The Amendment

It was eight o'clock in the morning in north Texas. The sun was fully up, and it was every bit of ninety degrees. She had a shift scheduled until three that afternoon in an even smaller town forty minutes west of the one in which she lived. The temperature was just higher than the humidity for now, but by noon it wouldn't matter which was which. They would all be little more than a legion of sweat-soaked zombies dragging themselves half-dead into their various air-conditioned refuges by the end of the day.

She still ate five minutes looking for road music. Ytgrrrl playlist, yup. Hole opens the morning, and she cracks a bright smile while the intro kicks up. 'Duh nuh, duh nuh, duh nuh, oh make me over....' Air drumming on the steering wheel - she may not have known drums, but she knew beats - she pulled away from the house and took off toward the gas station near the east-/estbound highway that would take her to work. If she left at eight, she would have time to get gas and still make it to her client's house on time for nine. In the space of ten minutes, she was pulling up to a pump. She preferred natural air to a/c before the sun got to really cooking, and she liked her music a little loud, but she wasn't disruptive, and none of it was anything a person couldn't get past - if only they knew how to mind their own business. As she bopped across the parking lot, the music from the car now in her earbuds, she spied a police cruiser backed into a side parking spot facing the 'action' in the parking lot. She looked over quickly and caught sight of a pair of shades floating at eye-level in the cab of the vehicle. Shaking her head and thinking to herself, '...nosy. can't even see the traffic from there...' Ignoring the momentary annoyance, she pulled the stainless handle and walked inside.

'Too early for THAT shit...'' he muttered under his breath as he watched the woman walk from her car into the gas station. She had a major spring in her step and he didn't have the patience for it. He'd been halfway into the bottle of water he was chasing the ibuprofen with when the Maxima thumped it's way toward pump 7. He rolled his eyes and immediately got the headache he deserved for his trouble. The night before, he'd overdone it - too much drink, not enough sleep - and just made it to work on time today. He checked himself; he was suffering from combination of shitty decision-making and general bad humor. So it wasn't her fault or problem; he was being a dick, privately where it didn't make a bit of difference.

She bounded, sorta anyway, across the parking lot and opened the fuel door, started pumping her gas. Whatever she'd been listening to was in her earbuds and he could see her singing softly to herself, dancing a little. 'Gas ain't been under a dollar a gallon in 20 years..' she mused to herself. She remembered the night she and Kerri, one of a handful of other biracial Black women at her south Texas college, cruised SPID in lieu of going into the city for real. Neither of them were from Corpus, and they didn't wanna find out SHIT the hard way. They were back in the dorms by eleven-thirty, lil lame asses. Had a great time, talkin' shit, bein' young. 'That's why they call it joyridin'' she smiled brightly to herself.

'Charming.' He saw her little self-smile and spokre sarcastically to himself. He was a little charmed, though. She was tall, 5'9" or 10" with a warm, deep caramel complexion that reminded him something from the oven. She wore a neat set of navy blue scrubs that pulled snugly across a bust that was honestly a little too heavy for the top. Consequently the top hung too loose at her waist to tell what her midsection was like, but the fit came back around her hips and bottom and hung on through her thighs and calves. He noticed her legs, shapely and clearly strong. Her hair was pulled into a clean bun at the nape of her neck, and in an odd aside he wondered what it looked like free. She had to be around his age, within a few years of forty either way, but seemed younger, lighter-hearted than he or most of his peers felt.  'Must be all that idiot-grinnin' and loud music...' a little enviously. He was in good shape but tired, stressed, a little weary. Maybe he should drink less.

Her head snapped up at the click of the handle and they locked eyes for a moment, his shades still on though, so she wouldn't have known. She hanged up the pump handle, closed the fuel door with a bump of her hip and sat down behind the wheel. She reached for the dash and put away the earbuds while buckling her belt and turning the ignition. A couple minutes more and 80s pop pours from the speakers; she smiled and pulled away. 'Kinda cute' he muttered to himself. He crushed the energy drink can and tossed it on the floorboard behind him, got the cruiser up and running and pulled out onto the highway. It was gonna be a long fuckin' day.

She pulled up at Roy and Nadine's with five minutes to spare. Checking herself twice to make sure she didn't forget anything critical, she then walked to the door and knocked. Their big lab, Murray, went live inside; he loved visitors. With as much care staff as came by in a week, you'd think he would be used to it, but nope. Every guest was a reason for celebration, as far as Murray was concerned. 'Good morning, Lil Family!' she offered, stepping inside and scratching Murray behind the ears. Roy and Nadine had just finished breakfast and were waiting for her in the living room, sitting together on the couch.

They'd been married over sixty years, both in their mid-eighties now, and while he was doing pretty well for his age, Nadine was a few years into a dementia diagnosis. No one could be quite sure how aware she was of the world around her and was practically immobilized with various contractures. They'd been quite an adventurous pair in their earlier years and were clearly still as close as circumstances would allow. Solid, if elderly, allies (they'd voted for Hillary AND Kamala) and absolutely bewildered at the rise of the anti-humanist sentiment on the rise in the nation, Amira adored them. She enjoyed her time with them and she kept a very regular schedule: shower, nap (during which she did an hour or so of light exercise and tidied the house Roy was already keeping surprisingly well particularly for a man at his age), lunch, she'd sing along to music from the sixties and seventies for Nadine and Roy would share stories from the couple's life throughout the years, he might have errands here and there. But come 3pm every Tuesday and Thursday, Amira clocked out and walked out (into what during the summer was no less than a regular inferno) toward her little car.

