Highbridge Rising | #ONC2024

Chapter One- Mango Ice Cream

Two days later...

Bronx, New York

Entering Gabe's liquor store, the familiar chime of the bell above greeted me. The air inside was heavy with a scent of air freshener and mildew. Jimmy stood behind the counter, his weathered face wearing a permanent scowl that seemed to reprimand me before a word was exchanged. His gazed fixed on me conveying disapproval already.

"Hey Jim, long time no see." I greeted, injecting a playful tone into my words. I leaned casually against the elevated warn out counters, my arms finding a temporary resting place. The thick, plated glass window that served as a barrier between us gave the impression of Jimmy as a hamster confined to a cage, its edges blurred with scratches and smudges.

Salt-and-pepper remnants of hair clung stubbornly to the sides of his head, framing a face marked by time and hardship while his protruding belly strained against the fabric of his shirt.

I've been coming to this liquor store since I was a child, tagging along with my dad whenever he had the chance. I remember I'd always get the mango-flavored ice cream if my father could afford it after buying his usual booze. The storefront  used to be different then, before the thick bulletproof glass partition became necessary. But that was due to drive-by shootings and menacing encounters at gunpoint.

The tangible reminder stood solid between us- a fortified barrier born from harsh realities

"You know those things will kill you," he remarked, a knowing glint in his eyes revealing that my choice was no secret to him.

"Yeah, well just about anything in Highbridge can kill me," I restored, the words foaming with sarcasm, a bitter truth veiled in jest.

He arched an eyebrow at me, pivoting toward the wall adorned with rows of cancer sticks, a silent invitation at the graveyard some day for those chasing fleeting pleasures.

In truth, I wasn't exaggerating. Highbridge is a breeding ground for criminal acts, a notorious hotspot with a scandalous rating that overshadowed the entire Bronx. To the uninitiated, it was a carnivorous beast, ready to consume and spit out those unfamiliar with its treacherous alleys and streets and back where they came from.

I could see Jim reach for the familiar marble lights, a habitual choice. "I'm actually not going for those today, thought I'd spice things up a bit," I mentioned casually.

As he turned back, his gaze fixed upon me with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Gesturing towards the repulsive cigarettes that held a distinct aura of disgust, "Give me a pack of your Camel Menthol Crushes," I requested, the distaste evident in my tone.

He retrieved the small black-and-blue pack, but hesitated, his grip firm as if sensing a hidden motive behind my unconventional choice. "You sure it isn't for your underage friends in the car?" A nod towards the store window framed my parked car, Sammy, Kara and Becky patiently waiting within. My stomach dropped.

I cursed my lack of foresight. I should have parked in the back.

"I just saw Kara's mom not too long ago," he remarked, his voice carrying a casual rhythm as he tapped the top of the cigarette pack with his sturdy finger.

My gaze flickered once more towards the nuisance of the small box. "Said they'll be celebrating her seventeenth birthday," he added, elongating the number with a touch of theatricality.

I was beginning to think Jimmy was a psychic and bit my lip from asking if he had any lineage ties to the supernatural, or have him choose me some lottery numbers.

Brushing aside the mounting waves of anxiety, a grin stretched across my face. "For them? What, you think I'm running a charity or something?" I gestured towards the box cradled tightly in his hand. "Those are for my lips only." My index and middle fingers rose in unison. "Scout's honor."

Jimmy's eyes rolled in exasperation, a silent exchange of skepticism passing between us. His gaze shifted back to the car, filled with Motley crew delinquents. A minute felt like an eternity as he contemplated whether to relinquish the coveted smokes.

I needed a diversion, and fast." You know," I interjected, adopting an air of nonchalance as I crossed my arms defiantly," I bet Gabe wouldn't question my privilege to switch up my smokes."

Instantly, Jimmy's attention wavered at the mention of his brother's name, a subtle crack in his stoic demeanor. "That good-for-nothing son of a..." I interjected, halting his impulsive breach of the no-cussing rule in his store.

"Language, Jimmy," I reminded him, cutting through his escalating frustration.

"That man wouldn't give you the shirt off his back, even if he had two!" He vented, the words tumbling out in a torrent as he tossed the cigarettes onto the counter, seemingly unaware of his actions. He continued to rail against his brother, fueling my trickery.

I tossed the money down, watching as Jimmy swiftly scooped it up and carried it to the cash register. "Didn't Gabe give you this store, though?" I prodded, stroking the embers of resentment with my subtle manipulation. My gambit was paying off.

"Gave it to me?" He scoffed incredulously, his laughter tinged with bitterness. "More like babysitting it for him while he's back in Abruzzo, feasting on moms amazing home-cooked meals, while I'm stuck here in Armageddon-esque, drive by central." He shook his head, tossing down the change.

"Oh shoot, I forgot something," I exclaimed, my footsteps quickening as I dashed to the freezer section, my hand snatching up the item. "This too," I waved it over, my gesture laden with urgency.

The old man's demeanor shifted subtly: beneath the surface of his aging features, anger ebbed away, replaced by a flicker of recognition. His eyes smiled a bit as the item I held aloft evoked memories not just for him, but for me as well.

"On the house, kid," he declared, a trace of nostalgia tinging his words.

"Awe, thanks Jimmy," I replied gratefully, fingers curling around the change and the pack of camels. "It's for Tio." The mango ice cream, nestled within its clear wrapping, emitted a vibrant orange hue.

Glancing up at Jim, I caught a fleeting smile dancing upon his lips before it dissolved into contemplation. His eyes darted between the pack of smokes and me.

"Why are you smoking anyway, Camila? You're wasting away your youth. And what does your father say about this?" Jimmy's concern wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of tobacco and stale memories.

"Listen, Jim, don't you worry about me. I've made it past eighteen in the Bronx." I responded with a flash of glint in my eyes as I ignored the father card he pulled on me.

Kill them with kindness Camila.

"Besides its perfectly legal for me to have a few drags after a long days work, you know." I added, a hint of amusement tainting my tone. "On top of some school work," I tossed in casually, a shield against his disapproval.

His brows furrowed for a moment before finally letting up, releasing the tenson in his scrunched face. "Be safe kid. Tell your mom I said hi," Jimmys parting words had my legs move over to the exit door with everything I needed.

Before I could leave, a smile crept across my face. "Tell your good-for-nothing brother to get some more mango ice cream in stock, I got the last one." I called back.

As expected, the room filled with Italian words left and right. I quickly made a swift exit out while the glass door kept Jimmys frustration inside the store for someone else to listen too as I relished in the cold breeze.