An old story

The camping trip was cut short for want of children's tylenol. Fever and listlessness pushing me from the back seat as I clenched the steering wheel back to civilization. No one should be sick in a campground.

Later.

The afternoon sun shone water shades on the far wall. D on the balcony watched the yellow, not orange, digger in front of the building. Dig-dig-dig-digging the dry asphalt.

And then a HISSSS louder than a hiss should be. The smell of gas is everywhere.

The workers running down the street and me wondering what to do. Who do I call? I looked at the phone blankly. I pressed 0 then thought better of it. I stepped onto the balcony and yelled to the workers, Should we leave? Yes.

Suddenly panic. Larger than thought. Bigger than my brain. All I can see is the building exploding, fake-mournful anchormen talking about it on the evening news. All I can think is I have to get D out of here. Out. Of. Here. Now.

I don't work well in a panic.

I take D and run out of the building, stopping to bang on the neighbour's door, il faut dire a maman qu'il faut partir. C'est dangereux.

And then.

And then on the street corner with a feverish boy in my arms. No money, no cellphone, no shoes for my boy. Flip flops on my feet and the sun shining bright and yellow on the fire trucks that are taking over the street. A woman near me starts to panic. Ohmygod, ohmygod. She is overreacting. D takes a huge, fever releasing dump. It goes up his back and along my arm.

The fireman I harass says it will be at least an hour before we can go back in but probably more. I leave poo fingerprints on the cellphones I borrow.

I walk to the park and try to wipe my arm on the grass. D and I stink like shit. Greek women with gardening tools look askance. I cannot stay here. I cannot bear being looked at that way. I need a diaper and wipes and shoes for D. The sun is hot and now so close to the jungle gym, D wants to play. But he has no shoes. He is covered in crap.

And that's why it is good to know your neighbours.

The flower shop.

I sweatily explain. Someone gets diapers, expensive ones, he doesn't have kids. I wash D in the sink in the back among the stems and leaves. Eventually we are rescued by the rescuer.

Lesson learned: always take cellphone and wallet. And shoes for all family members. And a diaper or two. And always always be nice to the neighbours.