I. First
It was a sticky Thursday. The afternoon air wrapped around and between the leaves and the boys watched cars grind north on Third Avenue.
II. Next
Steve tapped his black shoes together. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, it was a lousy lunch. Those sandwiches were like the ones from soccer.”
Steve nodded.
“I’ll make you something tonight, maybe tortellini.”
Steve smiled and closed his eyes. “So where’s Mom now?”
Elliott shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Steve turned towards the tall oak doors. “She never liked this place.”
“Yeah, she said it was better to sleep in the morning. Remember that science study thing? The one in our group—?” A scream fell.
Then there was a crash.
On the sidewalk to their right, a bit closer to the park than the Avenue, water and glass. Finally free from a vase: cut flowers, white and pink, a kind man, his cheek pressed into pavement. Steve looked up. A girl and a balcony rail.
“Did she drop that?”
“Had to… look at all… I don’t… Stevey, he’s not moving,” Elliott whispered.
A woman ran across the street. More faces followed. A delivery worker shook the man; another stabbed at his phone. Steve watched the concrete stain.
There were sirens and flashes and uniforms. Elliott sank back into the shade. Steve listened to the traffic. The girl and her elbow slipped inside.
III. Last
A man approached, not the priest.
He stopped at their feet. “It’s time to carry your mom outside.” Steve got up first and rubbed his eyes.