on tour

She was a dancer with the “Mary MacCarthy “Proud Mary’ Revue” and she was on the road for the 106th straight day, with some two weeks-plus yet to go. Her back, neck and hips ached from the recent back-to-back-to-back shows, and the drugs she’d negotiated from the doctor in Vienna had lost their pop. It was 2 a.m., now, the final show in Frankfurt having ended 20 minutes ago. Most everyone in the band and crew was heading off to a local pub for drinks and a late dinner, but she was tired of that, too, and decided to head, instead, back to the hotel. It was only a seven minute walk from the theater, but she decided to sight-see on the way back. A good night for it. The shops and buildings were festooned with Christmas lights and snow drizzled down in tiny, whispery flakes, like something out of a movie. Her little boy, Jed, was home in Georgia with her mother. Jed’d be spending another Christmas with his grandparents. He was three, and she missed him. She stopped, for a moment, by a window filled with toys, looking for something to pick out for him, tomorrow, before they boarded the train for Prague. That’s when the first shot rang out.