Liar by Caoimhe O’Leary
“Uno…dos…tres…”
Go, go, GO! Paola’s steady counting grows fainter as I dart up the long concrete stairway. She won’t catch me. I am the fastest runner in all of Medellín, my Mama says, and I know this to be true, because Mama never lies.
I know where I will hide – Paola will be too afraid to come and find me there. It is late afternoon, and the clouds are lazily closing in around the mountains. We have an hour at most left before Mama calls for me. We are not allowed to play after dark.
I pull aside the dirty sheet and slip into a mouth of a doorway on one of the narrow streets, houses piled on top of one another like boxes of matches. The air inside the house is stale and the sweet smell of rotten fruit fills my nostrils. The family who used to live here left in a hurry, escaped before it was too late for them. Mama says it’s bad luck to go into houses controlled by The Gang. But I’m not scared.
There are voices coming from inside the house. The kitchen, I think. I shrink against the wall, trying to make my whole eight years as invisible as possible. A woman is speaking in a low voice, hushed, I can’t quite make out the words, but there is something familiar about her voice. A louder, gruffer voice cuts her off.
“It’s simple, you get the stuff, you leave it here, you get your money,” then softer, warmer, “there’s no need to be frightened, I know it’s your first time. Trust me.”
It’s a deal, I know it is. Dangerous and risky. Mama has always warned us – easy money, but you are selling your life to The Gang.
There are wet noises then and I know it is the sound of kissing. Gross! It’s time for me to leave. I step backwards and trip over an empty can.
“Who’s there?” The man with the loud gruff voice is beside me in a flash, my arm twisted up behind my back. I try not to cry out, but it’s too sore. The woman appears, her hand covering her mouth. She is wearing a red dress that I have never seen before. Mama! What is she doing here?
“Let him go Felix, this is my son, Juanito.” Mama rests her slim hand on Felix’s broad, hairy forearm, watching me all time. Watching me as my eyes travel between her and the man called Felix and back again.
“Juan, listen to me, I can explain…Juanito!”
But it is too late. I am gone. Running, running, running. I hope they won’t catch me. I am the fastest runner in Medellín, my Mama used to say, but I don’t know if I can trust her anymore.
