bank robberies and funshine

“Go! Go! Go!” The cars don’t budge.

The light turns yellow. Then red. Again.

I push my door open and hoist myself up on the frame. Other drivers get the same idea.

Up ahead cruisers obstruct the intersection, blocking traffic four ways.

A Tercel thwarts them and turns the corner towards us. The driver leans out of his window, declares something and moves to the next car.

One by one the vehicles ahead of me u-turn and dart off in the opposite direction.

The Tercel pulls up parallel to me. “There was a bank robbery up there,” he says. “Guy got away on foot.”

A bank. A bank. Where was a bank?

I search the buildings until I find the bank.

It’s directly across the street from the church.

The church my daughter’s daycare is in.

My peripheral vision darkens.

I start to hyperventilate.

Focus. Focus.

I slide back into my car, yank the door shut and k-turn into oncoming traffic.

Floor it to the next light.

Squeeze across the stopped vehicles and onto a back road.

Officers block the thru streets and force the traffic forward with arms and whistles.

No one can park.

I ditch my car in someone’s driveway and slam the door behind me.

K9s and cops with shotguns advance towards me.

“Ma’am! Get back in your car and don’t move!”

“But my…”

“Ma’am!”

I wait for them to pass and take off again. I barely feel the pain as my heels smack five minutes of uneven pavement.

Three more streets.

Almost there.

Two left.

One.

Blue and red lights cluster the front of Funshine. Yellow crime tape blocks the sidewalks and bus stops.

Cops redirect traffic away from the daycare.

“Lady, turn around!”

“I need to get into this building.”

“Lady…”

“My daughter’s in there! Please!”

I edge forward. He stares at me.

“Don’t come back out,” he says.

I tear through the parking lot and throw myself at the door.

Code. Code. Damnit!

4326?

4362?

4236 – Click.

I yank the main door.

Push the double doors.

Run past the office.

The Fun Room.

The Baby Room.

I grab the knob of the Toddler Room.

Quietly open the door.

Darkness. Mozart. Scent of diapers.

I scan the room.

The toddlers are all on their cots, sleeping or babbling.

My hands tremble as I close the door behind me.

I sit down next to her bed.

She rolls over.

“Mama!” She climbs out of her blankets and burrows into my arms. “Mama.”

She wriggles away to show me her shoes and where she left Grovey. She sits back down and pushes away a friend who gets too close to me.

I breathe in her hair. My muscles relax.

I rock her.

I breathe her.

I hum in her ears.

“Mama’s here, Pea.”

I keep humming in her ears, breathing and rocking.

Mama’s here.

.

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©2006 CEK. All Rights Reserved. Touch my stuff and your ass is mine. Seriously.

Tags: children, cops, daycare, fear