Outside the door of the bank a young man appeared in uniform.

“You see that boy?” My grandmother pointed her finger at the guard. “Your mother killed him.”

Then she tweaked it. “Your mother sat right where I’m sitting and waited while people killed him. Waited.” My grandmother repeated the word as if waiting were the real sin. “You understand what she did?”

“She waited.”

“Exactly.”

That the young guard looked entirely alive contributed to the confusion of this moment.