She crouches against a dumpster peaking the edge. The guard moves across the work site bathed in a waxy yellow light. His dull steps stop and the only sound a steady hum of a generator. He laughs as he aims a flashlight around and plays the focus ring – winking some unknown pattern. The flashlight strobes as she eases back behind the dumpster.
She hugs a pack to her chest, and tilts her head towards the security guard as his footsteps begin again,then mute. She crawls into the light and wears black pants. Adidas shoes with the stripes blacked out, a black sweatshirt, the hood up, and across her face a bandana. She drops to her hands & knees, moves towards the fence, rolls on her back, pulls the chain link off the ground where she’d cut the bindings a couple days earlier – scoots under. On her back she feels the fabric from the bandana across her face moisten with each breath. The cowl of her sweatshirt resting against her eyebrows. She looks at her watch, and then back to where the guard had turned the corner. She places her hands on the Earth around her and swirls her fingers in the soil–thinks of her childhood, of her mother gardening as she told her that this was good black soil. She closes her eyes, replays her mother grabbing handfuls of earth and pouring it over her tiny body. She hears the security guard’s voice. “Hey, baby, how’s your night…I just love calling you before you go to sleep.” Sweetness, then the same interrogation: Where are you? Are you home? You with anyone? Who are you with? The fabric around her face tightens, she rolls into a runners stance, and dashes towards the excavator. She curls into the shovel staring out towards the metal tracks.
She’d sat at a meeting earlier where a group planned to protest this work site. They went through their chants, they went through their signage. She started for the door after the second hour focused on the pictures they would take, They’ll be seen around the world. The organizer said something like we need a good media win. She left as he talked about good optics.
She puts her fingers to the zipper of the back pack at her chest, and opens the bag. Above her the fuel cap, all around her the smell of petroleum. She knew she’d be pretty visible when she reached up to undo the fuel cap. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a bag of sugar. Deep breaths stinging her nostrils. She pops up on the tracks, and sets the bag down. Reaches for the fuel cap.
“Sandra.” She looks over to the fence and sees two forms.
“I told you! I saw her looking at this point all day.”
“Think of Ghandi sister!”
“Sandra, get out of there now!”
Sandra shakes. She pulls off the cap.
“You’re going to make the movement look bad!”
She looks at the fuel cap still in her hand, she meant to set it next to the fuel port, but already bent over for the bag of sugar.
“What you two doing here!? Hey? FREEZE!”
She’d later remembers her face rushing towards the side of the excavator and a flash of light.
She opens her eyes in jail. Her bunk faces a muted television sunk into the wall.
The screen flashes ‘Breaking News!’
Her eyes focus on the captions.
‘Protest heard around the world!‘
‘Violent extremist arrested, as Save the Gardens movement proclaims victory!’ The image crossfades into an interview.
‘We’re sad that happened to Sandra, and we stand with her, but everyone knows there’s a right way to do this.’ Elliot ‘Organizer’ in the lower third. As he talks, the signs look perfect as they frame his interview. ‘What about the future.’ to his left, ‘Clean Earth=Clean Future,’ to his right. ‘Ghandi’ is captioned as Elliot’s interview continues. In the frame, some footage from the day is placed over his interview. You see him corralling the people, and putting the banner up front. He gives a thumbs up, and people cycle out to photograph. The captions read, ‘We hope to call truth to power.’ The banner is perfect at center, they’d spent a lot time on the banner. Sandra remembered weeping as she painted in the letters–RESIST FOR THE FUTURE NOW–She thinks of her mother covering her with soil laughing and saying “This is where we’re from!” In the screen as the group poses and raises their fists, the excavator’s claw rises and falls behind them, moving across the frame.
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