Streaks

The black PT Cruiser was left parallel parked on the one-way street. Before she entered the apartment she said, “I need to change into my blue jeans, t-shirt and socks. Then I’ll be good.” Going through the trial by fire, Ms. King said, “This is where we relax in the back when I go through my stress modes and all that other stuff in life.”

Three distinct sun flares burst through the narrow alleyway between two abut apartment buildings. Streaks of justice stream in from a storehouse not yet fully known. Only Light can drive out darkness. Ms. King is seated on a patio chair. A black scrungy spirals around her left wrist just below her cellular phone. She has kept her family up-to-date throughout the trial. Unexpectedly, when she victoriously drove from the courthouse to 14th and Solana Court she discovered a Xeroxed half-sheet of paper with two words: “Got Justice?” Emphatically she said, “We’re done with court. Thank God. No more walking in that door.”

ManMan’s skateboarding scabs are healing on his hand. His red shirt is new like Ms. King’s fresh red braid ends. Her daughter Precious loves her mom by putting forth effort and hours. Her hands weaved the strands; stronger together. Perm, her brother throws a BBQ celebration in honor of receiving justice for Mike. Marinated chicken legs and thighs are placed in rows on the charcoal powered grill. A family member with Ice Creams on placed a small dog on a skateboard and pushed forward.  He said, “skater dog, look at that skater dog.” Ms. King is on the phone with her mother. She says, “Done. Done. Done. Thank God. I need a couple hours of sleep. I tossed and turned all night.”