Standing By

Quitting

(Tim)

My mind screaming at me, my insides doing acrobatics, I opened the door and let myself in, sliding into the seat gingerly. Lord only knew who'd been sitting there before me. I reached up for the seatbelt.

Kirkham peered through a plastic window separating the front from the back. "Mr. Foust, if you promise not to touch anything, you can sit up front, if that would put your mind at ease."

I jumped right back up. "I promise! I promise!" I said quickly, immediately getting back out and climbing into the front. I felt much less like a criminal in the front seat. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, smiling at me. "I'm honestly not trying to make your life hard."

"I know," I murmured, folding my hands neatly in my lap. "It's just... nerve-wracking to have a police officer tell you to come with him."

"Understandable," Kirkham said, nodding. "Didn't mean to scare your friends either. They were being a little overboard."

"They were scared too," I said, watching as other cars suddenly tapped their brakes as we passed, or pulled on seatbelts.

"I know, but they were in the way," he complained. "And Mr. Brown..."

"He's very rarely like that," I argued on his behalf, watching a guy in the car next to us push something down to the floor. "He was afraid you were arresting me or something."

"Still, you can't hit a police officer," Kirkham pointed out, flapping a hand around his face. "Shoo." He rolled his window down.

I looked up, expecting to see a fly or a gnat or something, but didn't see anything. Guess he must have seized his opportunity and flown out.

"I know. I agree," I said quietly, cocking my head because now I could swear I heard something buzzing around.

"They won't bother you if you don't bother them," Kirkham said, turning off the main road and working his way down an alley.

"What won't bother me if I don't bother it?" I asked suspiciously, still trying to get a look at whatever was buzzing around the car. Flies and gnats I could deal with. Mosquitoes I hate, but can slap away without a problem. Random bugs are no fun, but nothing more than a nuisance. Now, bees and wasps are another story. They are actually one of the few things I am truly afraid of. Mainly due to a near-death experience I'd when I was two years old. And six and eight years old. And three times when I was nine (it'd been a rough year in Texas). Mom had first found out I was deathly allergic when I was just a toddler and wanted to pat the little fuzzy yellow creature. I didn't remember it, of course, but she said I walked right into the bush and stuck my little finger out, only to be promptly rewarded for my curiosity with a sharp sting on the very tip of my finger. She said I'd cried so hard at first she was afraid the neighbors would think she was beating me. She'd pulled me out of the bush and told Casey to run and get her the first aid kit while she tried to get me to stop screaming. At first, she was relieved when I started quieting down and stopped thrashing around so she could get the stinger out and start applying antiseptics and ice—then she realized I'd stopped screaming because I'd stopped breathing. She could barely calm herself down enough to call 911 and ended up having Casey call (Dad had been at work). The paramedics had gotten there after I'd already passed out, and had not only an unconscious two year-old to deal with but a hysterical mother as well. My nine year-old brother was the only one of us the was calm enough to talk to them. It's a good thing I had been passed out, because they gave me a shot with a large needle that to this day I still hate. I don't even remember the episode, but Mom still tears up if you mention 'Tim' and 'bee' in the same sentence. They say that I was close to dying when that happened. After that, the doctors prescribed me an Epipen to keep with me in case of emergencies. Mom kept one on hand and sent an extra to school in case I had another close encounter with bees.