Bea & the Broken Record

Chapter 10: Rubber Babies

After establishing that I was keeping the photo of Bea, we continued to walk up the street and enjoy the vendors. We tried different foods they offered us and held onto the little trinkets they gave us to advertise their businesses or raise awareness for a good cause.

At one point we reached a vendor with tiny little rubber babies in a basket. I picked one up and held it in my hand while reading the sign beside of the basket.

"This is what a baby looks like when a woman would normally get an abortion," A woman behind the table told me. I enclosed my fingers around the baby and dropped it back into the basket.

"That's horrible," Bea said beside of me. She was looking at a rubber baby.

"It's a sad thing to see a mother do that to an unborn child," The woman continued to talk to Bea about abortion and how wrong it was while I scoped out the rest of the vendors. I walked a few feet away from the abortion vendor and was standing in front of one with tons of handmade things in it. Bea came up beside me and sighed.

"I didn't think I was going to get away from her! Here, have a rubber baby," she dropped a rubber baby in my hand and patted my arm, wrapping her thin arms around my lean muscular one and squeezing it in a hug.

"She wouldn't stop talking about what happened to a baby when they abort it. I almost cried and I couldn't get away," Bea pouted as she nuzzled her face into my sleeve.

"It's okay, Bea," I chuckled and pulled her into a hug. She giggled and plopped her hands onto my shoulders.

"I'm going to get us some drinks. Lemonade sound good?" She asked as she started walking away.

"Yeah, that's fine. Here's some money," I answered and she nodded. I had to force her to take the money. I didn't take my eyes off of her as she walked to the other side of the street to get to the lemonade stand. She glanced behind her to see me still looking at her. I looked away and up the street in search of an interesting vendor.

I saw a few guitars sitting outside of a tent shining in the sun. Interested, I walked over to it to look at them. There were so many different guitars of all shapes and sizes lined throughout the vendor's tent.

"Like what you see?" An older man suddenly said from behind the table. His voice was scratchy from years of smoking. He stood up with the help of a cane and walked over to me. He looked to be about sixty-five.

"I do," I said, mesmerized by the many guitars.

"The PSR's are more expensive in stores. These were donated and all the money goes to charity," The old man explained. "But I wouldn't trust it. They've told me it goes to charity, but who knows these days." He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

I didn't say anything. As I picked up a guitar and rested my fingers in their usual spots. I played a few notes absentmindedly.

"What's your name, son?" The old man leaned against his elbows on the table and watched my fingers. I sat the guitar down in its spot.

"Asher Hawkins. I'm not from around here, though," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Lots of the people here aren't from around here. They're tourists just wanting to do something different. Now you," he pointed at me with a shaky finger, "you're here for a reason. What would that reason be?"

"More like for a person. I'm here with that girl down there at the lemonade stand," I pointed down the street at Bea. She was almost to the front of the long line.

"Ah, a date? This is a great place for a date because of the music. It brings people together," The man told me. I nodded my head in agreement. I got to know Bea through music. How else would I get to know her?