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know her, the mother, didn’t think my contacting her would be anything but an intrusion. But I also didn’t think I could forget any of this. It wasn’t just another case of violence in a violent neighborhood. Not anymore. Not to me.
    There was one thing I could do. Maybe helpful, maybe not, but better than doing nothing. I could call the number flashed on the screen, the one that said, “if you have information…” and tell them about my encounter with those boys who had also been bothering Savanna. I didn’t know if it would be helpful but it was something.
    The number was gone from the TV screen, of course. I couldn’t scroll back. My ancient TV does not have all the bells and whistles, as Chris has pointed out regularly. The words “stone age” come up on those occasions. It only took me minutes to find it online.
    Call now? Or call tomorrow? Get it over with. What did I want to say? I wrote it down to keep focused. I called.
    In just a minute, I was connected to a detective, Sergeant Asher. I told her about the incident, stumbling over my words.
    â€œYou say it was around three o’clock? At Dumont, just off Mother Gaston?”
    â€œYes, right around the corner from the library.”
    â€œBut you did not see them with Miss Lafayette?”
    â€œNo, but I heard them talk about her.”
    â€œAny of their names that you heard?”
    â€œNo, but the guard at the library—Mr. Wilson, I think—saw them and he knew them. Like I said.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. I’m double-checking to get the facts right. Did you see any identifying marks on any of them?”
    â€œNo, not really. Wait! Wait. The one who grabbed my arm? He had a tattoo.” I closed my eyes. Visualize, I told myself. See it again. Ugh. “It was a snake, I think. Or something crawly. Crawling up his forearm.”
    â€œAhh.” That was a satisfied sound if I ever heard one.
    â€œIs that helpful?”
    â€œRemains to be seen.” Those were the words, but the tone of voice was lighter. “Last question: could you identify them if you saw them again?”
    I had to think about it. Could I see them now, in my mind? “Maybe two of them.”
    â€œThank you, Ms. Donato. We appreciate your good citizenship.”
    â€œWas it even helpful?”
    I thought I heard a smile in her voice. “Could be.”
    It turned out that making the call did not get it off my mind. Just the opposite. I had dreams all night, or so it seemed, about scary young men who turned into snakes. Or something like that. Mixed up with a little girl in red ribbons. The details evaporated by the time I was getting out of bed, but the ugly feelings remained.
    And there was something else on my mind. Half awake, I went to a bookcase in the hall. Top shelves, overstuffed with old texts and notebooks from college and grad school, never looked at but I couldn’t quite throw them away. The college stack. Sociology texts, family life. We did team projects. A folder with a syllabus and a class list. By the time I found it and pulled it out, I was covered with dust and papers were all over the floor, but at least no books had fallen on my head.
    I keyed in the e-mail for a woman whose name was Zora Lafayette. It didn’t make sense any more than it had earlier, but I couldn’t not do it.
    We were classmates in sociology of the family at Brooklyn College. I saw you on TV last night. I met Savanna at the library that day and liked her. Can I help in any way at all? I have a teen daughter myself.
    How to end it? Too emotional felt like intruding. We were barely acquaintances. Too matter-of-fact felt like ignoring her reality. Finally, I just told the truth:
    Sending best wishes.
    ***
    In the morning, I told Chris not to talk to me until I had coffee. She took one look at my face and said, “Uh, fine. I’ll get breakfast on the way to school.” I knew that probably meant a