“Stay there.” He snatched her license away and took two steps to the left, standing by her front bumper. More agents approached to confer with him. Thelma closed her wallet, securing her punch cards and stamps before they fell out. Her keys remained in the ignition.
As her eyes focused on the renewed darkness around her, she realized how different her neighborhood looked.
It began with the streetlights. There were more of them, and the light they exuded was bright and fluorescent instead of warm and yellowish.When did that happen?Bill would have told her if the city planned to change out the streetlights, let alone to something sogarish.And what was this nonsense in Mary Johnson’s yard? Had she painted her house recently? Thelma swore the old woman who often picked on the children walking to school was only bothered with fixing up things when the city pushed her. But her white craftsman was painted… sage green? With tan trim? And what happened to her rose bushes? What kind of strange car was that parked in the driveway? Was itgold?
The agent returned to her window.
“Thelma Van der Graaf?” he repeated back to her.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Agent Wilcox. We’d appreciate it if you stepped out of the car and came with us.”
“Am I in trouble, sir?”
“We’ll explain when we get to the office. Right now, we need to secure your safety.” He motioned his flashlight to the interior of her car. “Get whatever valuables you need and come with us. Someone will transport your car for you. Just leave the keys in the ignition.”
“My husband…”
Her voice trailed off because she realized how foolish it was to argue. She was surrounded by some of America’s finest, most mysterious law enforcement agents. What else could she do but comply?
“All right. Just a moment, please.”
Something wasn’t right. Whether it was the dense fog, the startling music on the radio, or the way her environment now looked, all Thelma could think of was her childhood.Nine years old.The country was coming out of the Depression. Even child Thelma knew that from how her family’s diets changed and how they had a little more money for things like the movies. For her birthday, her parents took her to seeThe Wizard of Oz,where she first fell in love with Judy Garland and enjoyed the wondrous magic of special effects and colorization on the big screen. Things she took so much for granted when she went out on date nights with Bill.
She thought of Dorothy as her limbs slowly moved through the car, her nimble, gloved fingers ensuring her house keys, money, and club membership cards were secure in her purse. She thought of how scared that little girl must have been to be caught up in that tornado that dropped her off in a strange and unfamiliar place.
The lights swirled around her as two female agents, both with quite unbecoming hairstyles andpants,approached to lead herto a black van. One put a hand on her back to direct her away from her car. Another asked her inane questions about her identity.“Date of birth? Next of kin? What day is it, Mrs. Van der Graaf?”All while the lights swirled and the agents spoke, though, Thelma imagined she was Dorothy, seeing Oz for the first time.
“I’m not in Kansas anymore…”
Both agents stopped, one of them remembering to open the van’s back door. “Excuse me?” asked the other.
Thelma looked up into the night sky. She couldn’t see any stars, despite the lack of fog. Yet she knew this was still Southern California. The air smelled a little different, but it was home.
“My son…” She held a gloved hand to her heart. “Robbie! He’s… he’s sick… milk…”
“She’s got a son named Robbie,” one agent said to the other as Thelma was hoisted into the back of the van and sat on a bench. “Find him. He might still be alive.”
The doors closed. She was left in shadowy darkness.
He might still be alive…
Nobody told her who they were. Where they were going. Why she was apprehended in the middle of her neighborhood on an otherwise innocuous evening.
Tears fell from her eyes. Was it the stress? Anxiety? Had something happened at her house the moment she left? Her children. Robbie. Debbie. They were all she thought of as the words“he might still be alive”echoed in her head.
Why would her boy be dead? He wasn’t that sick!
“Robbie…” she whispered. “Dead?”
The surreal nature of the van moving with her in it, nobody telling her what was going on, finally hit her.
“Please!” she called out to the driver and the man sitting next to him. “I need to stop at the market! I need milk for my son!”
They ignored her. Maybe they couldn’t hear her.
More tears. Thelma didn’t bother to brush them away. It was hitting her.
