BUMPO

On June 19, 1986, I was home from college and taking a history class in the summer session at the local junior college in my hometown. It was around 7:30 p.m. and the instructor was lecturing about the importance of the civil war. Yada yada yada… I simply didn’t feel like being there. So after a few minutes had passed, I got up from my seat and quietly walked out of the room. I went to my mother’s house, which is where I stayed in the summer awaiting the fall semester to begin. I arrived at home to find a note on the kitchen table from my mother.

Poetry & ProseKarra BarberJune 21, 2018a gathering of the tribes, Steve Cannon, Karra Barber-Wada, bumpo

Again...

It was 4:15 – fifteen minutes after I said I’d be there to pick her up, and I wasn’t even in my car yet. Geez! The phone rang. It was my sister. “Can’t talk now, I’ll need to call you back. Mom’s waiting and…”

“Uh, yeah! She’s called me three times wondering if you’d forgotten her at the church,” she said tersely.

“Gotta go.” The only reason I was stuck with this job was because my sister, Laura, was at home taking care of two sick kids. As I approached the intersection, a block from the church, I noticed an elderly woman in front of me. She was perfectly still.

Essays and ReviewsKarra Barber-WadaMay 1, 2018Steve Cannon, a gathering of the tribes, Karra Barber-Wada, Again..., New York Writers, Writers, short stories, Short Story