Stranger Danger

A true story ...

I was born an observer, watching the sky change and bugs crawl, listening to people talk and birds sing loud across the street from each other. This trait never left me. It has served me well – and sometimes saved me.

When I was nearly five, my family moved from the tiny town of Emmitt, Idaho, to the big city, Lincoln, Nebraska. My mom, daddy, little brother, and I nestled into a tiny motel room on the edge of the city. My daddy spent his days settling into his new job, while my mom entertained us and looked for new houses. She had bought us new toys to distract us from the unfamiliar view and the cramped space. I was given a new doll with sets of clothes that I could remove and put back on.

My little brother still took naps in the afternoons. When he was asleep, we stayed inside the small motel room. My mother poured over the real estate listings in the newspaper, jotting numbers and letters in a tablet. But I was used to playing in our tiny, fenced yard in Emmett, looking for worms near the little ditch, studying the big ants as they worked in teams to pull a crumb across the sidewalk, or watching baby birds try to fly. It was hard to sit still in the motel. I sat playing with my doll for what seemed like hours. At snack time, Mom gave me an extra grape for being so quiet.

On the third afternoon, as my mom pulled the curtains together to make our room a little darker, I peeked outside. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I begged my mom to let me play outside with my doll. She studied the now empty parking lot, the sunny skies of May, and the quiet street edging four newly painted tan and white units down the parking lot from where we stayed.

“Okay,” she said. “But stay on the steps. Cars can drive in and out of the parking lot.”

With a grin and a nod, I picked up my doll and went outside. The air was warm, smelling of the yellow buds blooming on the hedges in front of each cottage. Birds sang. Wispy clouds floated by. I relaxed and settled with my doll on the bottom step leading to our door.

A green car pulled into the parking lot and stopped in front of the cottage to my left. Small town girl that I was, I nodded to the strangers sitting in the front seat. The man and blond lady nodded and smiled back as they got out of the car and went inside the cottage. I continued to adjust my doll’s socks.

In a few minutes, the couple returned to their car carrying suitcases. They smiled at me again as they each laid a suitcase in the back seat. As she slid into the front seat, the lady looked at me then leaned toward him, talking to him in a voice so soft I couldn’t understand the words. As she continued to smile at me, he turned and spoke to me.

“It’s pretty hot today, isn’t it? How would you like some ice cream? Do you have a favorite color or flavor?”

Always polite, I nodded. “I like strawberry,” I said.

“Well, come get in the car then! Let’s go get some!”

I lifted my gaze from the buttons on my doll’s dress and studied the man. Tan suit, tan hat, smooth chin, and expectant eyes looking straight at me. Then I glanced again at the woman in the pink suit and neat bun, who nodded wide-eyed with a big smile. I didn’t know them.

Instinct kicked in, whispering.

As I ran up the steps and turned the doorknob to our family’s room, I yelled, “Mom! These people want to take me to get ice cream. Can I go?”

I’m not sure how fast Mom ran to the door, but when she flung the door open, the couple’s car had exited the motel parking lot and was speeding out of sight.

***

As I watch my children and grandchildren, I occasionally wonder what would have happened to me and if the family in front of me would have even existed if I had gone on that drive that day. Life can be arbitrary.

Photo by Bermix Studio on Unsplash