chapter 1 of fierce peace

7/29/2019 Chapter 1 of FIERCE PEACE

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Chapter 1

The old man slouching on the concrete bench at Brea Mall seemed ordinary enough, with

short gray hair, wrinkled face scrunched into a smile, dirty sneakers, brown pants, a white T-

shirt, but he wasn’t breathing.

Jessica Snow was sure of it. His T-shirt was skin-tight on his chest, and it was as still as

death. His eyes stared into emptiness, unblinking. He looked like her father, two years ago, when

he was in the coffin.Jessica reached for her mother’s hand and tugged.

Her mother stopped si pping from the drinking fountain. “What is it honey?”

When Jessica turned back to the concrete bench, the old man was gone.

He couldn’t have just walked off. She looked around. The mall swarmed with Mother’s

Day shoppers, talking, shouting, whacking the ground with their feet. She could have been

mistaken. He could have been simply holding his breath. Maybe meditating like her mom did on

weeknights after work.

Mom squatted in front of Jessica. “You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

Jessica peeped past her mother. He was a short man, and many people were walking

about. He could have easily slipped behind someone and disappeared. “It’s nothing,” Jessica

said, smiling as best she could.

Mom gently pinched Jessica’s nose. “Silly girl.”



Jessica got on her tippy-toes and slurped the chilled fountain water, making her teeth

hurt. As they continued walking through the mall, her hand in Mom’s, she rolled her tongue

around, trying to warm her teeth.

Usually Jessica made gifts for her mother, such as pictures, paintings, or cupcakes. This

time she wanted to do something special. This time she wanted to buy a present like adults do.

She was seven years, eight months, and four days old, but she still wasn’t old enough to

drive. Since she knew no one who could drive but Mom, she had to bring her along shopping.

Although the present wouldn’t be a surprise, the thought was what counted. Well, that’s what her

mother told her anyway.Jessica’s thought was lovely: a shiny black vase spouting with red, white, and yell ow

roses. So far, though, they had only passed clothing, book, music, jewelry, and candy stores. No

flower shops.

Mom smiled and squeezed Jessica’s hand. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

Beep beep beep beep. She dug inside her purse and sh ut off the noisy beeper. “I’ll have to

take this call. I left the cell phone in the car.”

It was probably someone from work. She worked hard. Jessica knew her mother worked

extra hours just so they could have more. She wished a kind, rich man would see how wonderful

Mom was and marry her. How could any sensible man not?

Jessica let out a deep sigh.

Dad had known Mom’s good qualities. Why was it so hard for other men to notice? She

was beautiful, loving, and independent. What was wrong with men?

As they walked to the pay phone, Jessica scowled at the stupid men passing.



“It’ll just be a minute, honey.” Mom released Jessica’s hand, picked up the phone, and

began pushing numbers.

Adults rushed by — tall, short, fat, skinny, some pushing babies, some pulling kids —

stirring up air. Most seemed to know where they were going and appeared confident. Jessica

liked that. She couldn’t wait until she was older and could be focused on goals and jobs and

important things.

As her mother turned into the booth, shielding herself from mall noises, Jessica began

looking around. Three stores up, she spotted flowers in a display case.

She hadn’t told her mother of the present. It could still be a surprise. Sinking her hand into her skirt pocket, she touched the fifteen wrinkled one-dollar bills

she had saved from weekly allowances during the last two months. Her fingers tingled. That was

the most money she had ever saved. She could buy the flowers herself, have them wrapped, and

return before Mom was off the phone. She really wanted the present to be a surprise, and Mom

always took at least ten minutes on phone calls from the office. Jessica would also be saving her

busy mother time by buying it herself.

The store was only three shops away.

She reached into her mother’s purse and took out a pen and pad. She wrote: be right back

going to get present. After tearing the paper off and putting the pen and pad back, she folded the

message and snuck it through Mom’s arms into her hand. Mo m took it and started writing,

probably something important from the phone call. This was a good sign. Whenever Mom wrote

stuff, the call lasted longer.

Dodging and squeezing through a rolling forest of people, head smacked by branches of

handbags and jacket tails, she was not able to see the shop or her mother. When she finally broke



through to the other side, she stood beside a knife store not the flower shop. Long blades of steel

glistened through the window, stabbing her eyes.

A man’s reflection appea red behind her, motionless against the colorful smudge of

passing people. She turned around too quickly and almost fell into his dark blue suit. His chin

sliced down at her; his smile twitched like a severed lizard’s tail. Dirty iced eyes opened wide.

He gazed into the window, smile growing up his pale cheeks. His eyes reflected white

from the steel blades in the shop. Then, as though cut, they turned blood-red.

Jessica blinked.

His eyes churned with deeper shades of red. Eyes couldn’t be red. No one’s ey es she hadever seen before were red. It must be a trick of light from the window or something.

As she stepped around him, the man’s eyes turned back to cold gray.

A trick of light. That’s all.

She saw the flower shop next door. Deciding not to waste more time or maybe just

wanting to get far away from the strange man, she ran to the shop. This made her feel faint and

breathe hard. What was going on? She could run a whole lap around the school playground and

not tire. Why was she spent from running just ten feet?

She got on her tiptoes, trying to find her mother over the crowd. She could not. After

catching her breath by the entrance, she was ready to pick the first set of flowers she found —

whether they be roses, carnations, or dandelions.

