She gave a final tug to the clips on the harness as her
son squirmed and wiggled with impatience to be outside in the bright sunshine.
It rained the last few days, and the opportunities for a 2 year old to
explore were boundless. There were
worms all over the sidewalk to inspect and puddles to splash in, each experience
new and exciting. She had a bit of
cabin fever herself, and his excitement infected her.
She gave him a brisk kiss on the cheek as she rose from her kneeling
position on the beige pile carpet, then laughed as he scrunched his nose and
swiped ineffectively at his face in typical toddler disgust. He was at the rebellious stage when toddlers object to
everything mommies inflict on them. She
still felt stunned sometimes at how fiercely she loved this little piece of
herself. During her pregnancy she
contracted an infection that had nearly killed them both, but now he was a
normal, inquisitive toddler. Unfortunately
the damage from the infection was just too severe, so there would never be a
brother or sister for him.
She looped the leash twice around her wrist, then headed out the door
with her son, pausing only to lock the door. She
waited patiently while her son slowly made his way down the stairs of the porch
to the sidewalk. Lately he wanted
to do things for himself and would pout and push her away if she tried to help.
Her baby was growing so fast…before she knew it he would be gone.
He finally tottered precariously down the last step and bounded along the
sidewalk, straining on the end of the leash.
Some people looked at her with contempt when they saw the chest harness
and leash on her son, as if she kept him in bondage.
She didn’t care what they thought.
This was her child, her only child, and she wasn’t about to trust his
life to some careless speeding stranger in a parking lot or some pervert in a
crowded mall. With her son on the
leash he could move around with some freedom to satisfy his continual curiosity,
rather than be dragged around with his hand tightly clenched in hers, earning a
scowl and a sharp word every time he began to wander. She loved her son more than life itself and would do anything
to keep him safe and happy. She
pushed the thoughts aside as her son stopped to pick a dandelion and held it out
to her with an expression of joy on his face.
She reached out to take the offering, but he snatched it back and
tottered on down the sidewalk in a torrent of giggles.
Shrugging, she continued on after him with a rueful grin.
As they were nearing the end of the second block, her son stepped off the
curb and squatted between two parked cars to look at a bright green caterpillar
inching its way along the damp pavement. She
wasn’t worried though, because his leash kept him well away from the quiet
street. She watched him watching
the insect with intent interest, ready to dart ahead should he decide the
caterpillar might taste more interesting than it looked.
In fact, she was watching him so carefully that she totally tuned out the
rumbling sound of the pickup truck careening down the street.
It was a deep, throaty sound that became steadily louder.
Finally the noise penetrated her concentration and she looked up in
surprise.
The truck drifted right suddenly, and her eyes darted to her son standing
between the cars. He had the
caterpillar in his hand, and his mouth was open to receive the squirming snack.
With a screaming sound of metal the truck hit the car behind her son with
blinding quickness, matching her scream of terror and shock.
The space between the two cars disappeared in a flash as they became one
gleaming hunk of crumpled metal. She
looked for her son, praying he was lying safe beneath the tin-can mess of the
cars. Her eyes were wide and
disbelieving as she took in the smashed heap of metal where her son had stood.
Then she heard a pattering sound, like sudden drops of summer rain on the
leaves of an oak. Her head moved
mechanically toward the sound at her feet. The
spatter was crimson, and she thought how strange that the rain was red.
Her eyes drifted upward, following the strange thick deluge, stopping to
stare dumbly at the stump of her wrist where the leash had been wound around it.
The leash was gone. Her hand
was gone. There was only the
unnatural red rain flowing from the tattered end of her limb.
She stared at it for a moment, then her eyes followed the line where the
leash should have led all by themselves. Her
hand lay forlorn and pink in the gutter with the bright blue leash still woven
around it. And from the lifeless
fingers the leash led to the tire of the metal heap, the end snipped cleanly as
with a scissors. The sun stabbed
her eyes with a wicked glare from the tiny diamond shards of glass thrown
everywhere. No longer was the day
fresh and new, no longer was the sun a warm comforting hand on her back.
She staggered to the crumpled cars and began trying to pull the metal
apart, forgetting entirely that her hand lay in the gutter three feet away.
She felt no pain. She only
wanted to hold her baby. Behind her
she dimly heard running footsteps, but they were far away and unreal.
Suddenly the footsteps stopped and the sounds of a busily disgorging
stomach commenced. The owner of the stomach heard the horrendous crash as he
read the morning paper and came running. Now
he wished he hadn’t.
The metal shone with a wetly red tint where she pulled and tugged at the
metal. The nail on her right index
finger hung by a thread of skin and the sharp steel hardness sliced her
fingertips into raw meat similar to the tiny pieces of flesh in wet cat food.
A siren blared in the distance, shrieking its anger at fate as it sped
closer. It screeched to a halt in
the street as white-clad paramedics ran to the truck.
No one noticed the woman at first, crouched as she was on the other side
of the cars. They rushed to pull
the driver of the truck free from the wreckage.
Two stayed with the driver while another ran over to the panting
neighbor, who coughed sickly from his position on all fours.
His throat burned with stomach acid and strong black coffee.