It was starting to get dark, and I was still hopelessly lost. There was a feeling in the pit of my stomach like I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come out. I finally sat down on the warm cement sidewalk and tucked my arms around my knees. I tried my cell phone again, but it was still dead, as it had been last night. I slammed it down next to me and squeezed my eyes shut, contemplating what to do. I was suddenly very aware of the weight of my braid laying on my back, and the light wind that rustled under my legs. I hugged my kness closer to my body.
I closed my eyes again, just barely though. My eyelashes entangled and my vision blurred, mixing with the tears that were starting to form on the edge of my eye. I sniffled and laid my head down on my arm, trying to stop the sobbing that was about to begin. How could I be so stupid? Why couldn't I find my way home? A sudden frustration welled up inside me and I sighed in exasperation at myself.
It was eerily quiet, and then I felt it. A strong hand creep up behind my neck and around to my mouth, swiftly clamping it shut before I could utter a sound. My eyes widened in shock, and I felt my feet lift off the ground. I struggled in the arms, but they kept a tight grip on my weak and squirming body. My mouth opened slightly, trying to bite the hand, but it only grasped harder, the pressure threatening to split my lip. I relaxed, thinking that maybe a calmer tactic would work.
I felt my limp body being tossed into a dark, cramped area and then heard a door slam shut. My body lurched as the car started and sped away into the now blackened night.
After feeling around for any broken bones, I drew the conclusion that I was in a car trunk. I didn't panic, even though my heart rate was soaring. I shoved my hand around the pitch black trunk, hurriedly looking for the latch. In my head I briefly calculated the volume of the space, and roughly estimated that I had 12 hours worth of air. The car turned as I heard the rattle of shopping carts. I counted nine of my pulses, so I knew we had taken a left turn at a supermarket and then taken another left after nine pulses. My sweaty hand caught on a small switch, and I gave it a slight pull. It clicked, and I tugged until it disconnected with a pop. Praying that the driver wouldn't hear, I placed my foot on the missing switch and kicked out. There was a loud shattering of plastic and car upholstery as a shaft of lighter night sky entered the dark trunk. I took in a sharp breath, hoping to God that the driver hadn't heard.
The car chose to stop abruptly right at that moment, and I knew I was done for. I withdrew my foot from the hole and curled up in a ball, my heart racing in my throat. I heard the driver's door open and close, and then footsteps fade away. The trunk never opened.
I turned my body in the cramped space and struggled to see out of the small hole I had made by kicking the right brake light out. The car was empty, but the trunk still locked. I took a long breath, and using the relatively brighter night light from the hole, finally found a label inside the trunk verifying that the car was a Chevrolet. Chevrolets often had trunks that could be opened manually from the outside, or so I thought I remembered.
I reached my hand out of the jagged hole and felt for the familiar rubber button above the license plate. I felt nothing but cold metal and dirt.
As I was pulling my hand back inside the car, I brushed up against the license plate and miraculously hit the small black button. The door popped open with a beep, and I stumbled out, panicking and shutting the door quickly and quietly. I crouched down behind the tire and saw that we were parked in front of a medium, normal-looking house. I was about to waste no time escaping when I remembered something my father had taught me. I leaned back and read the license plate number. 101-PRU. I repeated it in my head, and then slunk off into the night.
