Daniel picked up the sandwich as a black ant’s head appeared above the paper plate’s rim.  Antennae wiggling in time with the hum of the house’s A/C unit, the ant paused, assessing the situation.

“It’s OK,” Daniel said, breaking off a few crumb-sized pieces of bread and dropping them onto the plate.

Stomach rumbling, he bit into the sandwich. Dry meatloaf between two stale pieces of hard bread.  No ketchup, mustard, or mayonnaise. Chewing steadily, he tried to turn the lump in his mouth into something edible. As he swallowed, he felt the thick, gummy wad scrape down his throat.    

Earlier that Saturday morning, Daniel was surprised to see his eight-year-old sister drawing at the kitchen table.

“You got baseball?” she asked.

“No.  Work.”

“Dad said we might go to the town pool.”

“Uh-huh.  What you drawing?”

She held up the paper, revealing a rough sketch of a cerapter.

“Pretty good.” The mythical unicorn with wings was one of her favorite things. Drawings and posters of it decorated her bedroom walls.   

Daniel bit into the sandwich as the ant climbed over the rim and onto the plate. He’d planned to go home for lunch. But the man insisted Daniel stay and said he’d give him lunch, as if afraid Daniel would leave and not return. So, here he was, sitting on the concrete backsteps of the man’s house in the sun.

The death of Michael’s father had made no sense to Daniel. But death itself wasn’t something any twelve-year-old fully understood. The week before, in a father and son softball game, Michael’s father hit a blast that shattered a row of lights in the center field tower. The following Monday morning, after saying he didn’t feel like himself, he returned to bed. As she sat weeping at the funeral, Michael’s mother repeatedly mumbled, “He’d never been sick a day in his life.” 

Daniel and Michael met while playing town soccer when they were six. They quickly discovered they lived three blocks from each other and shared an obsession with Spiderman. South of Maple Street, where Daniel lived, Black families now owned every house previously inhabited by white families. Michael lived on Hadley Ave. Hadley and the section of town north of it remained an exclusively white residential area. The areas were separated by three blocks of properties owned by absentee landlords. Rents there were cheap, and the tenants tended to be transient. That area was strewn with dog feces, Styrofoam cups, and fast-food wrappers the wind blew onto the well-maintained properties to its north and south.   

Daniel finished the sandwich, stood up, and stretched. Though the intense heat and humidity had drained his adolescent body’s energy, he was determined to complete the task.

Seeing the ant had carried away the crumbs, he walked down the steps, picked up the garden hose on the ground, and held its bare end away from himself. As he opened the water spigot and took a drink, he heard the man call to him.

 “All done?”

Closing the spigot, Daniel looked up. He raised a hand, sheltering his eyes. The man was on the landing atop the steps.  Daniel nodded. 

“Good.  Back to work then.” The man bent down, picked up the empty paper plate, and disappeared back inside the house.

Before Michael’s father’s death, there’d been no plans for Michael and his younger brother to visit their grandparents that summer. So, Daniel was surprised when Michael asked him to take over his lawn mowing and paper route customers until he returned.  Daniel agreed to do it, realizing the additional customers might help him to earn enough money to buy the sleek, black, three-speed boys’ bike on display in the downtown department store. Then he could give the hand-me-down girl’s bike he used to deliver newspapers to his sister.

Before leaving, Michael introduced Daniel to his customers. Most seemed fine with the

temporary arrangement, though Daniel did notice he got a few odd looks.

After mowing the man’s lawn earlier that week, the man told Daniel he had work for him on Saturday. Daniel said he could be there at 9 a.m., but the man insisted on 7. Daniel proposed 8.  But the man remained adamant about 7. So, not wanting to potentially jeopardize Michael’s relationship with his customer and having been taught to always behave respectfully to adults, he agreed to 7.

When he arrived that morning, the man led Daniel to the large moss-covered mound of dirt, rocks, and glass bottles. He told him he wanted it moved into the woods on the other side of the backyard. Then he gave him a shovel and a bushel basket.

