But something happened that moved me—the baby reached for the apple juice bottle even though she pretty much knew it was empty. And so then I knew she was trying to tell me she was thirsty.
So then I moved, because I just had to. No matter how scared I was, I just had to bring myself to do it.
“Come on,” I said to her. “We have to try to get you back to your mommy.”
“Mommy!” she said, and then she started to cry a lot.
I had purposely not been reminding her of her mommy—not that I think she forgot—because I figured it might be a little easier for her not to cry if I didn’t keep bringing it up.
But now what did it matter anyway, because we were getting ready to walk out in plain sight, so if those boys could see us, they might as well hear us while we were at it.
I started to say a prayer while I was carrying her down the hill, but then I remembered that God and I were not on speaking terms because he hated me—at least according to my mother. I didn’t really believe her, but just the fact of someone saying a thing like that to you can leave this bad taste in your mouth that never seems to go away.
No, it was just the two of us—just this baby and me, and that’s just the way it was and I had to accept it.
I walked a little bit out into the street because there was a big truck coming. I walked right out where we would be in his headlights but he wouldn’t totally run us down if he didn’t stop. I was so scared I felt like I was swallowing my heart back down every time I swallowed, which was hard to do anyway because I hadn’t had anything to drink for a whole day.
The roar of the truck was getting louder and louder and the baby was screaming and crying because she was so scared, and I was waving my one free arm like crazy trying to get him to stop.
Then at the last minute he just swerved around us and kept going.
I stood there in the street, watching him go, and then I started to cry a little bit myself, because the situation we were in had just gotten so desperate and I was so scared, and I hadn’t eaten or even had a drink of water and I was tired and dirty and this terrible thing needed to be over but it just wouldn’t end.
It just wouldn’t end no matter how bad I needed it to.
I looked all around us in case those boys were coming, but I didn’t see them. I didn’t see anybody.
Then I saw a car come around the corner and I stood right in front of it. Even though that was a little dangerous for me and the baby, but I had to make them stop this time. It was getting late, and I was afraid it would be night again, and we couldn’t make it through another one, and they had to stop.
They just had to stop.
The headlights of the car were making me blind and the baby was still crying in my ear and I was yelling to the driver about how I needed him to stop because I found this baby and somebody needed to call the police and it was a desperate situation. Even though I pretty much knew he probably couldn’t hear me.
At the last minute he honked his horn at us, like he was mad that we got in his way, and he swerved around us and kept going.
I just stood there in the middle of the street, waiting for somebody else to come by, but nobody did.
After a time I walked over to the curb with the little girl and sat down and just fell apart. Just freaking fell apart. I started crying even harder than she’d been crying because nobody would stop for us and I had no idea what to do.
And it was a funny thing because when I started crying really hard she started trying to pull herself together.
“Molly,” she said, and pointed to my heart.
I was crying too hard to say anything back.
“Brave girl,” she said. “Kiet girl.”
I couldn’t believe she did that. I mean, she was, like, two. It was such an amazing thing for such a tiny kid to do, to pull herself together and start comforting me like that. She was just such an amazing little kid.
Unfortunately, because it was so sweet and amazing it just made me cry even harder.
I sat there on the curb with one arm around her and my face pressed into my knees and cried and cried and cried. And she just mostly watched me, so far as I know.
She was being pretty quiet. Pretty amazingly quiet, considering everything.
Then I looked up and there was a police car turning the corner.
Now, the bad news was that it had gotten to our street and then turned the corner the wrong way without ever shining its headlights on us—and now it was leaving.
I grabbed up the baby in my arms and I ran like I’ve never run before. I mean, never in my whole life did I ever run like that, even though I was thirsty and hadn’t eaten or slept, but I had to put all that out of my head and make it not matter. I had to overcome it all.
The police car was going pretty slow, like they were looking for something, but they also had a big head start on us. But I was actually getting a little closer—gaining a little ground.
My lungs were aching like they were on fire, and I had this stitch in my side that was killing me, and the baby was heavy, but I just kept running and yelling.
I
