Non Metallic

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The metal-man wore a thin coat, ignorant of the winter wind that tore the heat from the rest of us. When I saw him, I wanted to rush over, punch him on the arm, tell him to put on his winter clothes like everybody else. Only I didn’t do that. I just watched him walk.

It was snowing in circles that day. The cat had gotten out, brushing past my skirt and jumping over our fence before I could even yell her name. Mom said I had better go fetch her because of the snow. But I knew she was more worried about the few drivers left on the roads. People who still had running cars didn’t bother with traffic laws anymore; there was no one left to ticket them.

Mom promised to tell the other girls I would be late for cheerleading practice, so I had headed out to Main Street, rattling the cat-treats can as I walked. I was halfway through the alley when I saw him: the metal-man, the Metallic, whatever you want to call him. He’d been gone for over a year.

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