The small antechamber in which Max Kohl had been waiting for far too long was spare to the extreme and smelled of disinfectant. Whitewashed walls were barren of art or decoration of any kind. He sat at one end of a row of six rickety wooden chairs, the room’s only furniture, lined up against one wall. There wasn’t even a table for his violin case, which he had to place next to him on the stone floor.
Peggy made the turn onto M-90 just past the hamlet of Johnsondale and started the final slow incline up the mountain. She’d begun the drive from San Diego before dawn; without traffic or delays, it was a little over six hours to Sequoia National Forest’s closest entrance and another twenty minutes or so past it to the cabin her father used to rent across from Ponderosa Lodge at the top of the mountain. It had been fifteen years since she’d last visited her father and his longtime partner, Juanita, there, but the tunnel of trees, rock outcroppings, stream crossings, and occasional meadows along the ascent were still familiar. There were no other cars on the road as she drove through the freckled shadows in the clean mid-October light.
Standing at the church door, Tom Reed, Smith Memorial’s senior minister, held Malcolm, his new husband, with one arm and shook hands with the other. Tom had a shaved head and an open and welcoming facial expression. Malcolm was about 5’8”, trim, black hair with a part on the left as straight as U.S. Route 20.
Barbara Loraine’s stout figure filled the doorway of Karen’s art studio as I came up the walk. “Right on time,” she snapped.
I didn’t reply. This was the last place I wanted to be.
“Captain, the rescue team from Tanzania has arrived. They’re unloading their gear. Where should I take them?”
Captain Dietrich Hall paused, his hand full of rubble and freezing snow held mid-air.
High Lord Seti Mereneptah hid his worry. The Ashkar citadel defenders were proving more resilient than expected. The planned-for easy spring siege had leached late into the parched summer season. The young nobles were restless.
Kali pulled down the sexual harassment notice in Judson High School’s all gender restroom used by boys and taped it in the cheerleaders’ locker room. She placed it over the middle of the south wall where guys watched them.
Sparks flew as the circular saw made its noisy way. The campus police officers stepped back toward the wall of the metalworking studio.
The deafening buzzing stopped.
As she drove through the city, Alma stopped to admire the cherry blossoms blooming at full peak and starting to shed. Floating white petals were sprinkled all over the city. In the early morning as the sun rose, the petals mixed with the dew looked like little white tears.
When I was a kid, nobody thought it was cool to live on a farm. I’ve heard some people think growing up on a farm is fun. At times, it could be. But it definitely had its down side --- getting up at four a.m. to feed the cows, or walking to school with the grey muck on your shoes still drying. Boys don’t care about that stuff, but when you’re a girl, like me, it can be embarrassing to show up at school smelling like a barnyard.
