Devin Winters is Hot

Real Stories From a Fake Place - Story 10

DEVIN WINTERS IS HOT

Devin Winters is hot. Sweltering hot. Sweat-bleeding-through-his gray Hanes t-shirt hot. He is also eight years old.

Devin has been standing absolutely still, right where his father left him, for the better part of the last half an hour, just as asked.

His dad told him, “Stay here son. Don’t move a muscle! I’ll be right back. Hold this spot!”

And so far, he has. Devin has done an admirable job holding the spot despite having to squint constantly as rays of sunshine beat down onto the asphalt below his feet and bounce back into his tiny, eight-year-old eyes.

It’s the ‘smack-dab middle of summer’ hot. It’s ‘the community pool doesn’t sound so bad’ hot. It’s ‘cancel t-ball practice’ hot. And that’s exactly what happened, actually. When they got the news, Devin’s dad promised to take him to the mall for the afternoon. A day out for a father and son.

Except, this day out with his dad has been a pretty lonely one for young Devin Winters. He can’t be sure (he doesn’t have a watch) but he thinks its been about thirty minutes since his dad jogged off, back towards their mini-van with promises to move it right over.

This is the longest Devin has ever been alone, he thinks. He’s not old enough to be left behind when his parents go out to run errands. He always tags along. At school he isn’t alone. Even when he’s asleep, alone, in his big dark room he isn’t really alone. His parent are always right outside the door.

But now... Now Devin Winters is alone. Alone for the first time in his life. He could do anything he wants. He could run off or at the very least take a seat while he waits. But he doesn’t do that. His dad told him not to move a muscle and so far he hasn’t. He’s waited right where he was left and he’ll keep waiting there. Devin Winters is alone. And hot.

They had initially parked towards the back of the mall lot. Way back near the outlet department stores. Just about the furthest back one could park. But even then, it only took them about four minutes to walk from that spot to where Devin stands now, right near the entrance.

When they walked by this spot, Devin’s spot, his dad stopped dead in his tracks.

“Dev,” he said, “this is a great spot. Way better than our old spot. Stay here, son. Don’t move a muscle! I’ll be right back. Hold this spot!”

Devin isn’t sure he has the math right (math isn’t his strongest subject in school) but even if his dad had taken four minutes to walk back to the car, maybe a minute to start the car, and a minute to drive back, that would still put him back here about twenty-five minutes ago. Where could he be?

This whole time Devin never considered that his dad might have left him or forgotten about him. That couldn’t be the case. So what could it be? Car troubles? Ran into an old friend on the way? Both maybe?

A few non-dad cars driven by non-dad people had pulled in front the spot while Devin was holding it. All of them respected the hold. That’s what it means to live in a small town like this. There’s a general love for the common man not present in all other places. They would pull up, look at Devin, nod, and be on their way. Still, every time he could hear the sound of a car pulling around, Devin would be sure it was his dad’s mini-van finally making its way over.

His shirt is soaked through.

A group of kids from Devin’s school pass by him. The girl he has a crush on waves and smiles at him as they pass. A few of his friends ask him to come along with them. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.

One of his friend’s dads is chaperoning the group. He gives Devin a hearty nod as if to say ‘I respect you’ and ‘I wish my own son were more like you’.

Devin doesn’t know this but today is the hottest recorded day in this town’s history. A level-three heat advisory has been issued for the county. The weather channel recommends staying inside or, when that’s not an option, finding shade.

Devin’s throat is parched. He’s almost certainly sweat out all of the water previously in his body.

He doesn’t know this either, and never will, but since standing in this spot, Devin has lost three pounds of water-weight. This is concerning for an already underdeveloped eight-year-old.

Really, where could his dad be?

It’s been at least forty minutes now, by his count.

Devin is beginning to feel faint. No longer hot. Just faint. Weak at the knees.

He isn’t sure how much longer he can stand here.

Devin catches a glimpse of his friends inside the mall. They’re eating ice cream from the food court. The girl he likes just dropped hers onto the patterned carpet. He’d buy her a new one if he could.