Pop Pop Pop Pop

Jan 23, 2013

Walking to the bus stop on my way home from work last night, I came upon an ambulance and two police cars idling at an intersection. Flashing lights lit up their exhaust, making a pulsing red cloud at the curb. Cars had to drive around the ambulance, and a small traffic jam stretched from the sirens to the bus stop. I didn't linger, but I did slow down a little as I passed the scene. I didn’t see anything. If something had happened, I missed it.

Struggling to stay warm in the sub-freezing night, I stood at the bus stop and watched as the cop cars and ambulance left the scene. The traffic cleared, and it was quiet. Across the street from where I stood, a woman walked down the sidewalk with two little kids. The kids looked funny in their puffy coats, and I watched them as they waddled. Suddenly, four loud bangs cracked the frigid air. POP POP POP POP. The kids fell to the ground. At first, I thought they‘d been hit, but I quickly realized it was something they’d been taught to do. At school, maybe, or by their mother. “If you hear shots, hit the dirt.” The woman looked briefly toward where the gunshots had come from, then pulled her kids off the ground and dragged them around the corner.

I couldn’t be sure it was gunshots, but when I started to smell gunpowder, I decided it wasn't necessary to be sure and briskly walked to the next bus stop a couple of blocks away. An unmarked cop car blazed past me, siren screaming. Three marked cars followed in quick succession.

When the bus arrived, I hopped on and didn’t look back. Although I might have if the bus had had a rear window to look back through.