Lady Luck: Hoodie x Reader

Chapter 4

         All credit goes to VanentinesDayGreen a great deviant writer  

         I still remember the cold tile floor as I and all the other patrons of the bank laid on the floor, our hands on the back of our heads. Behind me I could hear the nice bank lady who'd offered me candy earlier while waiting for mom whimper as the scary man yelled at her, waving his shiny black gun in the air. Next to me a nice man who'd been talking to my mom earlier was whispering in my ear, sweet words of reassurances only I could hear.

          Anxiety and dread hung heavy in the air, but it all went over my little five-year-old head. I was a little scared by the mean man who was yelling and waving a gun, sure, but at the same time I didn't really understand what was going on. For all I knew, this was normal; I'd never been to the bank before that fateful day. My young age and innocence spared me the full terror experienced by the adults who could fully comprehend the situation at hand.

          One of the most famous bank robbers in American history, John Dillinger, once told a teller, "These few dollars you lose here today are going to buy you stories to tell your children and great-grandchildren. This could be one of the big moments in your life; don't make it your last!" When I first read the quote, I couldn't help but note how true it rang. For most people, being involved in a bank robbery is the most exciting thing to happen in their life. At five years old, I already had one of the most exciting stories you could tell.

           However, in my case, the story didn't end there. That was only the beginning.

            Two years later, when I was seven, I was at the checkout at the grocery store with my mom when a drunk driver crashed his car through the window. Glass went flying everywhere, hitting nearly everyone in the front of the store. By then I'd lost just enough of my childhood innocence to comprehend how scary the situation was. When I saw all the blood on mom's face, I was sure that I was about to become an orphan.

           But of course, I was wrong. The glass grazed her forehead, but she was fine. We didn't even go to the hospital, mom just drove home, took a shower and put some Toy Story band-aids over the cuts. After a couple days, she was good as new. Same went for everyone else who got hit by the glass. Sure, there was a bit of blood, but all the cuts were minor and healed up fast. Last I heard, the most serious one was a cashier who got a big gash on his arm, but even that didn't require stitches.

            There was only one real exception in that case: me. It wasn't that I got deep cuts—I didn't get any cuts at all. I emerged from the incident shaken and crying, but totally unscathed. My safety almost defied logic. Mom didn't throw herself to shield me or anything, and I wasn't behind the cart or a counter. I was in the next lane all alone, sent by mom to pick up a magazine. Glass covered the floor around me, but not one shard hit me.

            At the time, people told me it was like a miracle. Everyone was gushing over me, saying how lucky I was. Some of my parents' friends started calling me "Lady Luck" as a joke, and before long, more people started calling me that.

             During a vacation when I was nine or ten, my family had to use a different hotel room one night due to the lock for our door breaking. That same night, we were woken by the fire alarm. I remember being so tired my dad had to carry me out, only really waking up when fire trucks arrived to deal with the blaze. The next day the manager told us a fire broke out in our room, and all of our stuff in there had been lost.