The newspaper rustled from behind us. The Record Searchlight newspaper in hand, Bill read the article outloud. "Six City of Redding police officers who shot, close range, at a troubled young man, missing him 66 times. A 67th bullet grazed the man's upper arm. He was taken to the hospital, treated and released!"
BabaMara and Sinthya floated in the pool; I sat at the edge, feet immersed in the cool water, sipping a glass of chilled Riesling. Carly-Anne she sat on the diving board sketching the crew. She wore an x-large, wet Seahawks t-shirt and bikini bottoms. (Someone remind me to ask her where she got her hands on Seattle-wear!).
It is 111 degrees today, yet Mrs. Richardson is wearing a navy blue suit with ivory blouse, reading Edward Brown's The Time Management Solution. Her legs are crossed and one foot is wagging back and forth a mile a minute...and we didn't even have any coffee today.
Beatrice and Ms. Machado are sitting at the picnic table, under the umbrella. Ms. Machado is flipping through our Etymology Dictionary; Beatrice is intently listening to Bill read the article.
"Those cops shot up the doors, windows, siding of the building and nearby cars! Only one bullet
barely nicked him!" Bill editorializes as he reads...always! He continues reading, "the officers involved have all been placed on administrative leave pending further investigation!"
Bill throws his head back and laughs from the belly! I have to admit, his laugh is incredibly contagious. "Administrative Leave, hell, they've probably been condemned to permanent assignment to the nearest shooting range until further notice!"
Barely moving as she floats in the pool, BabaMara's soft but distinctive voice is for the benefit of all so us though she directs it to Bill. "My dear boy, could it be possible that you believe that six trained police officers, firing their semi-automatic guns at a stationary man with a shotgun and missing 66, almost 67 times was due to their lack of talent?"
"Well....yeah! I mean, how could you miss? We can stand on the upper deck at the ranch and hit the water's edge on the spillway dead on, every time, and the spillway is 300 yards from us!'
"Yes, we can! But remember, we are also leaning on the railing, using a rifle and firing at an unarmed water line!"
"BabaMara, those cops shot up everything but the guy and he had a shotgun pointed at them."
At this point in the conversation, Mrs. Richardson slams her book shut and retreats into the house; Ms. Machado quickly flips through the pages of the etymology dictionary, towards the end of the book. (my intuition says she was looking up the roots of the word "weaponry"...though I'm of the belief that BabaMara would have her looking up "miracle")
"That is exactly what I am talking about, Bill. The young man, standing on his porch, brandishing a shotgun; correction; unloaded shotgun; was a very decent, gentle, loving man. He had just lost his job and his girlfriend. His mother came to visit and she was, as Beatrice would describe her, "a real-piece-of-work! His plan was suicide-by-cop. Do you not see that there was some divine intervention during that shoot-out?"
Carly straightens so quickly pencils roll off the diving board, into the pool. "Do you mean it was a miracle, BabaMara?"
Sinthya, who was in the middle of a turn as she swam laps, dove down to retrieve the pencils.
Carly's eyes seem to be popping out of her head as she chews on a pencil in her hand. My head nods up and down. Bill and Beatrice shake their heads back and forth.
"Old Woman," (Careful, Beatrice, don't tread on BabMara.) "Are you telling us that God reached down and blocked those bullets, "faster than a speeding bullet," like Superman?"
Sinthya rises from the depths of the pool, hands Carly the two dripping pencils and finishes the turn to continue her laps. "No, not Dios! He sent Santo Miguel to, to, how do you say desvio? Yes, to detour the balas, uh, bullets! El Arcangel Miguel is our protector and he is also the patron of the policia!"
And with that, BabaMara closed her eyes to float, Sinthya continued her laps, Carly looked up at the sky. Bill and Beatrice moved close together to read another page of the paper and I made the sign of the cross. Thank you, Santo Miguel, for your intervention.
BabaMara and Sinthya floated in the pool; I sat at the edge, feet immersed in the cool water, sipping a glass of chilled Riesling. Carly-Anne she sat on the diving board sketching the crew. She wore an x-large, wet Seahawks t-shirt and bikini bottoms. (Someone remind me to ask her where she got her hands on Seattle-wear!).
It is 111 degrees today, yet Mrs. Richardson is wearing a navy blue suit with ivory blouse, reading Edward Brown's The Time Management Solution. Her legs are crossed and one foot is wagging back and forth a mile a minute...and we didn't even have any coffee today.
Beatrice and Ms. Machado are sitting at the picnic table, under the umbrella. Ms. Machado is flipping through our Etymology Dictionary; Beatrice is intently listening to Bill read the article.
"Those cops shot up the doors, windows, siding of the building and nearby cars! Only one bullet
barely nicked him!" Bill editorializes as he reads...always! He continues reading, "the officers involved have all been placed on administrative leave pending further investigation!"
Bill throws his head back and laughs from the belly! I have to admit, his laugh is incredibly contagious. "Administrative Leave, hell, they've probably been condemned to permanent assignment to the nearest shooting range until further notice!"
Barely moving as she floats in the pool, BabaMara's soft but distinctive voice is for the benefit of all so us though she directs it to Bill. "My dear boy, could it be possible that you believe that six trained police officers, firing their semi-automatic guns at a stationary man with a shotgun and missing 66, almost 67 times was due to their lack of talent?"
"Well....yeah! I mean, how could you miss? We can stand on the upper deck at the ranch and hit the water's edge on the spillway dead on, every time, and the spillway is 300 yards from us!'
"Yes, we can! But remember, we are also leaning on the railing, using a rifle and firing at an unarmed water line!"
"BabaMara, those cops shot up everything but the guy and he had a shotgun pointed at them."
At this point in the conversation, Mrs. Richardson slams her book shut and retreats into the house; Ms. Machado quickly flips through the pages of the etymology dictionary, towards the end of the book. (my intuition says she was looking up the roots of the word "weaponry"...though I'm of the belief that BabaMara would have her looking up "miracle")
"That is exactly what I am talking about, Bill. The young man, standing on his porch, brandishing a shotgun; correction; unloaded shotgun; was a very decent, gentle, loving man. He had just lost his job and his girlfriend. His mother came to visit and she was, as Beatrice would describe her, "a real-piece-of-work! His plan was suicide-by-cop. Do you not see that there was some divine intervention during that shoot-out?"
Carly straightens so quickly pencils roll off the diving board, into the pool. "Do you mean it was a miracle, BabaMara?"
Sinthya, who was in the middle of a turn as she swam laps, dove down to retrieve the pencils.
Carly's eyes seem to be popping out of her head as she chews on a pencil in her hand. My head nods up and down. Bill and Beatrice shake their heads back and forth.
"Old Woman," (Careful, Beatrice, don't tread on BabMara.) "Are you telling us that God reached down and blocked those bullets, "faster than a speeding bullet," like Superman?"
Sinthya rises from the depths of the pool, hands Carly the two dripping pencils and finishes the turn to continue her laps. "No, not Dios! He sent Santo Miguel to, to, how do you say desvio? Yes, to detour the balas, uh, bullets! El Arcangel Miguel is our protector and he is also the patron of the policia!"
And with that, BabaMara closed her eyes to float, Sinthya continued her laps, Carly looked up at the sky. Bill and Beatrice moved close together to read another page of the paper and I made the sign of the cross. Thank you, Santo Miguel, for your intervention.
 |
| Michael by Wen-M |
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