You’ve read my blog about the one and only time I went to the fair with my brother. If you haven’t, I’ll leave the link to that little gem here.

https://www.lauracambymccaskill.com/blog/the-chain-saw

Moving right along. It was this very same outing, that I met the Texan.

We (my brother and I) were standing in line for the rock-climbing wall, bickering back and forth about if I could make it to the top. My brother didn’t think I could, I on the other hand, knew I could. Plus, if you reached the top, you got this cute little teddy bear. It was as good as mine. My side of the wall cleared up first, I passed the gate and stepped onto the mat. My brother watched on from the gate.

The person that stood there on the mat waiting for me, was literally the person that had my fate in their hands. If they hooked the harness up wrong, missed a belt or buckle, I’d fall and get hurt. Or worse.

As I walked towards him, the first thing that stood out to me was the fact that he was a red head. The second was that he was either my age or older. I couldn’t tell. When I reached him, he placed the harness on the ground in front of me.

“Go ahead and step into this,” he told me.

I did. He pulled the harness up to my waist and began to click and buckle everything in place.

“Have you done this before,” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ve done this in the past.”

“Good, then you know what to do,” he said.

“Yep.”

They don’t call me Chatty Kathy for a reason.

Me being the antisocial butterfly that I was (am), I looked away from him when he moved closer to me to hook the harness over my shoulders. I had a bubble and he was in it.

It’s always so loud at the fair, people have to scream to hear each other. I wasn’t sure if he had gotten that close to me because he needed to see the harness or to make sure I heard him, but I continued to look away. I glanced over to see my brother leaning on the fence watching me, waiting for me to fall off this wall in a few minutes.

The guy was pulling the last strap tight when he spoke, “I like your accent.”

Now I’m not sure what type of reaction he was going for but for whatever reason, I got all kinds of offended. Before I could stop it, the next words out of my mouth took me back to my roots. All the way to my roots.

“Accent,” I spit, turning to him, “I ain’t got no accent.”

I shutter to this day thinking about it. So, hush.

He smiled at me, “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” I countered, “Besides, you sound just like me!”

“Do I?”

His smile and tone was kind of making me mad, was he making fun of me? Cool thing about me, the madder I am, the thicker my accent gets. Not that I have one, clearly.

“Yeah, ya do. Where are you even from?”

Where are you even from—someone, please make it stop. Just shut your mouth Laura.

He laughed—LAUGHED!

“I’m from Texas.”

“Well you sound like you’re from North Carolina to me.”

Why am I even this mad?

He held his hand out for me to move to the wall. At this point, my brother was there getting suited up for the wall beside me. He had missed the entire encounter.

I was getting ready to start climbing when he patted one of the lower foot holds, “You could start out with this one.”

My face. I couldn’t help it. I had just told the man I had done this before; did the thick accented North Carolinian look or sound like she needed a help? Don’t answer that.

Why am I so upset!

He chuckled again and took a step back, “Have fun guys.”

I turned back to the wall to concentrate. I had to beat my brother in this race, I didn’t have time to be messing with anyone else. I was about three or four foot holds up when he called out to me again, “Make sure you hit the buzzer at the top.”

Sir, I will take my shoe off and throw it at you. I KNOW HOW THIS WORKS.

I reached the top right about the time my brother did, I don’t think he hit the buzzer, but I did. I had MADE IT TO THE TOP, and I wanted him to know it. Unfortunately, when I pressed the buzzer, it didn’t go off. I pressed it again, but the buzzer didn’t make a sound.

“Press it!”

The Texan was yelling at me from the ground. I AM! Your stupid buzzer is broke, and I will throw both of my shoes at you. Before I could press it a third time, I lost my footing and fell. Of course, the rope caught me, and I glided down like everyone else. I heard the Texan’s, “Aw!” from down below.

Are you kidding me right now? Don’t judge me, after you stood down there and yelled at me. When I reached the bottom, the Texan was there waiting to unhook me.

“You did good,” he told me.

“Thanks.”

I had wanted that teddy bear, small as it was. But, I couldn’t wait to get out of there and rub it in my brother’s face that I had reached the top. Something he said I couldn’t do. I glanced over at him to throw him a cocky, ‘ha, I did it’ look, but he wasn’t looking. When I turned back around, the Texan was standing if front of me, which made me kind of jolt backwards. I can’t deal with people in my bubble. He reached up to pull the top part of the harness loose and pulled me a little closer than I thought we should be. For real though. I felt my eyebrows furrow as I turned my head in the other direction.

