By Williamaye Jones
Our cart overflowing with groceries, Momma and I made our way to the exit. The first set of glass doors swished open, and we heard the pounding sheets of rain pouring down outside in the parking lot.
“Honey, you stay here,” Momma said, “and I’ll go get the car.”
I watched, fascinated, as she went out into the deluge. People ran past her, hurrying to their cars, but Momma walked as though her internal battery was blinking yellow, and she needed to reserve her energy. Before she went more than a few yards, she stopped. She spread wide her arms and tilted back her head, letting the rain pour down upon her as she twirled and twirled, laughing. People rushed by, heads tilted down, clinging to their umbrellas as they sought the dry haven of Wal-Mart.