Kibbles and BIts: Hide and Seek

Several years ago I started writing down some of my experiences starting with early childhood, but I never did anything with them except send them to my sister.  I know, the poor thing.  I really owe her something chocolaty.

But then (in an act of revenge?) tonight, she emailed them back to me with a note.  She said she "laughed out loud at parts",  and I know this must be true, because, when you are really honest, dysfunction is actually pretty funny.  In hindsight.

Anyway, because of her comments, I've decided to share some of them here.  I'm calling this series of posts Kibbles And Bits: Pieces of My Life.  The Kibbles and Bits part is a reference to a name that the boys in my school gave me.  I really hated it then, because let's face it, Dog Food. But really, isn't it just the perfect title?!  

I plan to add art work eventually so you're in for a treat because there is nothing more awesome than me+art.  But for now, here's the first installment. 

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Hide and Seek

 

Suddenly, I was falling. Falling out of a moving car.

While on the one hand it happened too fast for me to manage a scream, it  felt like slow motion, like time simply stopped just to allow me to fall for ten minutes, before resuming regular speed.

We'd been out running errands, including an exciting trip to the drug store for new toothbrushes. My brother Mike and I were playing hide and seek while daddy drove, and he was in the back corner with his eyes shut.

"One, two, three…" he counted.  

It was my third time hiding.  The bench seat of our 1960's station wagon was folded down, concealing the floor area.  The only place to hide was on one side or the other of the hump running down the middle of the car.  I was heading for the left side.

The previous two turns I'd hidden under the right side, so I was hoping Mike would think I was there again.  I would win the round if he looked for me on the wrong side first.
But as I quietly squeezed down between the door and the edge of the seat to scoot under, I unwittingly depressed the lever-style door handle, and it swung open just enough for me to spill out into in the middle of the road.  (After falling for ten minutes.)

At this precise moment, we were making a left turn at one of the busiest intersections in the region. Which was  fortunate, if you think about it. Moments before we'd been hauling along at 40mph.  That would have been worse.

I hit the asphalt, and the first thing I noticed was all the rubble that had collected on the road; discarded cigarette butts, bottle caps, bits of rock and concrete, and pieces of glass...which had dug into my skin when I landed.

I looked up, expecting our car to be pulling to a stop, only to see it's cat-eye tail lights disappearing in the distance.

"He must just be turning around", I thought.  It never occurred to me that he wouldn't realize I wasn't there.

There was a slim concrete divider in the middle of the road, and I scooted onto it to wait for my daddy who would surely be right back.  It was a dark, chilly night in a commercial part of town.  Eight lanes of scary traffic raced past on either side of me as I shivered in my thin pajamas.

Cars had streamed by for several minutes (or maybe hours) when suddenly one pulled up and came to an abrupt stop beside me.  The driver's door opened and A Man got out.

"What are you doing?" The Man asked.

I wasn't sure what to do.  I was waiting for my daddy, but he wasn't anywhere in sight.  Clearly, The Man was a stranger, and every four year old knows you  simply don't talk to strangers.  But I did anyway.

"I fell out of my car".

"Hmpf", The Man replied.
And with that, he reached down, scooped me up, and put me in his car.  The sound of the passenger door banging shut echoed in the silence as The Man walked back around to his side of the car.  

"I'm taking you to the police station", he said, as he climbed into the driver's seat.

I didn't say anything as we drove.  I wasn't sure why I was going to the police station...maybe being in the middle of the road was against the law. But it was  better than staying with The Man so I hoped he wasn't lying.  We were miles away from home when  and I didn't know the area.  I could see only the tops of  buildings, lit by the orange glow of street lights as we drove along.

Scientific Research has shown that frightening events are associated with richer and denser memories, and that the more memories you have of an event, the longer you believe it took.
As far as my kid mind is concerned, the drive to the police station lasted all night.

   I really didn't want to cry in front of The Man, but  that didn't stop a few tears from leaking down my face.   After all, my dad hadn't rescued me!  And now I was in The Strange Man's car.  And I had cuts! And they were bleeding.  BLEEDING red BLOOD!  And I was maybe in trouble with the police.
Things seemed to be at an all-time low.