The Button Map Dash — Every afternoon, Rafi counted the front steps on Linden Row while rubbing the brown coat button in his pocket: three ridges, one chip, his brother’s lucky button. Read the full story →
Every afternoon, Rafi counted the front steps on Linden Row while rubbing the brown coat button in his pocket: three ridges, one chip, his brother’s lucky button. He meant to deliver a tin of parade wicks to Number 17, but he always stopped at the first iron railing when the streetcars clanged too loud and the tall houses seemed to lean over him.
Until one windy day, a messenger dropped four identical parcels on four identical stoops, then pedaled away with a shout of, “Festival starts at dusk!” Because of that, Rafi saw the lantern wicks going to the wrong doors. Because of THAT, the whole block might hang dark while the brass band blared and the drumline boomed. He squeezed the button, felt the chipped edge point like an arrow, and ran: past the lamppost, around the tree roots, over the tiled walk, checking fan windows and flower boxes the way his brother had taught him.
At Number 17, Rafi swapped the last parcel just as the first lantern hissed to life, smelling of warm paper and rain on stone. His knees shook, but his grin did not. If you search the stoops, you might find the route he raced, starting with three ridges and one chip.
