Saved

Officer Tony comes in. He tells us, “Now boys and girls, listen up, listen up, remember-to be SAFE- look both ways before you cross the street.”

(hand raises) Does that include a lane? Because some people maybe live on a lane or a road and not a street…

“And we all know –listen carefully Do not under any circumstances TALK to STRANGERS."

(hand raises) Is, is a gardener a stranger? Or Amway?

"And we all know, boys and girls, right..that it's against the law—you don’t want to go jail--to steal."

(hand raises) But what if it’s something you ..you want? Like a book about a cat named Peppermint. And she couldn’t find a home, but then did.

Silence

"Now listen up…how many people boys and girls, have ever helped someone—maybe they fell down or maybe they needed help carrying groceries? See, that’s what I do.. I HELP and protect people.. I …”

Wasn’t sure if I should share the secret. Wasn’t sure if this Officer Tony was safe…one of us. I smoothed the stringy strands of my lasso, hooked to my belt loop. Should I tell him.. that when the clouds put on their evening wear, and the sun goes to sleep, and Welcome Back Kotter is over, and Peter gives me a nickel so he can sleep in my bed, I am wonder. I’m super. Supreme. Hang on rooftops, swim in the sewers. Climb the tallest trees. I save every smushed bug, every sad neighbor, every lonely papa, every lost kitty, every boy abandoned and every daddy who says they feel alone and unloved—I do it.. in a blink. in a hum. in a whisper.

“Daddy, daddy –don’t worry, I got ya, grab onto the lasso and hold it. Hold it with all your might. I’ll bring you back home. I promise. I promise. Just hold on. I’m …here!"

And he grabs it and holds on .. and I pull.. and I pull…with every cell, with every story---but he’s too heavy maybe, and I’m too small or too weak or he’s too weighted down. I can’t move him—bring him closer…save him. I can’t. I try and try and try. Eventually, he withers. Melts into the air. And his eyes and body fill up with so much fluid, that he looks like a manatee or the fat Elvis. It’s like he’s crying inside his body so much..so hard, it fills it all up. A body full of trapped tears.
“SAVE ME. Jess! Don't let go!"

(hand raised) "You’ve helped someone, Jessica, as well? What? A cat named Peppermint, ha ha.”

Silence.

Really, who ever tells tales of trying.. trying to help. Those are not heroic tales, those are not worthy of testimony. Trying is just desperation. It’s not for share and tell. And ultimately, it’s the ones you can’t save that make all the saving and all the loving less full of shine.

“Um..not yet..not yet, third grade, maybe. Maybe then.”

Soon the lasso loses its luster, and gets packed away with a Chinese jump rope, satin hat, and journals which told stories of love and rollerskating; love with an arm around a shoulder followed by a trip down a twisty slide; love and a listening to Styx’s Paradise Theatre while working on fractions; love on Valentine’s day when 4 boxes of chocolate by four different boys are left on your 6th grade desk; a time when love was a real possibility and wasn’t dulled by years and years and years
of trying and failing.

SAVE ME. Don't let go.