The Blue Drawstring Bag

March 16, 2009
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The fast food restaurant was a combination Taco Bell and KFC. If you've ever had to buy tickets to
the next movie showing because the first one was sold out and found yourself with an extra 45
minutes on your hands'you probably know the Kentucky Fried Taco's that I'm talking about. Step
into that fast food restaurant you'll find the usual array of Saturday night things. One, the
bored looking employees, who probably wish they were at the movies with their friends instead of
serving high school kids who are probably talking and spoiling the movie they themselves have been
dying to see. Two, the kids. Various groups of friends sit together in different corners. Some look
a little happy; some a little bored. Three, the police officer, chilling on a high chair in the back
of the restaurant. Of course, there are always plenty of cop cars and police officers patrolling AMC
on nights like these. Get a lot of kids and teens together and YOU watch what happens. Someone's
gotta keep things under control and that's what the 'trolls are for. The ones standing around
the box office always look a 'lil pissed and stuck-up, but the policeman sitting in Kentucky Fried
Tacos looked pleasant. He had a sort of amused look on his face and to me, he looked like a man who
probably had many goofy jokes up his sleeve and entertained everyone at the family reunions with
comedic stories. Anyway, my friends and sat down next to a particularly young group of kids and
started having a great time. It is safe to say that we were probably the loudest ones in there and I
wondered if that police officer secretly hated us. There were about seven of us, all squished on one
table; laughing loudly and talking over each other'and the louder we were, the more I began to
notice how weirdly quiet the young kids next to us were! They looked to be about twelve or thirteen
years old, which meant they should still be in their hyperactive, goofy, juvenile,
'we're-cool-cause-my-mom-dropped-us-off', stage. But no, the kids were hardly talking to each
other and seemed hardly aware that a group of seven borderline insane teenagers was sitting next to
them. There were three boys and two girls and they gave me a suspicion as if they were communicating
telepathically to each other and sharing an inside joke that no one else understood. But it didn't
matter; they left about ten minutes later. I almost didn't even notice that they were gone until I
saw the blue drawstring bag sitting alone on the booth. I picked it up. 'T,' I said, referring
to my friend Tiana, whom we all just call 'T.' 'Is this yours?' T had been sitting in my
seat earlier before, she got up to sit on the other side of the table and I, who had been sitting
next to her, promptly scooted over at the time when we were first trying to find out if we could
squeeze seven people at one table. 'Nope,' T said, shaking her head. 'Marcus?' I asked,
holding up the bag to show the only other person who was sitting on my side of the booth. 'No,
that ain't mine.' He answered. 'Maybe it's those kids who were there?' Genna suggested. I
turned my head around to see if those kids were still around. Being lazy, and seeing that they were
long gone, I just shrugged and placed the bag down on the bench. 'Whatever,' I said.
'They'll come back for it.' KLUNK! We all looked at the bag. 'Damn,' said Nina.
'What's in there?' 'I don't know'' I said, testing the sound of the bag against the
bench again. It sounded hollow and metal-y. 'A book?' We were all surprised that such a noise
had come from a little blue bag that probably belonged to a bunch of seventh graders. 'Open it,'
someone suggested. 'What?' I said. 'No way.' 'Here,' said Nina. 'I'll open it.'
Nina had her back to the cop; I however became suddenly aware that he could probably hear our entire
conversation. Nina grabbed for the bag and set it in front of her. Nobody stopped her as she pulled
the drawstring; we were all curious as to what was hidden inside. Nina reached in the bag and pulled
out a metallic little briefcase that reminded me of an old make-up box I used to have. I had two
latches on each side, which Nina flipped up before lifting the top open a few inches. 'Oh my
****ing god,' Nina said loudly. Because I was sitting near Nina, I was able to catch a glimpse of
the contents inside the mysterious make-up box before Nina slammed it shut. 'There is so much
****ing weed in there!' Nina said. 'Oh my god!' 'Really?' 'Are you serious?' 'Yes,
I'm serious!' Nina asserted. And she was serious, I had seen it too. There were bags of weed
inside and even a blue box of cigarettes. At this point, I became very conscious of Mr. Police
Officer over on his high stool. I worried about what he was thinking and whether he would think the
box belonged to us or not. Nina threw the bag back onto the booth, but the damage was done, he had
definitely heard her'and we were quite literally screwed. Mr. Police Officer continued to sit
comfortably, with a patient and amused look on his face, as if he already knew what Nina would do
next. 'I'm gonna give it to 'trollie,' Nina decided. 'What?' Someone said. 'Don't do
that!' 'He just heard me!' Nina argued, she got up and approached the cop. We all began to go
a little nuts at this point. 'Oh my god!' 'This is crazy!' 'I can't believe she did
that!' Nina arrived back at our table and we all watched the cop with wary eyes as he lazily
opened the bag, opened the box and glimpsed at the contents inside. At this point, I decided that he
was the coolest cop ever because he merely smiled, shook his head and closed the box. That was it.
No interrogation. No hard-ass demands and assertion of his all-powerful police authority, ordering
us to do his bidding as if he's God and we are all just minions; nope, none of that. He sat
contently in his chair and the silver metal box shone in the fluorescent light. We all resumed the
consumption of our chicken and tacos, relieved that he we had escaped the situation, unscathed.
Suddenly, I saw a figure in the corner of my eye. 'Have you guys seen my bag?' Crap. We looked
up at the kid. Seriously, this kid still had baby blonde hair and freckles dusted across his nose.
He couldn't have been any older than thirteen or fourteen years old. What was he doing with a
dealer's supply of weed? We all fell silent. 'Have you guys seen my bag?' He asked again. I
could've throttled the kid. Aloud, he had just claimed the bag to be his. If I had just left a
jackpot of weed in Kentucky Fried Taco's and noticed that it was missing when I went back for it,
I sure as hell wouldn't go around asking if anyone found it! We were still quiet until Nina
finally spoke. ''Trollie got it.' I seriously could hardly bare to look at the kid's face.
In his adolescent eyes, you could see his life crashing down all around him. He looked at Marcus;
Marcus pointed to the cop and the kid turned around. Slowly, the cop beckoned the kid over with a
finger. The entire restaurant seemed to be holding its breath. All the other groups of teenagers
were either looking at us, or looking at the kid as he approached the 'troll. 'Can I have my
bag?' The kid stupidly requested. 'This is yours?' The cop said in a low voice. 'You better
come outside with me.' Still holding our breath, the cop and the kid walked outside. As the door
slammed shut behind them, we erupted. 'Oh my god!' 'I can't believe that just happened!'
'How old was he?' 'He was so stupid!' 'Did you see his face?' 'Oh my god, I feel so
bad!' 'And he ASKED for it, too!' We all got up and dumped our garbage away. The rest of the
people in the restaurant watched us with suspicious eyes as we made our way outside. Bursting into
the night air, we clung to each other, shook our heads, shouted and exclaimed, all befuddled and
amazing at what had just happened. In the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of the cop and kid,
standing by the cop car'the blue bag was sitting on the hood. We galloped away from the scene as
fast as we could; we had caused enough trouble already. As we rushed across the parking lot, back to
the movie theatre, I found twenty dollars on the floor! I couldn't believe it when I saw little
President Jackson's face. I showed it to my friends excitably as we approached the theatre. They
exclaimed at how lucky I was; I laughed and agreed, shoving the bill in my pocket and already
considering what type of candy I would by with it. It was a lucky moment indeed, but I couldn't
stop thinking about the blonde boy and the look on his face and how this was probably the unluckiest
night of his life.





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