Flowers for Classie

I drove by the market on Cahal where an elderly woman was shot to death by a 14-year-old kid. It’s not my usual route, but I wanted to see if any more flowers or candles had been placed at the shop’s door. I found that the place was pretty much covered with well wishes in the form of bouquets.

I pulled over and got out of the car. I walked toward the market to get a better view of the scene and to take a few snaps with my phone. I informed a young woman who was looking at me warily, despite all the news crews gathering, that I was just a local stopping to pay my respects. She told me, “That’s fine, baby,” as she pulled her ten-year-old son closer to her. There was a palpable sense of mourning, but also apprehensiveness. It was a stranger who shot this long-time matron of the community. Because I had never stepped foot in the store, and because I had never met Mrs. Classie Wilson, I too was a stranger.

I didn’t expect to shed tears for a woman I’d never met. But something about her senseless death has stayed with me in these past few days, unlike the other murders that sometimes happen in this city. I didn’t expect to feel so raw when I stepped closer to the flowers left by loved ones, the barely flickering votive candles lined up in memory of the woman so many people called Mom. But the tragedy of the entire thing was inescapable.

Loose cigarettes. He shot her over a few cigarettes that he wasn’t even old enough to legally buy. This kid was arrested at his middle school. None of it makes any sense.

Mrs. Classie is heavy on my heart today, a woman I never met. May she rest forever in peace.