The 2nd story accepted for the upcoming (Dec. 2011) sequel to Life, Love & Lust will actually be under the name “Evelyn Foster”. I’m not sure if I should describe “Evelyn” as an alter ego because she’s… Well, you’ll find out more about her in December. In the meantime, here is an excerpt from that story:
In Remembrance Of Her by Evelyn Foster
She got a queasy feeling in front of Cafe Diana, but Laura forced herself to go inside. It was the same liberal arts college crowd, mostly female and white. She picked a bear claw from the assortment of goods under the glass case and shocked the waitress when she paid with cash. Taking a window seat, she had a clear view of the park.
It had been a year since the assassination. The media would call it a random act of violence; Laura knew there was nothing random about it. They had just left Cafe Diana—it had been her idea to end the evening with a moonlit stroll—when someone fired three shots into Nia’s back. There had been screams, running, and madness. She would never forget the look of shock on her lover’s face or her convulsions in the grass.
Community leaders suggested, as tastefully as possible, that some unsavory element had followed Nia to their academic enclave. Then, a witness came forward with a description of the shooter—a white, middle-aged male wearing dark clothes who escaped in a waiting truck. The next day editorials in the college paper lamented over whether or not their humble little area had a “race” problem. Everyone wanted to forget the actual murder as soon as possible.
Laura wished she could cry but too many tears had been shed already. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The question came from a guy wearing sweats.
“No,” she said, expecting him to take the chair and join the group next to her. Instead, he took up half the space on her table with his backpack.
“Hi, I’m Jeffrey.” He extended his hand, a silver ring depicting a crucified Christ nearly blinding her. He retracted it awkwardly when she didn’t return the greeting.
Laura got up and tossed the uneaten pastry in the trash. She could hear him protesting and apologizing but the words sounded unclear, distant.
The sun had disappeared and warm amber hues spread across the cloudless sky. Laura walked across the street and toward the place she last held her lover’s hand. The park was full of students and people letting their dogs or children roam free. They acted as if they were in a bubble of protection and immune to violence, but Laura could never feel safe or loved or whole again.
Tawanna Sullivan 