Don"t Tell Anyone
Surprisingly, we had the hill to ourselves that sunny Saturday morning. We took turns speeding down the hill and made our way back up again, dragging our toboggans behind us a little slower each time.
Once, as I was nearing the top, I turned to speak to Rachel, but she wasn't behind me. I looked to the bottom of the hill and saw her talking to a man. In the next instant I saw him take her hand and they walked towards the garage. I called her name, but she kept walking, I called again, but they disappeared into the garage.
I'd been taught well not to speak to strangers let alone go anywhere with them. I felt a wave of panic. My first instinct was to look for help but there was no one around and she was already in the garage. I ran, stumbling and rolling half way down the hill, wondering later why it never occurred to me to toboggan down. I pounded on the garage door yelling her name.
The door opened and I saw her standing calmly, eating a chocolate bar. I told her she shouldn't be in there. She said it was OK, he knew her dad. As I reached to grab her hand I heard the garage door shut behind me. I turned to see his face smiling down at me. I swallowed hard and wanted to scream, but was unable to make a sound.
He offered me the other half of the Oh Henry, to this day a chocolate bar I can't eat. He said he closed the door because if other kids came they would want a chocolate bar and he only had one. He told me how he knew Rachel's dad. I looked at her as she happily ate the chocolate bar, and wondered if maybe he was telling the truth, hoping he was telling the truth. Foolishly I began to eat the chocolate.
He said he probably knew my dad too. He asked what his name was and where he worked. Yes, he was sure he knew him, and wondered where we lived. I told him. He started to tell us what pretty girls we were and asked us our ages. He said he bet he could lift Rachel up, and in one quick swoop he did, lifting her high above his head. I wanted to cry but held back the tears as he set her down and reached for me.
The next thing I remember is the door opening and walking outside. He said not to tell anyone because other kids would expect him to give them candy too. We said we wouldn't tell. Rachel seemed unaffected. I was angry with her and I felt sick. I told her she shouldn't have gone in there. We walked home in silence and never talked about it with each other again.
When we got home, we took off our wet clothes and laid them over the furnace vents to dry. We got into dry clothes and my mother asked if we would like a snack. I quickly blurted out that we had had a chocolate bar, wanting her to know, needing her to know.
She sensed the panic in my voice and asked me what happened. I saw the fear in her eyes as she hollered for my father. I kept saying it was O.K., he knew Rachel's dad, he knew mine, but deep down I knew it wasn't O.K. They asked us over and over the details of what had occurred, and then we never talked about it again, until the following week.
I lived only a few blocks from school, so I walked home for lunch. One day as I turned the corner, I was shocked to see a police car in our driveway. When I got inside, my mom and dad said the police officers wanted to ask me some questions about the man that had given Rachel and I the candy. I felt the same waive of panic come over me as I had that day in the garage.
I recalled what happened just as I had told my mother and father that Saturday. It turned out the man didn't know Rachel's dad or mine. It turned out he had hurt some other children. The police officer said Rachel and I were lucky. I didn't feel lucky at the time. My parents kept telling me that I did nothing wrong. They knew the only reason I went into the garage was to protect my friend. They said everything was O.K.
I walked back to school and when the bell rang I went and got in line. I remember feeling sick like something bad had happened but I wasn't sure what. I remember looking at the faces of the other kids laughing and having fun and thinking that I would never feel like that again.