Judith watches Lieutenant Muller behind his oak desk. His left elbow is pressed against the surface, and his forehead rests against the outside of his left hand's curled fingers.
His black jacket is hung on the back of his rolling chair, revealing his white and baby blue striped button-up squeezing his plump midsection.
"How old did you say you were, Miss. Jefferson," he asks while looking at her over the top of his skinny glasses.
"Oh, um, I'm nineteen," she answers with a faint smile that falls immediately when his dark blue eyes return to the sheet in front of him. The tip of his pen emits a scratching sound that sends goosebumps up her arms and itches her molars.
She glances at the frame on his desk. Its edges are painted with colorful fingerprints and uncooked macaroni. Behind a layer of glass is the face of a little girl with blonde pigtails decorated with bubblegum pink bows, missing front teeth, and dark blue eyes like his.
"You have a daughter," Judy acknowledges as her grin makes its way back onto her mouth.
Without looking up, he straightens his posture, takes the top of the frame in his left hand, and turns the frame to face himself. She draws her bottom lip inward and lowers her gaze onto her clogs.
"Okay, so I talked to the Dean of Darlington University," he begins, dropping the pen on the paper, and sitting back. "That's the name of your school, correct?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, it's," she stammers and clears her throat, but before she can finish speaking, he interjects.
"He's asked me to speak with the leader of this – whatever you call yourselves," John Muller informs her, using air quotes. She watches his bushy blond mustache bounce with each exaggerated movement of his thin lips. "And I say leader that way because, well, the activists I've come in contact with protested for things that mattered, not what type of milk should be served in the cafeteria."
He chuckles at his remark, and she darts her eyes onto the clear bowl of candy sitting next to the picture. It's filled with packets of ZotZ, Jelly Bellies, and one root beer flavored dum-dum.
"And I'll be honest with you, this whole situation, from what little I've heard and gathered, is laughable." Judith inhales, rolling her eyes. "But getting back on track, the boy says he's not the leader, and the little one burst into tears when I mentioned the charges, so she's too prissy to be my suspect."
"So you think it's me," she says with a questioning undertone, and he draws his lips into a straight line.
"Well, given the fact that there's only three of you here, I think it's fair to believe so. You're all looking at some pretty hefty charges, and I'm sorry, but I'm not fooling around," he sternly tells her. "This is serious. The last riot we had, the one in Lamar nine years ago, resulted in a bus being tipped over with people in it; black people."
"And what does that have to do with us," she asks with the shrugging of her shoulders. Her arms remain behind her back, and what little feeling she had in her fingers faded when she sat on the burgundy leather cushion. He narrows his eyes as if he's confused by her question. "Juniper, Cyrus, and I are black. The men who knocked over that bus, they were most likely white. Klansmen, to be exact."
"That's merely speculation, which I won't entertain." Judy scoffs and shakes her head. She's wearing a smile to mask her anger and she glances at the picture of JFK mounted on the wall behind him. "The point is, this rioting thing is dangerous for everyone; including yourself. What was the point of it all?"
"Do you really wanna know?" John nods, and she looks at her knees when she feels her throat contract.
"I was almost sexually attacked on campus by two guys I didn't know, one guy grabbed me while I was walking to the dorms, and my boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend – he was abusive." Judith takes a shaky breath and begins bouncing her left leg. His expression softens, and when she glances at him, she notices the pity in his eyes. "I just – wanted to do something about it, is all."
"Did you report the crimes to the police?" She shakes her head, and he scoffs at her answer, lowering his gaze onto what he's written. Her throat aches like pins and needles are lodged sideways, prickling her skin, and her eyes are hot, but she blinks away her tears. "I figured as much. All the women who sit in your seat, moaning and groaning about the abuse they face but none wanting to press charges. A waste of precious time, is what it is."
"Sir, you don't understand," she tries to defend herself, but he lifts his left hand to silence her.
"Save it for someone with a soft spot. I lost mine when I had to witness my Daddy beat my Mother within an inch of her life for eighteen years. Joining the army was my escape," John tells Judith without looking at her. He takes a deep breath, then lifts the pen to the paper. Judith licks her lips, stares at her knees, and sighs. "I should arrest you, but seeing as that would mean someone would have to care for you, and you're no longer a student at the school, I don't find it fitting. Instead, you'll be on home monitoring for a month, and let me warn you, Miss. Jefferson. If I find out you were galavanting off your property for whatever reason, make no mistake, I'll haul you to the county jail personally."
He finishes his statement with his blues on her, and his right index pointed at her, the pen clutched in his palm. She looks at the stern glare he's giving her, which twists her stomach and makes her heart skip a beat.
Judith opens her mouth to speak though her lips are trembling, but a lanky teenager with a chestnut bowl cut and peach fuzz shoves the door open.
They turn their heads to him. He's wearing black capri jeans, an autumn orange and white striped shirt, and suede platform loafers.
"Gary, what is it? As you can see, I'm busy," John projects his voice, and it's laced with frustration.
