Here's a Story For the Kids
by C.S. Baker
A family of five [or five thousand] goes out for a dinner picnic on Memorial Day weekend, the fourth Sabbath of May, 2009. As they eat in the fenced-in field, Mr. and Mrs. Baker and their three children consider and meditate on the events of the previous week. Night falls and the fields surrounding the family begin to glow by the rear portions of thousands of lightning night creatures. After reflecting on the beauty of the situation, the satisfied-by-decadization group of five reclimb the gate and return to their van. Feeling pleasant and ready to return to their chambers for a much needed nights sleep, they drive back to their Motel six to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.
They parked in their old space - - - - - taking up 5 spots with the trailor and Chevy Suburban **under the lights**, at the front of the motel, as Mr. Baker was especially worried about the van getting broken into. Having this parking space gave the family comfort and calmed the nerves of the patriarch. The van doors opened.
50 feet away.
Close enough to see. Close enough for their ears to ring.
And then the curses came down. They came from the mouths of the family, from the mouths of people a hundred yards away, from the mouths of dark clouds surrounding the cheap motel.
A gray cadillac with 20 inch rims and blacked-out windows screamed out: 8 feet, 7 feet, 6 feet, 5 feet away from the family.
GET ON THE GROUND
Ben was on top of it. Stuart was frozen. Liz was frozen. Dave was already out of the car face-down behind the bunker-like hill beside the van. Nathan follwed the orders of his new brother.
4 feet, 3 feet away.
The shooter's car was there. Radiating death and threatening the five with the six, the seven, the eight rounds left in the gun. And Mr. and Mrs. Baker were kissing the asphault and the Suburban tires just in time.
STAY ON THE GROUND
The words tore and dripped like fire and Myhrr with a serious cool collectedness from Ben's throat.
Seconds after the dark car and pursuing motorcyle had passed the family, the five stood. After cursing the situation, they walked in a cool panic to the McDonalds across the street. Another group. Ten girls, probably a volleyball or softball team, passed by the family--guessing at the shots. The five's morbidly abridged testimony quickend the pace of the softball team and hieghtened their sensitivity to their surroundings. Turning around and walking backwards, family eyes saw a group of rough men gathering around the Suburban.
Were they the shooters? Did they need to eliminate the five whitnesses to the shots? Did they think the family had shot? Either way, McDonalds promised the safety of an INTERPOL headquaters. Walked turned to run as fearful assumptions terrorized the five's brains.
The McDonalds cashier did it for them. Ben, with a calming wisdom, suggested Nathan, Liz, and David stay at the fast food haven while he and Stuart walk around to calm his friends nerves.
I NEED A CIGARETTE
It was deserved.
The cops arrived. The Firetruck arrived. The family reconviened. The parking lot at the motel accross the street was full of police cars. It seemed safe. They walked back. Talked to the policemen. Nathan and Stuart got a refund at the front desk then went back to the room to pack up.
A man in a biker gang had shot another biker's Harley. Twice. Trying to blow up the gas tank. Right next to room 138, where the Baker Family was staying. If the family had arrived as little as 10 seconds earlier, the five could have been right between the shooter and his target.
FREE MOTEL ROOM
They stayed the night at Motel 6. Right next to the society of bikers.