“I tell you what,” he said looking up from the harness, “If you come back tonight, I’ll let you in for free.”

Uh—Sir, why are we so close?

“Um—thanks,” I managed.

As awkward as it was, I contemplated it. The climbing wall was something I enjoyed doing. He released me from the harness, and I stepped out. I was halfway to the gate when I heard him.

“Hey!”

I turned around to see him trotting towards me. What now?

“Even though you didn’t ring the buzzer, I saw you reach the top,” he said holding out a small teddy bear.

Y’ALL.

“Oh my gosh, thanks,” I replied, stunned.

YEARS later, at a random place and time, that moment popped into my head. It was then I realized what was happening that night. Yeah, I know, I’m blonde. Hush.

I know what you’re wondering. Did I go back that night? The answer is no, I didn’t. Right after we left the climbing wall, my brother got me on that stupid ride that almost killed me. I suggest you click the link to find out what I’m talking about, if you don’t already know. And we left shortly after that.

I’d like to take this time out to formally apologize to that red headed Texan that worked at the North Carolina state fair in 2005. The blonde, thick accented North Carolinian, didn’t pick up what you were laying down.

​Dodged a bullet there, didn’t you?

I was standing in line to check out when I noticed two teen boys were working the register. They were about my age at the time. Like most teens, they were joking and carrying on while they worked. Most people ignored them, and some laughed. They weren’t being ridiculous with their laughter; besides, I had been on shifts where you just needed some laughter. I couldn’t blame them.

There were two people in front of me, the boys were turning out costumers quickly despite goofing off. I’m not sure what it was, but the closer I got, the more annoyed I became. I couldn’t actually hear what they were saying but the way one of the them held himself, I could tell, I was going to have a problem.

I was next in line; the boys were ringing up an elderly lady. I could now hear the boys conversation. The one doing the bagging was joking around but it was almost the type of joking around that was cut downs disguised as a joke. I cannot stand that.

The boy hit on the elderly woman, told her she was pretty and asked for a date, which she loved. I just let it go. It made her day. She picked up her bags and left. I caught a glimpse of cashier as he rang my belongings through; I could tell he thought the other guy was going to far with the jokes. I can’t remember what his friend said to me at first, but I politely smiled and watched as my groceries were being scanned. When he saw that I wasn’t going to bite, he turned his attention to the cashier.

They did some funny banter back and forth, but it was beginning to become silly schoolboy humor. I could feel my eye start to twitch. The cashier was also trying to see his way out of the conversation but to no avail. The bagger was now commenting on how hot he was. Then he went into how smart he was, dang near a genius, if you asked him. The cashier laughed through the uncomfortable conversation.

The thought crossed my mind that someone should put this guy in his place; he was making people or at least the cashier and me uncomfortable. Before I could finish my thought, this guy started singing. I can’t remember what he belted out; it was just a verse. I was baffled as to how we went from him being the best thing since sliced bread to him being the lead role in a musical, but there we were.

Why did I even go out? Just curious, does anyone else have this much trouble when you go out into public or is it just me?

The cashier was just as surprised as I was, but he was nice about it.

“Wow,” the cashier said, “That was really good.”

It was. I can’t say that it wasn’t. Without missing a beat, the guy turned around with a smile, “Yeah dude, I’m pretty good. I’ve been practicing. Hooked on Phonics works for me!”

I felt my jaw drop. What does that have to do with anything--

I looked up just in time to see him nod towards me and smile. He just knew he had impressed me.

​Yeah, okay Romeo, you might want to look at those lessons plans again, singing isn’t in them. 

I was sitting at my kitchen table, deep in the middle of writing a blog piece for you guys, when T called. She was headed somewhere, I can’t remember where, and was asking for some help with her GPS. Something had gone wrong and the GPS wasn’t working. She asked me to use my phone to figure it out while she drove; to make sure she didn’t miss her exit. No pressure.

I put her on speaker phone and pulled up my GPS to see if I could walk her through getting her GPS back up and running.

She was talking about this trip and how she didn’t know how to get there, as I flipped through the options on the GPS app. She was asking me questions on how to figure it out before she came up on her exit, which was close. I was beginning to get worried she’d miss it. As the exit was coming into view, she began asking more questions.

