“M-Mama?! Maaaamaaaa?!” The feeling of dread started to rise within Booker. He swiveled his head from side to side, looking throughout the crowded department store. Mama was supposed to be right outside of the changing room, but she was nowhere to be seen. In his hands, Booker held a bright red shirt and dark blue pants that were perfectly suited for his first day of kindergarten. He pulled them closer to his body, trying to find some comfort in the soft fabric.
There we sat during both of our breaks. The classroom was cool, and no children were around. Only the sound of conversation could be heard. I tried to block out the nagging thought that the chair I was sitting in was covered in kid germs so I could better listen to Mister B.
As many of you know, this past weekend marked the deadliest mass shooting in American history. In the same state, a toddler was dragged underwater by an alligator at Disney World. Chicago continues to see victims of violence everyday, and I find it almost routine to check the news and see how many people died while I was sleeping. Reading about such events can be numbing, and I find myself sometimes questioning the meaning of it all. Why do bad things happen?