Sunrise in the Mirror

There was the case of Rae Washington’s daughter Jenna. On returning from her first day of school in the first grade she had been struck by a car. One piloted by a crazed driver who did not stop for the school bus. He had careened down from H-Hill and into her life. For poor Jenna, the slow-motion image of the fleeing man had remained etched in her subconscious memory: his head out of the car’s window, glancing back at her as she lay on the ground losing consciousness. Sometimes she dreamed of the horrible incident, and could feel the thud of impact again. She would gasp for air just as she had done when her body came to rest by the sidewalk. In the dreams her school papers swirled in the wind like giant snowflakes—and that driver with his contorted facial features faded in and out. In each dream she had a mouthful of warm water leaking onto her neck. Always in these dreams she saw the driver’s left hand holding fast in the wind a black fedora on his head before it and his face disappeared back inside the car. Above her in the clouds she would hear someone crying and calling her name—then darkness. The police investigation, as usual for crimes in neighborhoods as this, had turned up nothing. None, including the school bus driver, could remember details of the car or the man driving it. The clear description of the event dwelled only in the nightmares that Jenna had, and it, as well as any chance for justice, would fade away when she awoke. Now it was morning in that town called Askew, a year later. Rae Washington scanned the white fence around his yard and pushed open its little gate, pausing to look at the crumbling sidewalk and remember that horrible day. He had the task of bringing Jenna home from the Therapy Center today. Looking around, as far as he could see in both directions were homes of people who had worked in Askew’s garment factory. A few still worked there but many, including Rae, did not. Vacant lots were mixed in with the houses—like missing keys from an old piano—all the way past where Shore Avenue sloped upwards to H-Hill. Before the factory transferred most of the jobs overseas, this had been a vibrant community. Now it was weather-beaten by salty winds from the South Carolina coastline, waiting for restoration that might never come. Rae heard a noise behind him. It was his wife standing in the doorway. He didn’t realize how long he had paused there on the sidewalk reminiscing. “Be careful, Rae. I’ll see you all as soon as I get off work,” she said. “Ok. See you later,” Rae said. He saw her silhouette move. As she waved in the dim light he thought he should have kissed her goodbye. They didn’t do that as much anymore. He wished she could accompany him to pick up Jenna. At the same time he knew the importance of the meager income from her job as a sales clerk over in the shopping plaza. It was all the means they had since his layoff at the garment factory. In the weeks since his layoff he had gone through the usual gamut of emotions associated with job loss. He had toiled for fifteen years before he was dismissed. A year had gone by since the car incident, and all during that year Jenna had been in and out of the hospital, undergoing surgery and outpatient operations on her hip to adjust the metal implants. The layoff from the garment factory had been the blow to seal the events of a devastating year. Rae’s family was still together though, and that was the fire that kept him going—climbing a slope of life that seemed to be made of wet clay.