Queue in the squirrel on the front porch. This little rascal had been terrorizing my dogs (who, for some reason, had decided that squirrels offended their honor), for weeks now. So, as I’m answering T’s questions, flipping through the app options, and silently freaking out; the dogs spot the squirrel.

You would have thought the entire FBI/SWAT team was raiding my house the way these two dogs hit my glass door. Barking, crying, growling, scratching. It’s a good thing I knew they had been rabies vaccinated, or I would have thought twice before approaching them.

“Be quiet,” I called.

I don’t know why I even wasted my breath. They couldn’t hear me. This squirrel decided to sit right in from of them on the porch, staring at them as if you say, ‘You can’t get me—na, na, na, na, na.’

That didn’t help matters, I was waiting for them to crash through the glass door. I didn’t think they could get any louder, I was wrong.

T asked me something, but I couldn’t hear it. Exit approaching.

“What,” I shouted.

She asked again, still couldn’t hear her. My door was about to cave in.

“What!”

When she asked a third time, all I could hear was something about an exit. I stood up from the table and shouted as loud as I could, “SHUT UP AND LAY DOWN!”

I yelled so loud, it echoed in the kitchen. I felt like that ‘crazy’ mom. Rescue mom, that is. Both dogs stopped barking and turned around. They looked at me, as if to say, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you yelling?”

Even the SQUIRREL outside the door stood up and looked at me like, “You need to relax, lady.”

Both dogs walked away from the door, the squirrel turned and scurried off the porch. In the now dead silence, I turned back to my phone.

“Are you still there?”

Nothing. Did she miss the exit? Lose signal? Wreck?

“Hello?”

After another moment of silence, T’s voice came through the speaker phone.

“I just pulled over and crawled into my back seat.”

“What—oh, you’re funny.”

​Try to help some people and all you get is sarcasm. She has been hanging around me too long.  

We had all gathered at a local parking lot to watch the Fourth of July fireworks show. The parking lot was packed. Car after car as far as the eye could see. The parking lot belonged to a grocery store; we watched as people ran in and out grabbing things they needed before the show. We had to arrive early to get a spot.

I had brought a few of the kids from our church group; my family was there too. People pulled out their fold out chairs and sat behind their vehicles, sipping on a soda, or eating some chips. Kids ran around the parking lot blowing bubbles or squirting each other with water guns. My mom and dad had planted themselves in two fold-out chairs and were eating the sandwiches we had brought.

It was still daylight, but some people began to light up some 'good ol’ fourth' that they had brought themselves. Nothing fancy (as it’s illegal to have the ‘good stuff’ in NC), just some sparklers and smoke bombs. A few kids ran by throwing poppers.

I had planted myself on the trunk of my car, watching all of this unfold. I was sipping on a soda myself. I had two kids on my lap, one was two and the other was five. My youngest niece sat beside me, she was in her teens, and my nephew was on the other side; he was also in his teens.

Someone behind us in the next isle began to set off the firecrackers on the string. I remember the sound they made as each individual firecracker exploded. After the entire string had exploded, I heard, “Go get the sparklers.”

The next thing I know, there was a sound I couldn’t quite place. The sound it made reminded me of when you shake a soda and it fizzes over. That sound was followed by three loud thuds. Those ‘thuds’ came from my car--

I was turning around to figure out what that sound was, when something shot through my long hair, just missing my neck, past me, into the crowd. It all happened so fast; I didn’t have time to process what I had just witnessed.  I managed to follow the flowing light into the cars in front of me, where it then exploded, sending darts of fire in all directions. Towards us, towards others in the crowd, bouncing off vehicles, tents, chairs. People darted in every direction, screaming, and knocking things over. More waves of fire followed.

How I managed to shove both my niece and nephew off the car and then tuck and roll with the two little ones off the back of my car, I have no idea.

“Move,” was the only thing I could think to scream before I shoved everyone overboard.

The pavement wasn’t very forgiving, but it was more forgiving than the darts of flames that were now bouncing off my car. Don’t worry, the kids landed on top of me—not under me.

Although an individual fire work doesn’t really last that long, it felt like an eternity. When the smoke finally cleared, a guy ran up past my car. He seemed shocked and almost hysterical. Get in line, bud. We made eye contact when I stood up, brushing the kids off.

