Shantih Journal 3.1 - Page 61

says we’ll have to go to court and explain why I broke curfew. I feel immediate remorse that my mom has to take off of work to justify my actions in front of a judge. My mom doesn’t back down when the cop places himself between us. In fact, she straightens up as if she’s ready to take him on just to get to me. She rigidly thanks the officer for bringing me home safe and flicks a hand toward the door, pressuring the cop to release me from the backseat. I slip out of the cruiser; walk past my mother, into the house without a word, and lock myself in my bedroom. “We’ll talk about this in the morning,” she says as she drifts past my door. I can hear the rasp of her delicate nails scraping the hall side of my door as she passes and I place my own hand on the inside, picture our hands connecting as she walks away. 61