It took me a minute before I could even tell her why I had woken her up. ‘Hello?’ she answered, dreams dripping from her voice. I dialled again.īy the time the officers showed up, I had reviewed the mental footage a hundred times Fresh tears fought to escape, though my cheeks weren’t dry yet. The first time I called, it went to voicemail. In that moment, the only clear thing in my mind was the scene, playing over and over. I used the gas station phone to call 911 the operator pressed me for the street corner where it had happened. The cashier looked scared, taking in my heaving chest, mascara tears and red nose. Between the sobbing and the running, I could barely breathe, let alone talk, once I stepped into the artificial light. I could feel my feet rubbing the thin insides, a sole coming loose. My nine-year-old combat boots thunked onto the pavement. The chill wafted in from the bayou that separated the nice houses from the even nicer houses. I ran to the nearest gas station – probably a quarter mile up the road. No lights flicked on, no one stepped out to see who or what was making hysterical noises in the middle of the night. I stood in the cold, in the middle of a run-down street, surprised no one had heard what had just happened. The red car’s tyres spewed gravel as their accomplices drove off my white car squealed after. The other men with guns jumped in beside him. He reached into my jacket, grabbed my keys, and got into the car – my car, warmed with Maggie’s voice leaking from the speakers. I cried out, telling him they were in my pocket. ![]() ‘Get out, get out! DROP THE PHONE.’ I obliged because what choice did I have? ‘WHERE ARE THE KEYS?’ he screamed. A hand slid along the seatbelt, unbuckling me from the live-action horror movie. ![]() I reached over and thrust the car into park. ‘Please, please,’ I screamed over the banging of the guns on the roof and my skyrocketing heart rate. I begged for my life something I had never considered having to do. They shouted at me: ‘Put it in park, PUT IT IN PARK.’ Tears poured icy hot down my face. Suddenly, I was wide awake, but my mind was blank. Three doors flung open, guns pointing directly at me: a 23-year-old woman who had never really had anything horrible happen in her life. The car screeched in front of me, cutting me off. I stopped before the sign to let them go ahead. ![]() Flying headlights in my rear-view mirror caught my attention. I had been in my car all of four minutes when I rounded the next corner, foot poised over the brake as I closed in on the stop sign. I slowed to turn and respond, eyes darting between my phone and the road. I reached down to check the message from my boyfriend, Henry, warming my hand over my coffee tumbler. ![]() When I would drive home later that morning, the people of Mid-City would be bundled up, starting their days with frigid dog walks and coffee runs. Christmas lights and the occasional working streetlamp lit up the neighbourhood: the narrow shotgun houses with too many plants on their porches, the doors bright yellow, sleepy blue or lively green. It was a short journey my seat heater barely had any time to thaw my insides before I got to the news station. ‘Turn signal, dumbass,’ I mumbled, still frozen and half asleep. The red car seemed to slow as it passed in front of me, eventually turning into my street, barely missing my car. As I slowed at the intersection, headlights warned me to step on the brake. I did an illegal U-turn to get out of my one-way street, cutting a whole minute off my arrival time. With my hands pulled into my North Face sleeves, I grabbed the wheel. I twisted the heat all the way up, slapped the seat-heater button, and turned my Spotify to Maggie Rogers’s new album. I speed-walked to my car, my beautiful, white Hyundai Kona, my college graduation gift from my parents. My fingers became numb quickly, making it difficult to turn the key in the lock. It was 12:50am my shift at the news station started in 10 minutes. A neighbour’s motion-sensor light blinked on to help me navigate the blackness. I whispered: ‘Be good, I love you,’ to the puppy sound asleep in his crate and the groggy cat still snuggled in bed before I stepped out into the unseasonably cold January air. Ice climbed up my windows, and my sweater almost reached my knees. I never wore leggings to work, but that winter three years ago the New Orleans heat was in hibernation.
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