Inside the shop stood large wooden desks, long glass tables, big stuffy chairs, tall wooden

cabinets. Nothing for Mom. Certainly nothing Jessica could have wrapped and carry away

herself.



Stepping back outside the doorway, she peered through the glass and saw the flowers in

the display cabinet. Why did they do that? She came all the way here for ugly furniture. She

sighed and found herself keeping lookout for the man in the dark blue suit. He was gone. She

didn’t see any more dead, old men walking around either. Good. She l aughed, feeling foolish for

being so cautious. Too many people were around for anything bad to happen to her. Besides

Mom was close by.

“May I help you?”

Jessica jumped and her head snapped up.

Black beads tinkled from the store clerk’s neck. Perfume thi ckened the air. Jessica feltlike coughing or gasping but didn’t want to offend the clerk. She pointed to the window. “These

flowers are pretty.”

“Yes. They are.”

Jessica reached into her pocket for the dollar bills. “I would like to buy some.”

“I’m sorry. They aren’t for sale.” The clerk straightened.

Jessica breathed a deep draft of fresh air. Her neck hurt and cranking it back to see this

tall woman didn’t help any.

“They’re just adornment.”

“A door mint?”

“Decoration.”

“Oh.” Her voice dropped so low she found herself looking for it on the floor. Now Mom

wouldn’t be surprised. She would have to help Jessica find flowers after all. “Thank you,” she

told the clerk and walked back into the crowd.

Sometimes being seven was too much.



People brushed her sides as though she were in their way.

Jessica felt awful. As people passed in front, behind, and around her, not offering a hand

or a kind glance, her knees grew weaker and she became afraid of falling down and being

stomped to death. Hollowness grew inside her, each person taking something inside her away.

Suddenly, she felt she had to get back to her mother; like if she didn’t get back soon, she would

die.

While making her way through the crowd, someone — a heavy someone — stepped on her

toes. She said, “Ouch,” but the person didn’t say sorry or anything. She didn’t even see who it

was, just a silver belt buckle of a bull, grease stained jeans, and construction boots that couldhold six of her feet.

Getting through the last few people to the other side, she spotted the phone booth. No one

was in it.

Empty.

She looked left. She looked right. Lots of people but no Mommy.

Her eyes became clogged with tears.

She turned around, looking this way and that, up the escalators, higher to the second

floor, so many people, moving fast, faster, and she had to rub her eyes to clear them, wanting to

cry out but not wanting to appear as a poor, pathetic, lost child. She was almost eight years old

and should be able to handle herself like a big girl.

She could handle this.

Besides, Mom couldn’t have gone far. She had the note. She wouldn’t leave, would she?

No. Of course not. Not without her daughter. And the note said Jessica would be right back.



Emptiness grew inside her chest as each person she hoped to be her mother turned out to

be another stranger. Her eyes strained trying to not miss anyone passing. But in trying to see

everyone at once, she could see no one.

“Mommy?” She barely heard her own voice. Every other sound seemed to have

magically grown within the last few seconds. Footfalls thundered. Shouts exploded and echoed.

Clearing her throat, she tried louder, “Mommy?”

She found herself turning back to the phone booth, again and again, as though she

somehow missed her mother the previous time. Each time, she could almost picture Mom

standing there in blue jeans, white blouse, and the leather purse around her shoulder, talking onthe phone, smiling brightly at Jessica.

She felt her chest shaking and realized she was sobbing.

Somebody stopped in front of her. Thinking that it had to be her mother, so glad that she

had found her, Jessica firmly hugged the person’s legs. It smelled funny though. Not like Mom.

Like a dirty gas-station bathroom. She loosened her arms. Then she noticed the dark blue

trousers and black belt and she let go. As her eyes rose past the blue jacket and white shirt, she

saw the lizard-tail grin, pale face, and wide gray eyes.

She jerked back and cried, “Mom!” but couldn’t take her eyes from the man.

He bent down.

She backed up, hitting her heels against the bottom of a cement seat, almost falling over.

His head was inches from hers. She wanted to run but didn’t want to cause a scene.

Besides, Mommy would be back. Soon. Her soft, warm hand would hold Jessica’s again, and she

would tell this man to mind his own business.

“Have you lost your mother, sweetie?”



His breath stank of sour- popcorn. “No. I’m fine.” Remembering her manners, she added,

“Thank you.”

“Oh.” Like gray wasps trapped in his sockets, his eyes jittered about. “But sweetie, you

were just calling for your mother. Where is she?”

People kept passing as though nothing bad were happening, busily talking and laughing

with one another, holding onto their children, hardly glancing at Jessica or the man.

“She’s coming.” Jessica’s throat contracted. She couldn’t speak another word. Her eyes

stung. She wanted to run. Why was he so interested in her? Why couldn’t he just mind his

business, shopping for whatever he came here for like everyone else? She looked down at themarble tiled floor, hoping he would lose interest and walk away.

His shiny black shoes didn’t move.

His hand appeared. It was splotched brown and black and had volcanic lumps cratered

with black heads. Her father used to have smooth, evenly tanned hands, with long gentle fingers.

This man’s fingers were as thick and wrinkly as turtle necks.

“Why don’t you take my hand and we’ll find her together,” he offered.

His fingers clamped around her right hand. They were wet and sticky in places.

She began trembling. Tears burned down her face.

No, she thought. No. But words wouldn’t come out.

She tried pulling away .

His hand tightened.

No.

He pulled her to him.

No!

chapter 1 of fierce peace

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