“Cinnamon” by Michael R.

            I woke up to the sound of pebbles being thrown at my window. I opened it up and stuck my head out to see Cinnamon standing in my front lawn. “’bout time you woke up! Come on, man, get your money and we’ll head out.” I didn’t know what she wanted, and it was way too early in the morning to ask questions, so I just put on some clothes and pocketed the 6 bucks I had been saving. I looked up at my calendar: November 25^th, 1967. Today was circled in red marker. I wonder why. I moved downstairs and poured myself a bowl of cereal when I heard a commotion outside. I opened my front door to see Cinnamon and Mrs. H. yelling at each other from across the street. All I could catch was Mrs. H. saying “Just get outta here, you hippie trash!” Then she just turned and went into her house. Cinnamon looked obviously hurt, so I gave her a hug and said “Don’t let her bring you down, she just doesn’t understand.” We walked down our street and into town, which was totally empty. It was unsettling, like it was awaiting a coming storm. Cinnamon said “What’s Mrs. H.'s problem?” “I hear she lost her husband in the war.” “Really?” “Yeah, haven’t you seen it on TV, all those soldiers with their arms blown off. It’s terrible.” “That’s no way to die.” “It’s not.” We continued our thought provoking conversation until we reached Mr. Vinyl’s Record Shop in the town mall. Then I remembered, we were gonna buy some records to listen to on our sleepover tonight. We went inside and were looking through some albums when we were met by our friend Daniel. “Hey, did you guys hear?” “What, what did we hear?” “There’s gonna be an anti-war protest down on vine street tonight. You guys in?” “Yeah, were in.” We said bye to our friend, bought our vinyl, and walked back to my house. Our night just got more interesting. Luckily, Mrs. Haggarty wasn’t at her position on the porch, so she couldn’t torment us. We listened to our music until nightfall. I told my parents that we were going to sleep. We actually climbed out of my bedroom window and we were in the street in no time. I kinda felt bad about lying to my parents, but they would never let me go out this late. We made our way to vine street and we were greeted by a group of I think 70 people that were dressed in tie-dye and armed with signs that said things like “END THE WAR” and “FLOWER POWER.” Even late at night there were still a bunch of on-lookers. It was obvious that word had got out that there was gonna be a protest. Basically, we just stood around, waving our signs. Nothing hard. The moon was bright in the night sky, and the streetlight’s orange glow illuminated the city streets. We stood in front of the town’s recruiting office. It was a perfect place to protest the war. Me and Cinnamon kinda hung out there for about 2 hours, telling the occasional person that we were here because we believed that the war was immoral and unnecessary, when the police showed up. They had asked us to leave. Some of the hippies told them that they can’t tell us what to do. I felt the same way, but I didn’t like the way the police looked at us. They asked us one more time. Out of the crowd I heard “Why don’t you make us!” Me and Cinnamon looked at each other, and then back at the crowd. Things got out of control very, very fast. The cops came at us with batons and gun-butts, and they didn’t hesitate to smack, hit, and beat every hippie there. There was screaming and I had stepped in a puddle of blood. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, all I could hear was “Ahhhhhhhh!” coming from all directions. People were bumping into me left and right, and I lost my balance. I righted myself and frantically ran around, looking for Cinnamon and trying to dodge punches and baton swings. I didn’t notice that she had been tugging at my sleeve the entire time. When I finally noticed her, I grabbed her hand and we ran out of that chaos as fast as we could and we didn’t stop running until I finally tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. We were already on our street. As soon as I caught my breath, I got up off the ground and gave Cinnamon the tightest hug I had ever given anyone, thankful that she had gotten out of there unharmed. We walked to about the front of my house when we spotted Mrs. H. sitting on her porch. She said “What are ya’ll doing out here at this hour? Don’t you tell me that ya’ll were in that riot!” Still recovering from our misadventure, I remained quiet. Cinnamon spoke up “That’s none of your business!” “Don’t you take a tone with me, you ugly girl! It’s not my fault that all your hippie trash got beat for doing something stupid! I’m glad you all got beat, it should teach ya’ll some manners! You’re all a bunch of idiots!!” “Your glad!!! Do you know how many of our friends got hurt out there!! Do you know how much blood was spilled out there!!” Mrs. H. said in a quiet voice “Still glad.” Cinnamon was furious “Oh, you’re still glad, are you!! Well you know what!! I’M GLAD THAT YOUR HUSBAND DIED IN THAT WAR!!!!!!!!!!!!” What happens next was too much too handle. Mrs. H. had pulled something out of her pocket. Suddenly I heard a loud bang. Then I saw Cinnamon topple over in a puddle of crimson that stained the sidewalk. Blood oozed from her chest. Her eyes were glazed, staring at nothing. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. All I could do look at her. I could her sirens off in the distance, coming closer. I could hear Mrs. H. curse to herself. Then I could hear nothing. It was too much for me to take. I felt myself falling backwards. Then it was dark. I woke up to the sound of pebbles being thrown at my window…