Page 9 of Pocketful of You

"Uh-huh," I sniffled, sinking to my knees and snatching up the food. "Don't go away for so long next time, 'kay?"

"'Kay," she replied, touching my fingers with hers. "Hey - you gots another picture for me?"

"Uh-huh," I replied, munching on my cookie. "And it's a real good one."

"Show me," she demanded excitedly. "I wanna see."

Proud of my hard work, I carefully pushed my drawing under the door to her. "You got it?"

"I gots it," she squealed happily. "Oh wow! It's a real pretty lady."

"It's my mama," I replied proudly. "Mama says it's called a sketch."

"A sketch?" she repeated, sounding confused. "What's a sketch?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Ain't sure. But Mama says that's what I do when I make her pictures."

"Sketch," she giggled. "I like it. Is that your name?"

"Maybe?" I mumbled, frowning. "I ain't sure no' more."

"Where'd your mama go?"

Tears filled my eyes and I triednotto remember. "Ain't sure."

"Huh. Well, I'm 'a call you Sketch, 'kay?" She giggled again. "Sketch likes to sketch."

I grinned. "And I'm 'a call you angel, Angel."

"You already call me that," she laughed.

"That's 'cause you are," I replied with a sigh. "Just wish you gots some wings to fly me out of –"

"Ramona Priscilla Dillon! What did I tell you about staying away from that door!" A louder, angry voice boomed. "He's a Toretto, for Christ's sake –"

"Sorry, ma'am," she called back.

"What did you call me?"

"Mama," Angel squealed, sounding frightened. "I meant Mama."

"You better start running, child, because if your father catches you playing with the enemy's son, he'll strike you down."

"Gotta go, Sketch," Angel mumbled, her words coming out in a rush. "I'll come back soon, 'kay?"

"'Kay," I whispered, feeling sad again. "Bye, Angel…"

No, I did not like that memory.

Not one fucking bit.

Another jolt from the lightning cables and I was nose-diving into the darkness at full speed.

Ah hell.

3

Romi

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