The Bridge by Solomon Jones

me, neighbors are stunned by what has happened here, and an entire city will most probably follow suit.”
    Wright stood aside as the cameraman zoomed in. “Behind me, firefighters are working to free a man who appears to be the judge.”
    Wright pressed against his earpiece as the anchor asked him a question.
    â€œWell, Dick, details are sketchy, but the information we have is that the chase involved a suspect who was wanted for investigation in connection with a missing nine-year-old girl at the East Bridge Housing Project in North Philadelphia. When police approached him, he assaulted an officer and fled. There was a high-speed chase, resulting in several accidents, including this one, which has apparently seriously injured one of the most influential jurists this city has seen in a generation. The suspect is still at large, and police aren’t releasing the identity of the missing child.
    â€œWe’ll be following this story throughout the morning and providing updates as they become available. This is Jim Wright, Channel 10 News, reporting live from North Philadelphia.”
    The cameraman stopped shooting, and Wright snatched out his
earpiece. Then, as they headed back to the news van, Wright was on his cell phone, trying to find someone who could confirm the identity of the child whose disappearance had set the day’s events in motion.
    As he did so, Kenya Brown was suddenly more important than she’d ever been.
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    Lily sat still as the image of the crumpled car wreaked havoc in the quiet of her mind.
    She’d been sitting in front of her television since telling the policeman that she’d seen Sonny, praying all the while that they would catch him without a struggle.
    She never expected him to escape. Nor did she believe he’d leave so much damage in his wake. But she’d seen it all with her own eyes—from the crushed metal to the shattered glass to the bruised and bloodied face inside the car. She’d watched it all and shivered, because she knew it meant that Sonny was still out there.
    Lily turned to Janay, who lay next to her on the couch, sleeping. As she reached out to touch her, Janay’s brow wrinkled, and her mouth opened suddenly, as if to scream. It was like she understood, even in her sleep, that she, too, should be afraid.
    Lily turned back to the television, and as the Saturday morning cartoons replaced the images she’d just watched, Lily remembered the way Kenya would laugh at these same cartoons, then make some womanly gesture minutes later. She remembered the way Kenya would play dolls with Janay, then manipulate her to get what she wanted.
    Lily remembered that Kenya was struggling to be a little girl in a place where childhood was a liability, trying mightily to straddle the line between her age and her circumstances. Most often, Kenya succeeded. But in a place where the weak existed for the convenience of the strong, a single failure was more than Kenya could afford.
    Lily knew that. Because Lily was one of the weak ones, too. At least that’s what everyone thought. After all, a single mother trying to work her way out of the projects with two minimum-wage jobs was weak. A woman with her looks who refused to use them to do better was weak.
    But the very things that made her weak in the eyes of some, made her strong in her own eyes. That’s why Lily was not to be preyed upon. And neither was anyone whom she loved.
    As she got up from the couch to get dressed and search for Kenya, there was a knock at her door.
    â€œLily,” someone said softly. “Lemme talk to you for a minute.”
    She paused when she recognized the voice, then went to the door and cracked it.
    â€œYou seen Kenya?” Darnell asked through the cracked door.
    â€œI figured you woulda seen her by now,” she said with syrupy sarcasm. “Since you supposed to be her uncle and all.”
    â€œCan I come in for a