After calling the police and begging for them to hurry up; after giving the hammer and statement to them and seeing that she got her care; after returning to my laundry to switch loads; after being besieged by well-wishers and gawkers, people too keen to recount our “relay” to anyone who wished—I became dizzy and unable to focus on the work. When a woman said that I was covered in blood I declared, “That’s it—I’m done washing today!”
My mom drove up to offer me help with the wash. I was almost done reloading my car. When I saw her, my eyes welled up as I told her the horrors I’d seen. I admitted my inability to get the work done. And she countered, “Let’s go out to eat.”
SOLD.
We slowly moved out of the lot. It was still crowded. People, most bunched in groups around cars, were still pointing and discussing the events of the evening.
After parking my car at home, a scant one block down the street, after wiping away the tears, we started for mom’s car to go get dinner.
BAM! BAM!
Two loud gunshots rang out from down the street. From where I’d just left. We went back in the house. Locked the door. And I sat right down, and cried.
I didn’t want to wash my loads anyway. I hope no one got shot. So many kids …
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