“Are you alright,” he asked. He seemed genuinely worried and upset.

“Yeah,” I answered as the kids ran off to go play somewhere else.

I glanced back at my car to find several dark spots from where this thing bounced off my car several times before it whizzed past me.

“I thought it was a glow stick,” he cried, looking over the damage.

A glow stick--

“That was a roman candle,” I told him.

He still seemed shocked that he had mixed them up.

Those are illegal! How did you even—you know what, never mind.

Happy National, give-fireworks-to-people-you-wouldn’t-trust-with-a-glow-stick day!

A few years back I had had some medical problems. In a nutshell, my heart would flutter so to speak at different times. It got to the point where it would flutter often, especially at work. I decided to go to the doctor, just to have everything checked out.

When I got in the room, I was examined by one of the student doctors. She was very nice, and we joked throughout the appointment. She and the nurse hooked me up to this machine that measured my heart beats. After a few minutes, they took all the wires, bells, and whistles off of me and pulled the machine out of the room.

“I’m going to go read your test results,” the student doctor told me, “I’ll be back with them shortly.”

I was left there in the quiet room to wait. About five minutes into it, my mind started wandering. What if I had something really wrong with me? What if they come in a tell me something horrible? I hate those thoughts. They do no good and stress you out in the process. I pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the artwork on the walls.

I had almost convinced myself that I was perfectly fine, until the student walked back in. If there wasn’t anything wrong with my heart to begin with, there was now. It wasn’t so much the student that scared me, but what followed behind her. I was sitting there in the corner when the door opened. The student walked in, she never looked up, she just stared at her computer screen.

Behind her, the doctor she was working under. And then another doctor walked in behind her. And, another behind that one. They all entered quietly, almost solemn. NONE of them looked at me, it was almost as if they were trying to avoid eye contact. The last doctor slowly shut the door behind him and rested his hands together, all while staring at the carpet.

So, this is how I go?

I almost threw up. Would they start CPR now while I’m still conscious? I almost got up right then and left; I didn’t think I really wanted to know anymore. But the doctor seemed to be guarding that door.

“Well, Mrs. McCaskill,” the student doctor began, “I’ve been looking at your test results.”

I kid you not, all three doctors behind her looked straight at me then. I felt the color drain from my face. My stomach ran down to hide in my toes. The student took a deep breath and looked away from her screen at me.

“You’re fine.”

It took approximately ten seconds to process what she said. Was I hearing things wrong?

“What,” I asked, blinking away the last of the hysterical fog that was hovering over me.

“You’re fine,” she said again, “The test results showed nothing out of the ordinary.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Then what are all these people for,” I cried, flinging my arms towards the doctors.

“Oh, they’re just here to listen to my findings,” she told me as she glanced over at them.

They smiled back at her. Oh, NOW you smile? I didn’t want to be one of those people, but the words came out of my mouth before I could catch them.

“Are you kidding me? I thought I was dying!”

The student—actually, all of them, looked confused.

“You all walked in here, didn’t say a word, wouldn’t look at me—”

The looked at each other for a second and then nodded, even giggled a bit.

“Oh, wow, I guess it did look bad didn’t it,” the student giggled, “But you’re fine.”

She seemed happy with the way she gave her report. Are you kidding me--

“I’m not fine now,” I countered, “I just flat lined!”

​This is one of the reasons my eye twitches--

My father was a trickster. To say the least, he put a lot of people through a lot of things; but it was all in good fun. He put my poor husband through a lot when we first met. Even after we got married, they continued to keep this prank quarrel thing going. My father usually got his goat most of the time but there was one day; my husband won.

I was sitting at the kitchen table that day, talking to my father, while my husband worked behind me fixing himself a sandwich. I have no idea what I was talking to my father about but most of the conversation I had my head down working on something for him.

Unbeknownst to me, my father noticed that I had laid my cell phone down in the middle of the table. He quietly slipped it into his front shirt pocket without me noticing. I’m positive he was about to enter into a fun little game, where he sat back and watched me search for my phone while he smiled on quietly.

Unbeknownst to father, however, my husband had seen what he had done. So, while I continued on with my work and my father smiled like a Cheshire cat (thinking he had gotten away with it), my husband pulled out his cell phone and called my number.