Cracking the windows hadn't done shit to ameliorate the oppressive heat, and opening the driver's side door was no better than standing in front of an open oven. She opened all the doors in order to 'let the hot air out', started the engine and turned the a/c on high. Satisfied after a time that she wouldn't be flash-welded to the vinyl, she sat down on the seat and took her scrub top off, tossing it onto the passenger floorboard. Feeling the hair closest to her scalp already beginning to revert to it's original curls, she pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and unwound the bun. The quarterly blowout she treated herself to was on its way out anyhow; she was impressed with the length - bottom of the back bra strap now, gurl - especially considering how little she really took care of it and enjoyed the tinsel shot through it. She chugged the bottle of water she kept on her and was off on her forty minute commute home.

She was a conscientious driver for all that she couldn't keep still and was diligent about that cruise control, presently set at 59. Her hair was all over the place and she was singing at the top of her lungs when she noticed the cruiser's cherries lit up in her rearview. 'Tha fuck..?' She was doing the limit, around it, she knew that, but she prepared to pull over under a large tree a few hundreds yards in the distance for shade. The siren burp halfway thereto got under her skin, like why so impatient? Pulling to a complete stop, she smoothed her hair out of her face and pushed it over her shoulder and turned down the volume to the objection of one Lil Jon. Turn down for what, indeed. The coincidence made her laugh out loud to herself, and as she was pulling together her license and proof of insurance, she missed the cop walking up to the already open window. She also missed the window within which she might've put her top back on, but she was in a sports bra and that would have to do. The sun was going down and they were facing east, so Cam Turner wasn't in shades any longer. Still chuckling, she turned toward him with what she knew he'd ask for in her left hand and caught him raising the eyebrow above one steel-grey eye. 'Somethin' funny?'

She looked him over briefly. Nice eyes, open and dark for blue or grey or what have you. Dark hair, wavy, beginning to silver at the temples and in his beard. Handsome, disturbingly so. He was around her age, give or take a few years and ''corn-fed' like the old folks used to say, big through the upper body. 6'2, 6'3 maybe? Didn't look like he fucked around about leg day, either. Good lookin', yeah, but he wasn't giving genuinely interested or good-natured. She didn't think he looked like he'd appreciate the joke, so she didn't explain.

He'd learned to keep a bit of distance from the window, and she was one of many grateful for the gesture. This was still a two-lane highway in very rural Texas; she might see ten other cars on the road in the first twenty minutes of the commute. Standing that far back and without shades on, he could really see her now. A sheen of perspiration was illuminating her flushed skin, and her hair was wild, a lot longer than it he would've guessed it would be. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes were heavily lashed and as he looked a little longer he saw she had small moles all over her face, neck and upper chest. Kinda reminded him of a chocolate-chip cookie. 'Alright, REAL cute.' he thought quickly, and asked for the information she already held out to him.

'License and proof of insurance, please.' She looked quickly to her own left hand and gave a lazy smile, other hand draped over the wheel. She was trying to stay cool, literally and figuratively, and hoped they'd both be on their way soon.

'Sure thing. What, um, seems to be the issue?' genuinely confused. The speed limit was 55 from there to Snowdrop, halfway to Garmin where she lived and she KNEW she hadn't been speeding...much, but 4 mph? What's that fine gotta be, $20, $25??

'I am gonna go ahead and ticket you for speeding and distracted driving.' He voice was an even baritone, pleasant...under the circumstances.

'Do WHAT??'

'Yeah, posted speed limit is 55 all the way to Snowdrop (which she knew), and your hair had to have been obstructing your view all over the place like that. It's not safe.'

The fire in her throat found an outlet in her eyes, and they narrowed to mere slits before she spoke.

'So you ticket those shithead Jeep owners with the flock of fuckin' seagulls on the dash, too, right? That can't be any safer or less obstructive to one's view.' She was fully expecting an answer from him.

His mouth went dry. She watched while his jaw worked for a moment, and he took a breath. 'You're free to contest the tickets before a judge. There's a number at the bottom where you can call the courthouse for all details relevant to your case.' He handed the ticket to her through the window and stood back as she looked at it blankly. He'd fucked up her drive home. '"Contest it before a judge...believe that like you believe in Jesus, ociffer.' not even trying to pronounce the word correctly. Then looking him squarely in the eye, 'Am I free to go then?'

'As free as anyone.' She found this response inappropriately glib.

'Uh huh.' She started the car, hit the signal and drove away careful to do exactly 55, hair EVERYwhere, ponytail holder gone.

Cam walked back to cruiser and got in, confused by but pleased with himself. He'd been watching the oncoming traffic tucked off behind a fireworks stand, looking for some good ol' boy to get loose on the backroads with his F-150 when she drove by. He recognized the car, but she was a blur of hands and a curtain of wind-whipped black hair. He only followed a few hundred feet back for first five minutes or so, watching her go crazy on the steering wheel when he hit the lights.

He figured the distracted driving shit was never goin' anywhere; he probably catch a little shit for issuing that one in the first place - sensitive political climate and all. Still, even though she was speeding (a ticket which would also likely be dismissed) she was gonna fight it, he knew that much - and he was gonna be there when she did.