CHAPTER 10
793 Words
CHAPTER 10
Kennedy woke up Friday with the sun pouring in through her dorm room window. An uneasy feeling sloshed around in her empty gut. Even her sleep had failed to provide the reprieve she’d hoped for. She wasn’t any more rested than she’d been last night.
She glanced at Willow’s bed. Empty. Her roommate never woke up early. Did that mean she’d stayed out? Had she spent the night at Othello’s?
Kennedy scratched her head, grimacing when she felt how slimy and gross her hair was. She hadn’t even taken a shower last night. At least the thought of washing off all of Bow Legs’ lingering filth was enough motivation to get her out of bed. As she was gathering her toiletries together, her phone beeped. She glanced at the text message from Willow.
Headed to the protest. Want a ride?
Protest?
Did Kennedy even want to know?
She was tempted to ignore the message and take an impossibly long shower until her skin was lobster red and her mind washed of all the defiling memories from yesterday. She wasn’t due to meet Reuben for breakfast for another hour, and then their only class was children’s literature. After that, the weekend. She couldn’t remember if she had anything else scheduled, but she wasn’t going to worry about that right now.
One day at a time.
Pastor Carl’s wife Sandy had once encouraged Kennedy to meditate on the Sermon on the Mount, let the words sink in and minister to her soul. Kennedy was such a speed reader — the only way she could keep up with her courses and still have time to enjoy a few classics or mystery novels on the side — that it was hard for her to slow down to make her Scripture reading very contemplative. As a countermeasure, Sandy encouraged her to memorize certain passages that stood out the most to her, so Kennedy had started with Jesus’s admonition to stop worrying about tomorrow.
So far, she was only a couple verses in, but it was a start. This morning though, Kennedy didn’t have time to spend in the Bible. She had to clean herself up. She’d pray while she was in the shower. God wouldn’t mind, would he?
She grabbed her towel and had just slipped on her germ-proof flip-flops when her phone beeped once more. Willow again, sending nothing but a series of question marks.
Kennedy huffed as she set the shower caddy down on her desk.
Another beep.
Check the news.
Great. This was not the way Kennedy planned on starting her Friday. She typed Channel 2’s web address into her browser and was met with a zoomed-in photo of Boston’s chief of police who had recently addressed the public. Kennedy scanned the article. It was exactly what Dominic had warned her it would be. The cop she’d met last night — apparently his name was Lorence Burgess and not Bow Legs after all — had a stellar record. He helped crack a murder investigation a few years ago in North End, two men with Mafia connections who dumped a body into a pier before going after a couple of unlucky witnesses. He traveled around to elementary schools warning kids about the dangers of gangs. Kennedy rolled her eyes. He probably baked chocolate chip cookies for his shut-in mama every weekend, too.
After extoling his officer’s flawless record, the chief explained that last night at 6:34 pm, Burgess had pulled over two suspects in a drug-related case, which apparently sounded more convincing than the speeding story Dominic had predicted.
Halfway down the screen was a grainy picture of Kennedy hanging onto Officer Burgess’ back. Reuben wasn’t in the shot at all. They had cropped that part out, probably because it wouldn’t look so good to show Burgess kicking an unarmed black man. At that point, the article quoted the chief regretfully informing the people of Boston that when Burgess was attacked by his two “alleged suspects,” there were not enough backup officers on duty. The next several paragraphs dealt with budget cuts on the police force. The article ended, almost like an afterthought, with the notice of a peaceful protest organized by the Reverend Gordon Clarence, who aimed to let the mayor and police department know that the people of Boston wouldn’t stand for the slaughter of innocent African-Americans.
Kennedy had lost her appetite by the time she finished reading. She texted Willow back, saying she had to go to her lit class and wouldn’t make the gathering. She looked at the clock. Still enough time to shower and dress and maybe catch up on a little reading before she met Reuben at the student union.
She glanced once more at the news article, hoping her brain had made up the entire story, but there was the picture of her straddling Burgess’ back. Her only solace was that she hadn’t been named. She and Reuben were still safe. They still had their privacy.
For now.
- Writer