My phone at the time was on silent. Something my father wasn’t familiar with. He was the type of person that would pull out his cell phone to take a photo of something and ended up taking 14 selfies.

My father was putting his coffee cup to his lips for a sip, when my phone went off in his shirt pocket. The next thing I knew, coffee is all over the table, his shirt, me--

He dropped the cup and grabbed his chest. At first, I thought he was having another heart attack.

“What is wrong with you?” I managed.

My father produced my cell phone out of his pocket (to my surprise) and looked at it. When he saw who the caller was, he looked over me towards my husband, who was now bent over crying by the stove because he was laughing so hard. I glanced back at him (still confused as to what was happening) and then back at my father.

“You—”

I can’t finish what my father called my husband, it’s just not appropriate.

He tossed my cell phone back onto the table and stood up to wipe his shirt off. I flung the last of the coffee off of my hand while my husband continued to gasp for air; all the while, my father glared at him. It wasn’t until later that I found out what had happened. To this day, if you mention it, my husband will tear up.

Before my father passed away, when someone mentioned the story, he would shake his head and call my husband a name.

​I dealt with overgrown children.

I was in the turning lane, waiting to pull into the bank parking lot, when it all unfolded. I needed to make a deposit into my bank that particular day, the drive there had been uneventful. I was behind a car that was also pulling into the bank, the four-lane road we were on had heavy traffic for that time of day; it wasn’t even lunch time yet. I was in no hurry; my errand was almost done and I could continue on with my day.

I was staring at the back of this car when I noticed this van pull up in the slow lane and stopped right beside it. Thinking that was odd, I glanced up at the van. The man in the van popped his head out of his driver’s side window and began screaming. The type of screaming where your whole face turns red and the veins in your forehead pop out. He wasn’t just screaming, he was cursing; words that ought not to be said not only that early in the day but at any time of the day.

Whatever the car in front of me did, it must have been bad. When I glanced at him, I thought he would fall right out of his window. It was then I realized, he wasn’t yelling at the car in front of me; but at me.

Great.

He yelled at me for quite some time before he sped off. The thought did cross my mind to roll my window down and ask what was wrong, what had I done to make him so mad; because I didn’t have a clue, I had never even seen this man before. But in the end, I didn’t. I probably wouldn’t have gotten a word in edge wise anyway, the way he was screaming and carrying on.

I pulled into the bank, a little startled. I had never had someone yell at me like that. I was trying to play out in my head what I could have done to this man, when things escalated—quickly. My car was already turned off when I heard this man screaming again. I looked up to see him and his van the next road over from the bank, headed towards a little subdivision. He had stopped his car completely and now had his head sticking out of the passenger side window, screaming. I was called a lot of names and threatened. But he never once told me what I had done.

I was still a teen, I was short, small, and basically defenseless. I thought about driving away but I was afraid he’d follow me. So, my next logical option was to run into the bank and ask for help.

Just to clarify, I didn’t go running into the bank, screaming for help. That felt like a bad idea too. I shot across the parking lot and bolted into the bank as fast as I could without looking suspicious. Some of the people in the bank knew me from over the years.

I went to the first teller I could find and blurted out, “I need to make a deposit and I need a security guard.”

Apparently making that deposit was more important than my safety.

The teller’s eyebrows furrowed, “Why do you need a security guard?”

“There’s a man outside yelling at me,” I told her, “I don’t know what I did but he’s really mad.”

I’m here to tell you right now, banks don’t play when it comes to security or threats; at least this bank didn’t.

“We don’t have a security guard,” the teller began.

I felt my heart sink, I was going to have to go outside and face this guy by myself. I saw her look over me then.

“But it’s okay,” she told me, “Tonya’s husband is here. He’ll walk you out.”

She pointed me to Tonya’s office, motioning me to go there. I followed her direction, all while in the back of my mind I was thinking, that’s not going to help me! I need a guard with a gun or mace!

“Tonya,” the teller yelled over me, “Send Jim out, some guys outside yelling at this girl.”

I wanted to throw up. A security guard was my last hope, or at least that’s what I thought, until Jim stood up. I stopped dead in my tracks.

The best way I could describe Jim, was ‘a good ol’ boy.” If you’re from the south, you know what I mean. He was a large fellow, the kind that would hold the door open for a lady and knock the front teeth out of a man that dared raise a hand to one. Six foot something, easily 250-300 pounds, full beard, and an air about him that said, someone just screwed up—royally.