After making a few trips with the bushel basket, Daniel spotted the rusty wheelbarrow leaning against the woodshed. On his first attempt, he overfilled it. It tipped and dumped the load.  His next effort ended when its wheel struck a tree root as he struggled to keep the wheelbarrow’s handles level. The tray then pitched sideways, spilling the load onto the ground. It took a few more tries before he finally got the hang of it.

Ready to resume working, Daniel picked up the pointed shovel and drove its blade into the mound. With slightly more than a week until school started, the money he’d earn today would likely ensure he could buy the bike.

Working through the afternoon, a layer of sweat built on Daniel’s skin. Calluses and blisters surfaced on his hands. Ravenous mosquitoes in the woods attacked him, and the

earthy odor of its black soil and decaying fallen trees covered with sprouted mushrooms grew more intense. He soon lost track of the number of trips he’d made, but finally, by late afternoon,

he’d finished.

“All done?” called out the man from the back door’s landing as the house’s central A/C fan shut off.

“Yup,” answered Daniel from alongside the shed, where he was placing the wheelbarrow, bushel basket, and shovel.

Avoiding contact with the black iron handrail on the steps, the man descended, huffing and puffing. 

“God, it’s hot,” he sighed upon reaching the bottom of the steps. He then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Let’s see how you did.”

Daniel followed the man to where the mound had been. He watched him inspect the area, then trailed him into the woods. 

“Good job,” said the man, nodding. He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a fist. “Here.  This is for you.”

As he placed the money in Daniel’s palm, he wrapped his fingers around Daniel’s. 

“Don’t go spending it all on candy.” 

“I won’t. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you!” said the man. Then he released Daniel’s hand.  

 Daniel shoved the money into his pants pocket as they walked across the backyard side-by-side.  The man then told him he might have some more work for him next Saturday. They then said goodbye and parted.

Though his arms were aching and he felt tired, Daniel was pleased with the job he’d

done. About mid-way through the three blocks separating the Black and white sections of town,

he reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of money. In his hand was three dollars.  Daniel immediately felt angry. Some customers always gave him more than they owed. Others often offered him lemonade or cookies after he mowed their lawns on scorchingly hot days.  Today, he’d missed baseball practice and worked all day. He’d assumed…  but then, he hadn’t asked about the job in advance or negotiated a price for doing it.

When he arrived home, Daniel went straight to his room. He put the three dollars with the other money he’d been saving in a tin can that summer. Then he stripped off his sweat-drenched clothes and went to take a shower. Though the cleansing water felt refreshing, its warmth made his mosquito bites itch.

 After dressing, Daniel counted his money. He then added what he expected to earn the remaining week of the summer. Despite repeating the calculations many times, there wouldn’t be enough money to buy the bike.

“You missed out.”

Daniel looked up. His sister was leaning against his bedroom door frame.  

“We even got slushies after we finished swimming.” She flashed a self-satisfied smile, then turned and walked away.

Sitting on his bed, Daniel tried to think how he could earn the money he needed. The man had said he might have some other work available.  But for three dollars? 

With school scheduled to start on Monday, Daniel stopped at the downtown store after baseball practice to buy the latest Spiderman comic books. Near the sporting goods aisle, he

saw the bike.  Feeling hopeful, he went over and checked its price. No reduction.

Daniel took hold of the bike’s handlebars, swung his right leg over the crossbar, and closed his eyes.  He imagined himself riding the bike through his neighborhood.

“Please don’t play with the merchandise unless you intend to buy it.”

Daniel’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at the female store clerk apologetically. He gave the bike’s handbrakes an affectionate parting squeeze and dismounted.

Following one last look at the bike, Daniel walked over to the comic book section of the store.  There, he selected two Spiderman comics to share with Michael upon his return. As Daniel approached the cash registers, he saw a large stuffed animal. A cerapter. He stopped and flipped its price tag right side up. Buying the comics and the cerapter would take almost all the money he’d earned that summer. Shaking his head, Daniel began walking away. But then he stopped, walked back, and wrapped an arm around the stuffed animal’s midsection.