Vincent Gallo - Tasya

There must have been some curse on that bag, where it would swallow her whole if she didn’t fill its bottomless belly.

“Can you tell me, how in the world were you able to pack all that stuff into such a tiny bag?” Hugh asked and accepted his share of water, apples, nuts, cookies, and sandwich halves. “And why do you have so much food in the first place?”

“What do you mean?” The girl gave him a confused look and popped off the sandwich container’s lid.

“Well, your bag is awfully small. Too small indeed for all that food,” Hugh said, struggling to open his sandwich container, “and if I had to make a guess, you wouldn’t be able to eat all that food on your own. I know that I couldn’t.”

“You are quite the pessimist, aren’t you? Just because the task seems difficult doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” She took the container away from Hugh and swiftly popped it open with her thumbs. She handed the container back to Hugh and dove into her sandwich. “I wanted to pack the bag, and so I did it. As for the food, my pessimistic friend… I packed so much, well, because…” She trailed off and averted her eyes to the sandwich half in her hands that was now a sandwich eighth after a single one of her bites. “Um, it’s hard to say, honestly. I had a feeling we would meet again, that you would bring the spade. That you wouldn’t….” She trailed off again, eyes looking down to nowhere in particular.

“That I wouldn’t what?” Hugh asked.

“That you would disappoint me.” The black-haired finished off her sandwich, palmed an apple and chomped on it vigorously.

It was Hugh’s turn to wear a confused expression. “Why would I disappoint you?”

“Look. I said enough.” The girl aimed for a strict tone, but her mouthful of apple and accompanying munching worked against her. “If you want to keep your food then I recommend you drop the issue.”

“Honestly, I don't want to give up these cookies.” Hugh replied.

The black-haired dropped the apple core into the plastic container and unknotted the bag of cashews.

“Not a single word more and you can keep the cookies.” The black-haired girl said. “Deal?”

He didn't want to test his luck by responding with a ‘yes,’ because caution told him that she would have taken his verbal agreement as a breach of her conditions and thus grounds for confiscating his cookies.

To retain his bounty of food, Hugh pledged himself to their deal with a simple nod.

The black-haired girl chuckled and quickly covered her mouth with both hands. Hugh's dedication to cookies amused her and she didn't want to shatter the serious atmosphere with her laughs. The very act of trying to calm herself only incited even more laughter to the point where she could no longer contain it. Her hands fell to her sides and she permitted her laughter to ring out loudly and freely.

Hugh didn't ask her what she had found so funny, not because he was suspicious that she would seize his cookies if he uttered a word, but because her joy and laugher had infected him. He joined her and allowed himself to let out his own joy and share in the moment's positive emotion.

They both calmed down, wiping stray tears from their eyes. A sudden giggle would pip up and deep breaths would quiet them down. They returned to their food and ate in silence, their spirits lifted by their shared laughter.

Time moved on and it soon came time to go.

They tidied up the apple cores, rolled up the small bags now absent of peanuts, brushed away breadcrumbs, balled up the cellophane wrappers, and sealed all of it away inside the plastic containers. Despite having less items to return to her bag, Hugh was still astonished how it even possessed enough space for the two containers.

He was convinced that the bag was cursed and that he needed to mention it to Masha the next time their paths crossed.

“It's time head home.” The black-haired girl said and slung her bag onto her back. “I have a lot of cleaning to do, and it won't do it itself. You know, you put it off and then bam, there are piles of dishes and a dust everywhere.”

“I'm going home as well,” Hugh said after an imperceptible pause to consider what the black-haired girl had just said. She had spoken as if she were the homeowner, living alone, and not a young girl of about eleven living with her parents. “I have some work to do and, you know, it won't do it itself.”

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