She should’ve run me over and kept driving.
Once done paying, she turns and walks to the crosswalk and, like a good girl, waits for the pedestrian signal to turn green. A sleek white SUV stops in front of her, blocking my view.
“Move,” I mumble, my hand steady on my weapon, which I’m using only so I can see better.
A man flings open the car door and jumps out. He’s wearing a dark suit, nice leather shoes, and carrying a white folder.
Dina rounds the vehicle, trying to pass, but the man blocks her way. He moves forward so that she has to step back and out of the way behind the SUV.
I can’t see them.
“Move,” I say again, as if he can hear my order.
Dina emerges from behind the car, again carrying her grocery bags. The man follows her. He appears to be shouting ather while waving the folder above her head. In the middle of the street, Dina turns and shouts back.
Luckily, the pedestrian signal is still green.Stay green, my man. Stay green.
The man opens the folder and yanks out a paper. His red face tells me he’s angry, and he’s hovering over her.
The green pedestrian signal counts down. Five, four, three…
I open the window and push the barrel through it.
“Don’t touch her,” I say. “Do not touch.” My vision blurs. I blink. Not cleared. The pedestrian light turns red, and cars honk for the couple to move along. Dina tries to cross, but the guy catches her by the elbow, causing her grocery bag to rip. The potatoes fall out of the bag and roll out, along with the onions.
He starts moving his hands, and papers from the folder fly away. Dina is in his face now, arguing back.
I tap the trigger guard, stroking it as I try to get a clear shot. But she’s too close, and I’m dizzy with blurry vision. Dina steps back, and I have a shot. It’s not a clear shot, but I could take it.
I’m not considering taking out a random civilian, am I?
AmI?
A cop car pulls up, and I sit back and wipe the sweat off my brow, but keep watching.
The cop separates the two, and it doesn’t seem like the cop wants an explanation from the guy because the guy with the folder gets sent off in his fancy white SUV, whose license plate I memorize as he peels away, tires screeching.
The grocery clerk, a dark-haired man in his fifties wearing a red apron and carrying a spare bag for Dina, approaches her. She takes the bag, and the three of them, the cop, the clerk, and Dina, pick up the stray potatoes and the onions that have rolled down the street. The cars wait.
Once Dina gets her groceries, I expect her to finally cross the street and go up the stairs. But once she crosses, she puts thebag down and leans against the cop’s car. The cop joins her. He offers her something.
I try to make out what it is. Ah, a cigarette.
What’s this guy doing? What’s she doing? Taking a break?
Typical Selnoans. “Take your time,” I mumble. “Argue with angry men. Chat with cops.” I suppress an eye roll and continue to watch. For twenty minutes, because that’s how long it takes Dina to return home.
Chapter 7
He doesn’t complain
Dina
Martin, Ashley, and I grew up together. In fact, we were inseparable all throughout middle school and up until Martin kissed me and not Ashley. She liked him. Instead, he chose me, and little Ashley couldn’t get over it.
I rejected Martin’s affections, and for two years, we didn’t speak, until one summer, we met at a police station to give a statement about our mothers, who went on a cruise together and never returned. To this day, we have no idea what happened to either of them. My dad stopped looking, said that taking care of a child didn’t leave him with the resources to go around the world searching for his missing wife.
He is a teacher, one of the most important professions humanity will ever need. Unfortunately, it’s also a profession that is often dismissed and disrespected. My dad’s yearly salary equals that of an average half-witted sex worker. I know the exact number because it was said on the news.
