Page 17 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
I go to the refrigerated section and grab a bottle of Smartwater.
Standing near me, looking at the soft drinks, is a classmate of mine, a chubby Black boy named Carter T. Douglass. (For some reason, everybody calls him by his full name, “Carter T. Douglass.” I think there’s a story behind it, but I don’t know what it is.) He’s pretty nerdy, especially with his thick black-framed glasses and elevated speech.
We’re not a part of the same circles, but I do enjoy talking to him because he knows a lot about computers and technology. And he’s really kind. I like kind people.
“‘Sup, Carter T. Douglass?”
He turns to me. “Hunter. What a coincidence. I didn’t notice you standing there. Smartwater? Good. It has electrolytes. I suspect that a track athlete like yourself must keep well-hydrated.”
“Yeah,” I respond. “What’re you here for?”
He pushes up his glasses because they were sliding down his nose. “I was watching movies at home, and I suddenly craved a soda pop.”
Did he really just say “soda pop”?
“The problem is,” he continues, “all the ones I desire have caffeine in them. And if I consume caffeine this late in the day, I’ll have trouble falling asleep. Even if I do manage to doze off, my slumber will be restless.”
After he chooses a bottle of Sprite, we walk to the front counter together.
I take the Sprite out of his hand and say to the cashier, “I’ll pay for both of these.”
Carter T. Douglass says, “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to.”
I like doing nice things for people. Also, I know Carter T. Douglass and his family don’t have a lot of money. He rides an old, beat-up bicycle, and his dad works, like, two jobs. (His mother is dead.) And they live below the train tracks, which has always been a clear demarcation between the “working class” (below tracks) and the “better off” (above tracks).
As much as my parents argue with each other about money, I understand that compared to most families mine is doing pretty well.
“Thank you, Hunter. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. What are you doing tonight?”
“I just dropped off my girlfriend, and I think I might hang out with Oscar for the rest of the night.”
As we walk back outside, he says, “Iwould like a girlfriend someday. Perhaps there’s a girl out there who can see past physical appearance and be attracted to good personalities.”
He’s not outright saying it, but I can tell he’s uncomfortable with his weight.
Again, I don’t like it when people cut themselves down, so I say, “Don’t underestimate yourself. You’ve got a lot of great qualities. There are girls out there for you. There’s somebody for everybody. It’s all in the timing. That’s all.”
Carter T. Douglass gets on his bicycle. “That’s good to hear. Thank you again for the soda pop. Good night, Hunter.”
“See ya.”
He pedals away.
Before I can get into my car, I hear the homeless woman: “Don’t worry.”
I turn around. “What?”
“I’ve told you before, Nash, and I’ll tell you again. Your secrets are safe with me.” She starts laughing hysterically. “Your secrets are safe with me!”
Then, all of a sudden, she stops laughing, and her face goes blank. She doesn’t move. It looks like she’s frozen.
I hop into my car and drive away as fast as I can.
10
Money