That’ll do sir, that will do.

“What’s going on,” Jim asked.

The teller filled him in while Tonya looked out the front door.

“I just need someone to walk me to my car,” I pleaded.

I didn’t actually want anyone to fight, that gave me anxiety just thinking about it.

“Alright honey, let’s go,” he told me.

“I don’t know if he’s still out there or not,” I warned him.

“That’s alright, if he is, we’ll take him to breakfast.”

We? I suddenly wasn’t that hungry.

Besides, this is your kitchen dude, not mine. Fair warning, when it comes time to cook this ‘breakfast’ I won’t be much help in this particular kitchen. The best I can do is scream for Tonya.

He walked out first, I followed behind him. He looked to the right and then the left.

“I don’t see him,” he said, he almost sounded disappointed.

I glanced around the parking lot and to my pleasant surprise, he was gone.

“I don’t see him either.”

Jim made a disappointed clicking sound with his mouth, resting his hands on his hips, scanning the parking lot again. I suppose he thought his morning was about to pick up.

“Well, go ahead and get in your car. I don’t see him.”

“Thank you,” I called as I dove into my car and started it up.

​Now, I’m not sure if that man left right after I went into the bank or left when he saw Jim coming; maybe he was hiding in the bushes and then thought better of it when Jim walked me to my car. I don’t know. All I can say is, I thank God for Jim and his ability to whip up a mean breakfast if needed.

I had only been working at the pharmacy for a couple years, I was fresh out of high school and learning the ropes. It wasn’t unheard of for the owner to ask me to take his car down the road to another pharmacy for a pickup. That day was no different. I cruised down the road to a closed-door pharmacy, where I was given the code to get in the building and pickup the medication that had been ordered.

When I got there, I parked the car in the empty parking lot. There was only one other car besides mine, I parked right beside it and ran inside. When I came back out, the parking lot was still deserted. I looked around the empty lot, which was connected to a restaurant, it seemed kind of spooky with no cars. I decided to get in the car before something got me (I’ve seen that movie). The boss’s car was old school, I had to physically unlock the door with the key. I pushed the key in and turned the lock, glancing behind me.

When I pulled on the handle, it didn’t open. I almost fell backwards. I stuck the key in again and jiggled the lock. Nothing. What in the world? I yanked on the handle two or three times before slamming my fist against the window in frustration. Glad this wasn’t a horror movie, I’d been gone. I walked to the passenger’s side door and tried the lock. I pushed the key in and turned it. Nothing. I yanked on that door a few times before huffing. Am I going to have to call the boss and tell him I can’t get in his car? How do I explain that?

I looked around the parking lot, there was no one to help me. On the upside, there was no one to get me either. I try to see the silver lining in things. I walked back to the driver’s side door and tried the key one more time. I sat the bag of medicine on the hood so I could use both my hands. It still didn’t work. I yanked on the handle one last time before I spun around and leaned on the car door. Great, this is just great. I could just hear my boss’s voice now, “What do you mean you can’t get in my car?”

I folded my arms across my chest and thought about quitting. My job that is. I glanced at the car I had parked beside, it looked a lot like my boss’s car. In fact, it was weird, the more I looked inside, the more I recognized things. The map on the dash looked just like the one in--

OH MY GOSH! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That was my boss’s car! I spun around and look inside the car I was leaning on. IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE’S.

I grabbed the medication off the hood and ran to the passenger door on the other car. I pushed the key in and twisted, the door opened without a hitch. I jumped inside and cranked the car, glancing around me to see if anyone had seen this ridiculous display I had just put on. There was still no one there. God, in His wisdom, had kept the car alarm from going off on the other car; I am convinced! Why? Because He knows me, He knew this would be something I’d do.

As I was driving back, I stopped at a red light. While I waited for it to turn, the thought crossed my mind that the other pharmacy probably had camera’s in their parking lot. I rested my head on the wheel, someone in there probably had a bag of popcorn open, with their feet propped up on the desk, laughing at me while I struggled to open a car that wasn’t mine. 

We had been on lock down for about four weeks when things started—changing. Maybe changing isn’t a good word for it, but that’s what we’re going to use.

