Reconciliation 16

Chicago, Illinois

June 21, 1957

“if I wanted,

I could haul the two’a’ya

into precinct an’ book

the two’a’ya as sexual deviants

an’ then whenever there’s a crime of a,

uh,

sexual nature, your husband…

What’ch’ya say his name is?”

Slipping his hand through the seam of the chemise,

he rubbed it lightly on her bare thigh.

The feel of his hand sending

a surge of repugnance,

inwardly panicking,

taking a deep breath,

she clamped her thighs together,

tightly.

“Oh, yeah, ‘Lover Boy’!”

the police officer said.

“We’ll haul ol’ ‘Lover Boy’ in for a line­up,

an’ who knows,

people make mistakes all the time,

an’ who knows…”

When a specific thing caused the young woman

to become extremely nervous,

quite often her very first

subconscious impulse was to laugh,

but then,

out of fear,

out of monumental fear,

her only impulse was to…

“…maybe someone’ll eye­ball him

an’ maybe ol’ ‘Lover Boy’ll

 spend a couple’a nights in jail,

 or maybe even go to trial…”

“Ullpp!”

‘Huh?

What’s’a matter with’j’ya?”

Opening the door,

the dome light going on,

Mahoney was able to see Marsha’s

green tinged face,

and…

“Ulllppp!”

…her cheeks puffing in and out

as though trying to hold it back,

and…

“Holy shit, lady!”

Attempting to get out of the way,

Mahoney quickly backed out of the car,

but in a simultaneous move

—not wanting to do it all over the

dark-­blue leather of her Ford convertible—

the young woman leaned across the seat,

and…

©December 2, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman

To be continued as “The Reconciliation 17”