It’s a crisp and sunny October morning- the first sweater worthy day in Sault Ste. Marie. The little girl is riding her tricycle on the sidewalk, tightly gripping the handlebars with her pink mittened fists. Every so often she glances over her shoulder. Her young mother is peeking into the stroller to make sure that her baby sister is still snuggly beneath the Dora the Explorer blanket that she helped tuck over her tiny feet before they left the driveway for their walk.
She’s ahead by about the length of a front yard when her mom calls her back. She swings her tricycle around and is riding back to her mom when a diesel run truck, jacked up on a huge set of tires, pulls over and drives slowly alongside the curb.
A man is leaning out the driver side window and yelling things at her mom. She doesn’t know what they mean but she knows that the things he’s yelling are bad. She peddles slowly, right next to her mom now, and she looks up at her face. Her mom is staring at the sidewalk and walking faster. The little girl has to pick up the pace and pumps her legs, peddling as hard as she can. After a little while the man goes away but her mom is still walking fast, still staring at the pavement.
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