Mission Accomplished

The Wawa parking lot was mostly empty that late spring morning in Fort Washington when Austin and I, two high school freshmen, walked from his house in Ambler to buy two grams of pot. Austin had arranged the deal with a friend of his older brother—friend may be an overstatement. His brother had bought drugs from this guy and had spent time with him in that capacity. The humid air hugged my cotton shirt to my skin as we sat on the plastic crates that lined the outer wall of the convenience store. 

“Do you have cash?” asked Austin with a frantic look on his face.

“I thought you were bringing it?” I asked, speaking hurriedly.

 “Well, I don’t have any.”

I patted my pockets, first feeling the Bear Grylls pocket knife that my friend Ryan gave me just in case things went wrong. Fishing out my wallet, which contained no cash, I went inside to withdraw money using my green debit card that my mom gave me a $25 monthly allowance on. At the ATM, I took out $40 before returning to Austin outside. His excitement furthered my annoyance. Had this been his plan from the start?

“Let’s go Raoul!” he said, dapping me up as I took a seat on the orange plastic crate beside him. “This shouldn't take long. When he pulls up, we hop in the back seat, make the exchange, and get out like nothing happened. We’ll buy a couple of hoagies and be back in my basement in no time.” Before I could think of a reply, a dark blue Chevy pickup truck pulled in. 

“There’s our guy,” said Austin, springing up from his seat. Following closely behind him, we crossed the lot and climbed into the back seat of the extended cab. In the front seat sat a man in his early 20s wearing a black beanie that hid the hair above his coarse, ungroomed beard. Beside him was a woman, around the same age, with uncombed, light brown hair. She glanced back at me through the corner of her eye as the driver addressed us. The thud of the car doors locking echoed in my mind. 

“What’s up boys,” he said, looking back at us through the rearview mirror. “You have my money?” Without a word, I gave him the two $20 bills from my beaten, hand-me-down, leather wallet. The woman took the money and handed me two dime bags filled with flower. I gave one of the bags to Austin to examine. He smiled.

“Awesome! Thanks man,” said Austin.

“Anytime,” said the driver. Without pause, he shifted the truck into reverse and began pulling away from the Wawa. “You boys ever been offroading?” He briefly glanced back at us in the rearview mirror. Austin and I shared a worried look as the parking lot quickly became a distant memory. My hand wrapped around the folded knife in my pocket as we pulled onto the grass field. 

Laughing sinisterly, he stomped on the pedal. The orange dial on the speedometer swung to the right as the truck rapidly accelerated. He swerved the wheel to the left, then the right, sending the four of us swaying with the changing momentum. I removed the knife from my pocket and opened it behind my back. My hand shook from adrenaline. Was this a kidnapping? At what point do I start stabbing?

“Look out!” screamed the woman from the shotgun seat. “Tree!”

The driver swung the wheel violently to the left and hit the brakes. Narrowly avoiding the large sycamore, the wheels on the side of the truck lifted from the ground, pressing me into the door before slamming back down into the ground. Breathing a unified sigh of relief, the driver pressed the button on his armrest to unlock the doors. Staring at us through the rearview mirror, he said, “Get out.”

We quickly climbed out of the truck, falling to the grass below. I watched from my knees as the couple sped off laughing. My empty stomach churned. A hoagie no longer sounded good. Austin looked elated as he brushed the dirt from his pant leg.
“We did it!” he said. “Mission accomplished.”

Folding closed the knife in my hand, I placed it in my pocket and began walking toward the road.

“Hey!” called Austin, running behind me. “Wait up!” 

It took us almost two hours to walk back to Austin’s house. My adrenaline didn’t wear off until we were in his basement smoking from a gravity bong made from a plastic water bottle. Wishing I had bought a hoagie, we watched the latest episode of Game of Thrones through the thick haze that filled the room. 

That next Monday, while walking to class, I recounted our unexpected adventure to Ryan. 

“It’s a good thing you kept your head,” he said. “That could have ended badly.”

“Austin seemed completely unbothered by it,” I said. 

“He’s a wild one. Next time you should bring this.” He pulled up a picture of a small, silver handgun on his phone. “It’s Russian. I’ll sell it to you for $150.”

I glanced down at the phone in his hand. “That’s badass. I’ll think about it.”

“If you flashed this at him, he’d have let you out in the parking lot.” 

We sat next to each other in the back of the class. I spent the whole hour thinking about the gun. At first, I imagined myself as a gangster, but the daydream quickly turned to my mom finding it in my underwear drawer. Instead, I decided that I would no longer buy drugs from strangers.