I was trying to sleep, when the madness began. For whatever reason that night, I could not remember how old I was. I tossed the numbers back and forth for a while, even tried to do some math; but at two o’clock in the morning, math’s not my thing. It’s not my thing at any time of the day to be honest.

After laying there for a while, tossing my numbers, I decided I was thirty-three. I let it go and went to sleep. The next day at work, I was still dumbfounded that that was what had kept me up. I was laughing about it with the other technicians when the pharmacist cut in.

“When were you born,” she asked.

“1985,” I told her.

Three seconds. That’s all it took for her to do the correct math.

“You’re not thirty-three,” she exclaimed, “You’re thirty-four!”

Where did that year go then? I don’t remember it. I did the math in my head then, SHE WAS RIGHT. So, somewhere I’ve lost a year. Okie-dokie then. I moved on with my day, still in utter confusion on where that year went to.

A few nights later, I was working on an article around midnight, one of the photos I selected to go with an article, was a photo a friend had taken of me just two days prior. I was about to hit upload when I noticed something was off.

Looking at myself in the photo, it was something only I, or a close friend could tell. It wasn’t a huge difference, but I could tell. My backside was—larger. Or maybe, it was the angle of the photo? Probably the angle. The more I looked at the photo though, I wasn’t convinced. So, I hopped up and weighed myself. To my surprise, I had gained six pounds. Um.
I still uploaded the photo with the article. What can you do?

When I got to work the next day, I was a year older and six pounds heavier. I was still okay with everything though. When the pharmacist asked me to call a doctor’s office for a patient, I took the back line. It rang four times and the following conversation happened.

“Thank you for calling Dr. Smith’s office, this is Tina, how can I help you?”

“Well, Tina, I have no idea,” I told her, “I can’t remember why I called you.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t pull it out of my brain. The pharmacist, (the same one that broke the news to me about my age) shouted from the front of the store.

“You’re calling for a PA!”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “I need a PA.”

The nurse wasn’t amused in any fashion. Neither was I, honestly. I’m a year older, a little heavier, and my minds going.

​It’s cool—it’s cool. 

I found myself with one of my best friends in a diner, far away from home. I had just met one of her family members she had talked about for some time now, she was so excited for me to meet him. He was a sweet man. We had just ordered our food and brought the pager to the table. When it buzzed, our food would be ready. But I couldn’t wait for the food, I needed something, it had been a long drive. So, I got up and got myself a drink.

I really wanted sweet tea, but in that area, sweet tea wasn’t a thing. Not sure why, it was a bit ridiculous if you asked me. So, I settled for a glass of water. I sat there, sipping on this water, while the other two tossed fond memories back and forth.

Somehow, one of the memories triggered another memory of his time in the army, or special forces. I forget which. The restaurant was full, people passed by without glancing at us. He watched as they passed. It was when he leaned over the table towards us and started whispering, that he caught my attention.

Apparently back in the day, he worked on some top secret something around the town. I can’t remember all of it, but someone built something toxic. He kept using words like, ‘off the record’ and ‘top secret’. Or phrases like, ‘no one knows this’ or ‘I’m not supposed to talk about it’. I distinctly remember thinking, “Then you probably shouldn’t tell us,” for both of our sakes. As he continued talking, I glanced out the windows to see who exactly was watching. I was convinced then, that there were snipers trained on us. At any second, we could all be taken out and it would be covered up. Just for the sake of this secret.

He continued with his story and the more I thought about it, the more unsettling it all became. I was beginning to sweat. I wasn’t even really sure what he was talking about, but my throat suddenly became parched. I sipped on my water to ease the nervousness. I think it would have helped if his next words hadn’t been, “Well, then it leaked into the ground and got into the water system. People died.”

I choked on the water.

He leaned in even closer to finish the story. I had decided it was too late for me anyway, what with just being poisoned and all. I leaned in, if I was going, I needed to know why. He was hushed as he whispered, “But that wasn’t all—”

About that time, our pager that was laying in the middle of table went off. It vibrated so hard, it danced across the table. The sound of the vibration was ten times louder than any pager I had ever heard. All three of us shot three inches out of chair, I almost fell out of mine. It was all I could do to keep from screaming in the crowded restaurant.

I never thought I’d go out like that. I just knew the bullets had started flying.

​We sat there for a moment in stunned silence before the other two started laughing. I grabbed the pager and headed for the counter, that was one story they could finish without me.