I was the master trader, renowned for my persuasive skills. Philip could use one of my chocolate bars right now. But what, if anything, did he have to give me in return? Sitting there in the dark, sweating in his oversize T-shirt. We were about to be goners anyway so why did the deal matter?
I couldn’t answer that question. A deal is a deal. Doesn’t matter if you are about to be blown to pieces. You still have to outwit your opponent. Get more than you give. That’s the code. You can’t break it. Part of me just wanted to give Philip the candy bar and shop his whining. The other part was hard at work trying to come up with a trade.
I was fingering my cold dog tag when the idea came to me. Philip and I would exchange dog tags. He would become Joe Gibbons and I would become Philip Goldberg. In one deft switch, I would become a Jew, ensuring my fate. There was no way that the nuns and the priests could get me then. I’d live with Beverly and Arnold and their cronies. We would spend our days playing pinochle and telling dirty jokes. I would run the hot-dog concession.
I reached into my shoebox and pulled out a chocolate bar. Then, I inched close to Philip and whispered in his ear. “I’ve got just what you need,” I said, waiving the large Hershey bar under his nose.
His nostrils twitched, acknowledging the sweet aroma of chocolate.
“You can have the whole thing,” I said, “if we can make a little trade.”
“What sort of trade?” Philip asked. He was leaning forward, breathing in the smell of the chocolate.
“Our dog tags,” I said. “You’ll wear mine and I’ll wear yours.”
“Because I’ve always admired you. You’re the smartest kid in our class. I’ll never be able to think like you but wearing your dog tag I can pretend, can’t I?”
I wasn’t sure that Philip would buy the flattery. But he surprised me.
“You’ve always admired me?” he said. “Amazing!” He removed his dog tag from around his neck and handed it to me. I handed him mine. Then, sort of ceremoniously, I placed the Hershey bar in his waiting hands.
In the dark, I could hear Philip tearing through the wrapper. I could hear his teeth chomping on the chocolate. I sat on the floor fingering my new identity: Philip Goldberg. Age 12. Religion: Jewish.
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