The way Delores carpet-bombed me with my sins reminded me of a Father McDoogal homily when he really got going. Except hers included personal hurts, so I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. After wearing herself out and before leaving me alone, she made it clear I would be on the westbound bus first thing in the morning. Dorm students were not happy that they couldn't access their laundry, giving the posted guards outside the locked door an earful.
Feeling really tired, I pulled toasty clothes from several dryers and made an ugly bed on top of the main folding table. Turned off the lights and settled down for a rest. It felt like a few minutes, but a guy, blaring on a bullhorn, started up about "What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!" Light from the morning sun peppered in through these metal slits wedged between the drop ceiling and cinder brick wall.
The campus guards returned with two female police officers. They seemed more like twins the way their rotundness filled out their uniforms. And, as one said loudly, "We heard all about you, Miss Runna Thing. Time to get back to your pillow," the metallic glint from their teeth caps set my prejudice—they were street thugs, nothing else. And what seemed like overkill to me, they took great pleasure in locking me up with leg and wrist irons. Think of it! I must have looked like a solo artist from a chain gang. Shuffling me up to street level, we met with a sizable crowd of protesters—two thousand souls easy, chanting and pumping their fists. I wasn't moving fast enough, so the female officers pretty much picked me up and dragged me across the green. Seeing that, the mob chants turned hostile as they followed.
At the end of T Street, a courtesy van sat open and idling. Between the two female officers, pushing and grabbing at my body parts without apology, they got me belted in and sat on either side of me. I briefly considered asking for my tote bag, but instead started giggling as I realized the 'getting home' part of my plan now had a fix. Both officers looked at me like I was nuts.
A campus guard slammed the sliding door shut. I looked out the window nearest the mob and saw guards with nightsticks keeping protesters back. Genie, at the head of the gang, wore the most devious smirk. She had this half-akimbo stance as she tossed an egg to herself, and when our eyes met, she nodded a silent, knowing 'yes' before shouting, "Now!"
That mob launched foodstuffs—eggs, flour balls, rice—like missiles, sparing no one in uniform. The driver took off without further instructions. I turned in my seat to watch the diminishing view of us winning.
That had to be the best day of my entire life.
