my kiddy kart. It runs like a scooter.
Mom heads for the macaroni and cheese. "Stay with Robby, Jason," she tells me over her shoulder.
"I don't want to stay with Robby."
I don't wait for her answer. I fly down, down the aisle that is as long as an airport runway. Zoom, zoom, zoom! Crash! My kiddie kart hits a lady holding a gallon of icecream. She drops it and it lands on her toe. I fly away. "Robby did it!" I yell.
I zigzag through a lettuce jungle, a forest of orange carrot trees and a meadow of yellow lemon flowers. I land next to Robby in front of the chocolate candy.
"Jason." Mom's voice floats from two aisles away. I stretch my voice on spaghetti cables. "I'm in front of the candy, Mom."
"Stay there," Mom says.
I stay. My kiddy kart travels. It travels to a piled up tin can mountain. Red, orange, and blue label flowers bloom all over the tin can mountain. My kiddie kart hits the mountain. Crash! Clatter! Clink! The cans thunder and flower labels roll on the floor. "Mom! Look what Robby did!"
Mom rushes over two aisles. Mom looks. Mom yells. Cabbage leaves wilt and oranges roll away at the sound. Mom snatches her suitcase purse out of the baby seat. She grabs Robby and sits him there.
"I didn't do it, Mom!" Robby yells. "Jason did it."
I stick out my tongue at him behind Mom's back. "I did not. You did it Robby!"
Robby sits there in the baby seat. He's crying.
I stick out my tongue at him again.
"Mom, Jason's sticking his tongue out at me."
"I am not!" I yell, but not as loud as I did the first time. My stomach feels like I ate too many tootsie rolls. Robby doesn't cry very often.
"Why can't you be good like Jason?" Mom asks Robby.
Robby looks at his shoes. They don't squeak anymore.
Mom turns the corner. "You can help me pick out spaghetti, Robby."
"Mom, wait a minute!" I yell. I point to the cans that are still rolling.
"Mom, look what I did!"