"M. A."

A Story by Raef

A young woman and her nephew are in need of assistance.

The bustle of the mid-afternoon crowd drowned the tall man's voice in sound.

"I found a pin!" A pair of legs emerged from a nearby bush, followed by a small torso, and finally the rest of a small boy.

Round. Small. Smooth on one side, felt on the other. No way of actually attaching it to anything, it seemed.

"Ma! Look!"

Ma glanced away from the tall man for a moment to see her nephew holding something.

"Don't touch that, Mort; it's dirty."

Mort smiled to himself, turning the little thing over in his hand.

"It is pretty, Ma. Ma, it's pretty. Very pretty." He hadn't quite heard her correctly due to the din.

He leaned down for a better look at the pin, rather than bring it closer.

"Very pretty. It's a pin, and it's pretty. Like Ma. Ma, have this pin! It's pretty!"

Mort moved closer to his aunt, his face practically in his hands. His eyelashes grazed the thing.

Ma looked around for something to stand on, her gaze falling on a small bench with peeling paint.

"'Scuse me, sorry, ow." The usual struggle and apologies accompanied her short trek. She stepped up onto the bench, now a full head taller than most people in the crowd. Excluding the tall man, of course.

A man sitting on the bench paused the eating of his lunch to give her a look of reproach. He then smiled inwardly as he realized just how short the woman standing on the bench next fo him was.

/That better be him/, she thought to herself.

Remembering who she had with her, she called over her shoulder: "Mort, come on."

Mort obeyed, moving into her wake and catching up in the span of a few seconds. When he reached her side she looked him up and down, registering that he had something in his hands.

"Whatcha got there?"

"'S a pin. The pin I told you was pretty, 'cause it's pretty. Very pr-"

"Hey, Cam."

"Hey, Marge."

They'd reached the tall man.

"Sorry, couldn't tell if it was you; forgot my glasses."

Cam shrugged, adjusting his hat slightly. "S'alright."

The crowd obligingly split for them, hardly bothered by the obstruction that the three people constituted.

"Why here? All these damn people."

As if to punctuate the statement, at that moment a falafel vendor began peddling his cuisine.

"Two for five! Hot, fresh, delicious! Cold dr-"

"'Cause I'm a people-person, that's why. Come on; got the car waiting. Parking lot's right here.

He turned, pushing against the crowd, reaching a hand behind him to try and maintain the gap he created. When they had made it through, he led them to his car. As they neared, Marge remembered once again who she had with her.

"Got a chair for the kid?"

Cam shook his head, opening his door. "Not since the divorce. If you really want one... Oh, hold on." He jogged around to the passenger-side door and jiggled the handle. "Sorry, internal mechanism is shoddy." He put his weight on the handle, grunting with effort, and was rewarded with a newly-broken handle in his hands.

"Shi-"

"Kid's here, jerk."

"-Take mushrooms."

"Mushy-mushy-mushy." Mort was fond of mushrooms. He clambered onto and over the driver's seat and sat on the center console, the gear shifter between his legs.

"You're gonna have to go through the other door."

"Yeah," Marge was already ducking her head. "Make room, kid."

After some minor confusion (mostly on Mort's behalf), they were both situated; Mort in the center, and Marge riding shotgun. Cam lifted his leg and began to ease himself in, when suddenly he withdrew.

"Hold on, I'll be right back."

"Wait, where're you...?

Too late. He had moved back into the crowd.

"Ugh." She slumped in her seat.

"Where'd he go, Ma?"

"Don't know. Help me find his keys. It's hot."

The two searched until they founderstand their quarry; they had been tossed in an empty drink cup.

/Nice/, thought Marge as she leaned over to slide the keys into the ignition switch. She turned, heard the engine start to turn over, then nothing.

/Nicer/. She sighed.

"Hey, kid, you see that peddle right there? The one that kind of looks like a cupcake."

Mort looked down. "Which one?"

"What do you mean which one? It's the one in the middle."

"Th-the other could be a long cupcake, Ma."

There was a bang and Mort started.

"Ow. My head."

Mort turned and saw his aunt massaging her forehead.

"Wha' happened, Ma?"

Marge rolled her eyes. "Dash attacked me."

Mort's brow furrowed. "Dash?"

She gestured half-heartedly towards the dashboard before her and slumped down into her chair.

Mort's brow furrowed further. "It hurt you?"

Marge slide further down into her seat. "Ugh".

He took this as an affirmation. Turning to the dash, he smacked it with his small hand. "Bad."

Immediately he splayed his hand against the rather warm plastic. "I'm sorry." He counted the fingers on his hand and turned to his aunt.

"Three."

"Mhm."

At that moment Cam returned, and with him came the smell of edible substances.

"Brought food. Hope you like filafels. Figured you two hadn't eaten in a while based on your message."

"Never tried one, but I'd eat bark right now, honestly."

"Well, I wished you'd told me that sooner," he complained, as he handed them each a wrapped filafel. "That was my rent money that payed for that."

Marge stopped mid-chew. "Really?" (Though, of course, it sounded much more like "reh-weh".)

He sighed. "Yeah, but it's fine. All I have in my room is an old stereo and my dumbbells, anyway. Eat up, kids."

Marge lowered her food to her lap. "Cam..."

Cam rolled his eyes. "Really, it's fine. I can pawn the stereo; I only have one CD anyways and it's some kind of The Smiths mix."

"Cam!"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Cam leaned against the steering wheel, his head turned to the moving mass of people on his left.

"S'okay. You're good people. Wouldn't be able to live down not helping the two of you."

He turned to her, still leaning against the steering wheel.

"Go ahead, eat."

"B-"

"Eat, dam-, /darn/ it."

Marge sighed once more and gave in to her hunger.

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