I Could Be Wrong, But...
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All the Children
©1999 David Boyne
We had been given a pair of free tickets to the opera
and were driving home to get ready.
Although only five years old and destined to spend the
evening with a baby sitter, Jack amused his mother and
me by loudly singing the one opera he knew, a la Bugs
Bunny: "Fig-a-ro! Fig-a-ro! Figaro! Figaro! Fig!
A! Rooooo!"
We were happy.
We tumbled out of the car and were about to race up
the hill to the front door, when we heard the shrieking.
She came out of the apartment house across the street.
She was young, more a girl than a woman. She moved like
a sleep walker, staring straight ahead, but she had
a large handbag slung over one shoulder and carried
something in her outstretched arms.
As I ran across the street, everything slowed, stretched,
the way Einstein said traveling near the speed of light
would be. I wondered, why weren't other neighbors appearing,
drawn by the terrible shrieking? Why had she come outside
just as we had gotten out of our car, as if waiting
for us?
Somehow, from the first moment I had heard the shrieking,
I knew.
"What's wrong?" I asked her. "What happened?"
Read the rest of All the Children in the ebook, Quo Vadis, Dude?
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