Chapter Four
I started thinking about helping the police someday. I popped out of my body and began having a vision. I saw myself at the police substation we had visited on the field trip. I liked the desk sergeant’s blue uniform with a patch with her name on it. And her badge. She had long black hair that she pulled back into a bun, and warm brown eyes. I wanted to talk to her. She looked kind of nice, but I saw she was busy, so I studied the Wanted posters on the ugly white walls.
Even though this was a vision, I could still smell burnt coffee. In my mind, I saw a box of donuts on a metal table. I looked over the box with chocolate, strawberry and sprinkled treats. Somehow, I knew I was welcome to them if I felt hungry, though nobody said anything. I didn’t feel hungry, but I took a chocolate one anyway just because they looked and smelled yummy. I pretend that when I am eating anything, I am growing taller.
“You sure got a lot of wanted men on these posters,” I said to the sergeant as I munched the donut. She nodded, busy with a call. I saw that she was taking down information on a message pad.
I thought the men all looked ugly and mean. They looked like they never took a bath or shaved. Some of them looked drunk. The sergeant smiled to herself but kept saying ‘uh huh’ and ‘okay’ into the phone. I was staring at the black and white posters, memorizing faces in case I ever saw one of the men on the street.
Still in my vision, I licked my fingers, then wiped them on my shirt. In my mind. In real life, Mom would give me a stern look for doing that. Then I popped back into my body. One of these days I’ll make that vision come true. I’m going to be a police officer. I went into the kitchen where Mom was still cleaning and told her about it.
“That won’t happen in real life, Noah,” she said.
“Sometimes I see things in my mind that haven’t happened yet, but then they do happen,” I explained.
“I don’t think this will happen,” she said. I looked down real quick so she wouldn’t see how disappointed I felt.
I heard a sound outside and looked out a window. Dad was home, at last. I watched through the window as Dad parked at the curb because of the fallen tree limb across the driveway. I saw him squish through the soggy grass to the backdoor. When he opened the door, Mom turned around in quick surprise and dropped a spoon on the floor, splattering water. She was still a nervous wreck. But it wasn’t my fault this time. Was it?
“Oh, crap,” she exclaimed, tears spurting from her eyes.
“Mom, are you okay?” I asked, concerned. I jumped up to help her clean.
Dad came in right then and rushed right through the mudroom to wrap her in his arms. His shoes, socks, and jeans were soaked, and he made puddles on the floor. I went into the kitchen and watched them share a big hug. I started wiping up the water with paper towels.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“It’s been a day. What do you think about that tree?” she asked.
“We’ll have to remove the whole tree,” he said.
“Oh, I hate that. We love that shade in the summer,” she said.
“Hi Dad. You’re all wet,” I said.
“Hi Noah,” he said as he ruffled my brown hair, which was a little bit long. It came down over my ears. I want to let it grow out a lot. I’m thinking about donating hair to people who make wigs for children who get cancer and lose their own hair during chemotherapy.
“Where is Sean?” he asked.
“He’s in his room, having some quiet time with Ozzie,” I said.
Dad and Mom rolled eyes at each other.
“Let’s talk about it after dinner,” he said.
Dad took off his wet shoes and socks, then went upstairs to change into his jeans. When he got back to the kitchen, they started telling each other all they knew about the effects of the storm. By now, the reporter on the television said electricity was back on across town and the roads were no longer flooded. I went back into my room and played Police Procedures some more. I never get tired of it.
A few hours later, I could smell spicy Mexican food cooking in the kitchen. Mom was making my favorite, tacos. Maybe she was over being mad at me. I went back to sit in the breakfast nook so I could hang out with her.
The kitchen also smelled like yeast. Mom bakes her own bread every week. When it is hot, it is so yummy—soft but also crunchy. I love to melt butter on it. She was so happy when Dad got her a gas oven to make the baking easier.
As I watched Mom, she reached toward the wall that was covered with a tall column of shelves where she kept herbs she liked to experiment with. I guess she was making sure she had everything she needed to make a recipe. I studied how she moved her hands. Her movements always seemed full of grace. When she was young, she studied ballet.
“The food is almost ready. You and Sean need to wash up,” she said.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll tell him.”
During dinner, Mom and Dad talked about his work. It was good to hear them talk about anything except all that happened that day.
“I’m designing a new traffic circle to go on Horizon Drive,” he explained.
“I’ve heard people complaining about those traffic circles,” she replied.
“I know, but they are helpful in keeping traffic flowing.”
“Why do people complain?” I asked.
“They just don’t like changing the old ways things have always been done,” Dad responded.
“What’s wrong with change?”
“You’ll understand when you are older,” he replied.
Aw, jeez. Grownups always say that.