Ping Pong by Kidd Wadsworth

January 18, 2020 by in category Infused with Meaning by Kidd Wadsworth tagged as , , with 0 and 0
Home > Columns > Infused with Meaning by Kidd Wadsworth > Ping Pong by Kidd Wadsworth

Author’s Note: In this piece I am trying to juxtapose two elements: one happy, another tragic. I want the reader to be tossed back and forth, knowing that these two worlds are about to collide. BTW this is a true story.

Ping Pong

Green never took on as many shades, or the Earth appear as lush, as in the summer of ‘92 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Windows down, radio up, I drove, my newly minted sister-in-law in the seat next to me. I’d been married a blissful eight weeks. We’d eaten lunch at Red Hot Lovers, a delightfully greasy hot dog joint. I had the dregs of my Sprite in my cup holder, and she the last of her Diet Coke in hers.

Slowing, I came to a stop behind a sedan waiting to turn out into traffic.

We jammed to the beat, hands in the air.

Filling the crowded sedan were four Arab men in robes and two women in hijabs. One woman sat in the middle of the front seat, the other in the back on the right.

I drank the last of my Sprite.

The sedan driver turned yelling, pointing his finger. The woman in the backseat threw open the door. The man beside her, pulled her across his lap as she tried to escape. She thrashed against him. The second man in the backseat grabbed her. Her fist hit the back windshield. Her legs pummeled the first man as he reached out and slammed the door shut. The sedan, wheels squealing, sped out into the traffic. A car honked; another swerved.

I clenched the steering wheel, shaking.

As the sedan disappeared around a bend in the road, she whispered, “Did you get the license plate?

“No.”

“The car was white.”

“It’s going east on…” Frantically, I searched for a street sign. “what road is this?”

“I think it was a Chevy? Maybe a BMW?”

*

Author Bio
Author Bio
Kidd writes to bring to life our magical, fire-breathing world. She believes we are super heroes. Its time we put on our capes.
  • Hi, May I Help You, Please

    I was sixteen and working my first job at Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers. We were a lively crew. Jerry had the front register, Juanita and Javier were making sandwiches and scooping fries, Greg had the grill, and I was on the back register.

  • Get Me Outta Here!

    We arrive at 6 am. I sign a piece of paper which informs me of the risks of my day procedure using phrases such as “unforeseen side effects, including death.” A plastic bracelet is secured around my wrist. Promptly at 7 am, I kiss my husband goodbye and follow a stern-looking nurse through a side door. She points me to a changing room.

  • NOT GUILTY

    I think I have screwed up DNA. Amidst those A’s, C’s, G’s and T’s I must have a J or an L. You see, I just don’t feel guilty. Nope. Sorry. Well, actually I’m not sorry. I don’t even feel guilty for not feeling guilty.

  • Signs and Dart Guns

    I believe every licensed driver should be issued a traffic dart gun.

  • Writing Truth
    Author’s Note: In this piece I am trying to juxtapose two elements: one happy, another tragic. I want the reader to be tossed back and forth, knowing that these two worlds are about to collide. BTW this is a true story. Ping Pong Green never took on as many shades, or the Earth appear as […]
×
Kidd writes to bring to life our magical, fire-breathing world. She believes we are super heroes. Its time we put on our capes.

Copyright ©2017 A Slice of Orange. All Rights Reserved. ~PROUDLY POWERED BY WORDPRESS ~ CREATED BY ISHYOBOY.COM