“Oh my Gosh, Max! Is that what I think it is?” I utter in almost a whisper. Max doesn’t answer me; he just continues staring straight ahead. When he finally does turn towards me and remove his hand from the steering wheel, they are shaking uncontrollably. “We have to get out and look!” he tells me. We both slowly open our doors and advance ever so slowly to the front of the car. Lying there, or rather sitting there in the middle of the lane is a car seat facing away from us. Only inches separate the black plastic of the seat and the bumper of the car. Max takes his final step and falls to his knees in front of the seat. Staring down at the seat, nothing can prepare either of us for what we see. Instead of a baby, strapped into the seat is a pair of size 24 mo jeans and pink and white sweatshirt with the words “Mommy’s Little Angel”. What I find most disturbing though is that lying on the ground, as though posed, are a pair of the smallest pink Nike tennis shoes I have ever seen. Each shoe holds a single pink lace sock that hangs limply over the heel tab. Max stands up next to me and while we are both relieved in one respect that there is not a child in the seat, the confusion is beginning to settle into our minds. What kind of sick joke is this? What kind of person who even think of something this horrific? Max reaches into his pocket for his cell phone and begins dialing . He pulls the phone away from his face and stares at it confused. “What’s wrong Max?” I ask him impatiently. “My phone doesn’t have any service. Now that cannot be right, I’ve made calls while driving down this lane a zillion times” he replies clearly annoyed. I walk back to the car and retrieve my own phone out of my new purse. I enter my security code and written clearly across the display is the words “No Service Available”. None of this is making any sense whatsoever and to be quite honest, this situation is starting to frighten me. Max comes up behind me, startling me half to death. He is holding the car seat in his right hand and I can see he has placed the tiny shoes in the bottom. “I think we should get out of here and drive to get some help!” his eyes pleading with me. Nodding my agreement I quickly slip into the front seat and buckle my seat belt. Max slides in next to me after securing the car seat in the back seat. The question before us is whether to continue on down the lane to my house or to turn around and head back toward town. This evening has turned strangely bizarre. I suggest that going to my house where my parents will be the voice of reason is the best plan of action. The drive seems to go on for an eternity. We pull into the circular driveway and are greeted by brilliant light from every window in the house. It’s 12:30 a.m., why would all the lights in the house be on?
posted at http://thereddressclub.blogspot.com/2011/03/red-writing-hood-donuts.html
© Lisa N ~ 3/24/2011