"Uh, sorry. Um, Linda was wondering about the fugitive out front," Gary explains, and John's eyes dart from left to right, then back at his.
"There's over ten out there. Imma need you to be more specific," he says with a dry chuckle.
"Um, well – I don't wanna seem racist," he mumbles, and John knits his brows along with Judy. "It's the black guy with the twisted hair. He's talking to a tall black girl by the water cooler."
"Cyrus?" They look at Judith when she blurts out his name. Her face relaxes, but John's doesn't. "I – I was out there with him when he went off to talk to his girlfriend. She's here to get him, but they needed to talk first."
"Okay, well, she's crying and no one can think," Gary informs them, and Judy looks at John.
"Send him on his way." John tosses his left hand at the young boy to dismiss him as his gaze returns to the paper on his desk.
"Okay, but also," Gary begins, and Judith watches John roll his eyes upward. He pushes his glasses up his schnoz and turns his rolling chair to face him. "Um, there's a white man and a black woman fussing at a white, red-haired girl, and that's another issue we need your help with."
"Jesus Christ, just give me a second, and I'll be out there." Gary nods, glances at Judith, then turns and walks into the noisy lobby. He tosses the pen on his desk, then jolts to his feet. "I can't wait to fucking retire. These people will be the death of me."
"Um, can I call my Mom? She's supposed to come get me," Judy reminds him, and he shakes his head no.
"Come on." She stands up and walks toward him. He leaves the room with her in tow, and when they cross the threshold, she immediately understands why Gary is distressed.
"Fucking hell," John mumbles as he takes in the scenes unfolding.
Looking left, she sees La'Shawna towering over Cyrus and crying into her hands. He's stroking her back with the amount of caution one would give a feral cat.
"Your life is ruined, Cy," La'Shawna wails, and if he were lighter-toned, his face would be red with embarrassment.
"It's not, baby, we'll still have a future together," he feebly assures her with uncertainty in his voice, and she drops her arms at her sides. He lowers his head when he sees her tear-stained face.
"You think my Daddy would really approve of someone like you after he finds out you were rioting like some hippie," she asks with her voice raised. "I can't start a family with you. We're done, Cyrus."
"Wait, what?" He looks her in the eyes with his widened and his lips agape. Judith sits next to the Lieutenant's door, and he storms toward Cyrus and La'Shawna.
To the far right, she spots a burly white man with a mess of sandy red hair in light blue overalls – he's a mechanic – and a petite woman with skin darker than Veronica's midnight complexion complemented by her short, raven afro.
Although the man and woman stand side by side, Judith can see through the gap between them and observe Juniper staring at the floor in shame while rubbing her left arm.
"Papa, tá brón orm," she attempts to apologize through her unsteady voice, but he raises his hand and shakes his head.
"Tá an-díomá orainn ionat, Juniper," he tells her through clenched teeth unseen under his long beard and mustache.
"Very disappointed," her mother chimes in with her arms folded. Juniper's eyes well up with tears as she gazes at her parents.
She glances past them at Judith, who's silently watching, and she bites her lip as if to avoid shouting at her, but if looks could kill, Judy would be slain ten times over.
"Judith," she hears her mother call for her, so she turns her head forward. Seeing Sheryl overdressed puts a confused expression on her face.
Sheryl saunters closer in a lurex dress that ends at her ankles with patterns vaguely resembling bluebell flowers. A line of buttons trails down her bust from below her pearl necklace to below her navel.
"Mom?" She stops in front of her daughter, her black clutch purse in her left hand. "Why're you – dressed like that?"
***
They're cruising down the cul-de-sac in Walter's beige citron, neither wanting to speak to the other. Judith turns the radio dial and catches Le Freak by Chic midway. She leans back in her seat, and Sheryl glances at the radio, then her daughter.
She turns the radio off as her attention returns to the road, and Judith stares at her with her lips agape.
"Secular music won't be played in this car, Judy," she tells her. "And when I get the radio I wanted for the house, it'll be the same there."
"I'm glad you're finally talking," Judith sarcastically says. "The silence was so deafening that I'd have settled for Mozart."
"For who?" Sheryl knits her brows, and Judy opens her mouth to answer, but she's interrupted. "Nevermind, I don't care. Look, I have somewhere to be so you'll be watching the kids."
Of course, my servitude is needed because she wants to run away again. Just great.
"Rembrandt went to the cinema with one of his old classmates and Stacey took her kids to their other grandma, so it's just Stevie and Vera," she explains. "You know the drill. Feed them, make sure they actually brush their teeth and do their homework. Also, please keep them separate, because I don't know if it's because their birthday's coming or because of Walter's passing, but – I don't know. They fight, and I can't handle them alone."
When she mentions her husband's name, Judith notices the corners of her mouth curling downward and the skin above her nose bridge wrinkling. Her eyelids slightly close, shielding the sadness in her dark browns.
"Everything'll be fine, Mom," she gently assures her. "When you get back, they'll probably be in bed."