Traffic Jam

the fifth

"Why can't I come?"

I open the door to the pantry and grab three shopping bags and then close it again, to see Lizzie behind the door with her hands planted on her hips. She doesn't look amused, and I don't really feel like having an argument. We've already argued three times this morning on trivial things like where the hair dryer was last seen.

"Because," I sigh, opening the fridge and take inventory of what is inside. Which isn't much, "Because you just can't, okay?"

I close the door and start scribbling the list of things we need onto my hand. If I write it down on paper, I tend to lose the paper before I even make it out the front door. I can't exactly misplace my hand.

"This is because of what was on the news this morning, wasn't it?" Lizzie asks, narrowing her eyes at me accusingly. 

I don't answer, and Lizzie huffs before saying, "I'm going to have to go outside sometime, Charlie."

I slam a cabinet to express my annoyance and grab my shoes from beside the door and slip them on, "Well, today is not that day."

Lizzie mumbles something under her breath that I don't quite catch, but I have a feeling it has some unpleasant words somewhere in there. 

"I'll be back before noon," I say and close the front door behind me, hearing Lizzie's frustrated yell from inside.

I would actually like to bring her, because I don't really want to go to the store by myself. But she's actuall right this time, and I am leaving her at home because of what was on the news this morning while I was in the bathroom throwing up.

They were talking about the crime rates going up everywhere across the country, because now that people can't get to work, but they're still exptected to pay their mortgage, that the robberies have gone way up. I figure our house is safer for Lizzie to be in than out on the streets with me. At least right now there are a couple of locks and doors in between her and the world.

Out here, I'm walking among it. 

I'm walking among the people who don't know how they're going to pay their bills this month, or next month, or maybe even the month after, and I'm a little frightened to be totally honest.

I pass a man on the side of the road, with a sign out asking for money. That's nothing new; you're bound to see a few of those among streets on any given day.

But as I walk past him, I pass one-two-three-four-five-six-seven people sitting all in a row. All holding signs, all frowns on their faces, some of them holding children, some of them calling out for money as I walk by.

I purposefully only came with my credit card, and no cash. I don't want to risk getting robbed for five bucks. 

I walk past them, and guilt seeps through me a bit, but I can't do anything. I'll be lucky if I can get Lizzie and I through Christmas with the money that was only supposed to last the summer. 

I cross a street clogged up to the bumpers with cars, and glance up at the streetlight, still blinking from red to yellow to green. It reminds me of the light in Cars, slowly blinking and the cars unmoving, transfixed by it.

I shake my head, memories of watching that movie with Lizzie flooding back in a single instant. 

Spotting the store in the distance, I start to jog over. It's July, so it's pretty dang hot out, and I'm just starting to wish that I'd worn shorts instead of capri pants when something slams into my side, knocking me to the ground only a few feet from the door to the store.

I gasp as my head hits the concrete violently, and I wonder immediately if I have a concussion. Pain shoots up through my head and I curl into a ball involunatarily, trying to crouch away from it.