Bitta and I walked by the old school yesterday. In another life, she’d be starting first grade this week.
She stood on the sidewalk, kicking at the weeds that split the cracks, and counting the broken windows. “Where will I go to school, Mama?”
What could I say? We didn’t have the vouchers. Well, we had the vouchers once, but we traded them for the Right to Work slips.
We can homeschool, we thought. All this will pass, we told ourselves. By the time she’s old enough, it will all be over.
A lot can happen in four years.
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields for hosting this party, and thanks to J Hardy Carroll for the devastatingly awesome photo this week. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click the blue button.