I lean my forehead and nose against the cool glass ofthe window and look out, watching the street rush past like a river. The car isfogged over as though the windows are covered with blankets. My forehead and noseleave imprints on the glass. The streetlights above our abandoned car cast ashadow into the back seat where my three younger sisters sleep. They've piled ontop of each other to try to keep warm. My mother isn't back yet; she said she hadto go make some money, and I'm waiting up for her.

My legs ache fromkneeling on the floorboards. I begin to feel a cold draft creep through thebullet holes in the windshield. It feels like a sheet of ice is covering myentire body. My youngest sister rolls over next to me and tugs on my tatteredshirt sleeve. She asks me to lie down next to her so she can keep warm. I watchas more cars pass, and not one stops with Mama. My sister tugs again, so I laydown beside her and close my eyes. A few moments later, shots ring out, and Ishudder with fear that it's Mama. I can't describe how utterly alone we are,mentally and physically alone.

Two hours pass. I awaken to a noise comingfrom the front of the car. Tap, tap, tap. I freeze in my place. The tappingcontinues, and shadows appear and disappear around the rusted pile we call home.As still as a stone I lay with one eye open. The tapping is louder. Thesplintered glass on the window above me is darkened. Not a single ray of lightinside the car. The sister furthest from me shivers so violently that the oldspring mattress she is curled up on squeaks. Oh, dear God, I pray silently. Laystill, baby, lay still. I hold my breath and I wait. Mama is not back yet, thereare strangers outside my bed, and I wait.