They were two women together. That is all.
Sisters three said. Lovers the majority of us believed. Best friends suggested by one. No, we unanimously disagreed. The passion between the Two glowed like a pink neon sign. Female friends can be intimate the odd one out protested. Not like that we said, shaking our heads.
Sitting on the bench at the edge of the park, the Two loved each other unsparingly.
Face touching. Talking. Laughing. Whispering. Admiring. Coiled together like fraternal twin fairies, One rested her head on the shoulder of Two, hands held.
They were young. Not so young, said some of us. Early 20s? No, early 30s. One was Black, the other White most of us remarked. Biracial seems more accurate a few appended. Tightly coiled black curls dangled down the freckled face of One. Long, thick, straight, pale red hair showered the face of Two.
Both wore dresses that blew in the wind like a choreographed dance. Lavender and pink those dresses were. No, ivory and yellow, protested three others. The detective put his pen down and said, “We’ll go over the particulars later.” He wanted more information on the crime itself.
So we told him. The Two were laughing and loving at the edge of the park when two men walked by. They stopped in front of the Two and began to flirt with them. What was said? We couldn’t hear. But we could guess. Pretty women laughing and loving one another publicly caught our eye. We weren’t surprised the Two caught theirs.
The women laughed and laughed, killing the men’s smiles by deepening in and attending to only one another. Ignored, the men eventually left. Not long afterwards, the men, doubled in number and trouble, returned in their cornflower blue rusty pickup. The women stopped laughing, never coming uncoiled. Rather, they began to fuse like serpent siblings, becoming erect and alert in the way women can when sensing danger.
We heard the men shouting. Racial epithets. No. Some didn’t hear that. But we all heard the “b” and “c” and “f” words. The women got up to leave. Some of us wanted to help. Others strongly refused, suggesting we mind our business, which we ultimately did. You see, most of us are arthritic. All of us were scared. I could have used my crochet needle to defend myself, the odd one out said. What good would that do? Four men wouldn’t be scared off by any of us, crochet needle or not.
“Six people in the front of a pickup truck?” asked the detective. We explained that the four pounced and forced the Two into the truck. Then, two men jumped in back while the others squeezed against either side of the Two before speeding off. During the attack, one thug lost his grip and One escaped the fracas. She had a chance to run away the odd one out said.
Not without her Two the rest of us replied mournfully.
Courtney Young is a writer and entrepreneur based in both New York City and Southwest Louisiana. She is the founder of a boutique media company called Think Young Media Group. She is currently working on a collection of short stories called Scar Tissue of the Extraordinary. She is a graduate of Spelman College and New York University. She can be found @cocacy & @thinkyoungmedia on Twitter, @thinkyoungmedia on Instagram, or at her website: www.thinkyoungmedia.com.
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