I arrived at the optometrist’s office far too early, only to be met with a heavy sigh from the receptionist. Apparently, my appointment had been rescheduled, and I had missed the memo. Glancing outside, I was greeted by a sea of flashing lights. A police officer stepped through the door, announcing that we were unable to leave due to an “ongoing situation.” The receptionist shrugged, suggesting that the eye doctor would likely be available now, given the unexpected circumstances. I couldn’t help but marvel at this bizarre twist of fate.
We settled into the waiting area. “What’s a ne-go-tee-ah-tor?” my curious 9-year-old asked, pointing at the back of a tactical vest visible through the window. The brown ponytail of the negotiator obscured the “I,” leading to his confusion. I scanned the room, searching for a potential escape route, but realized that with police officers everywhere, it was unlikely anyone would be leaving anytime soon.
In the waiting room, my son was the lone child among a few adult patrons. The TV was buzzing with news from far-off places, while two elderly ladies chatted about a church fire in South Carolina, unaware of the chaos outside. I chose a seat away from the screen, observing as one officer retrieved a high-powered rifle from his vehicle, while another loaded a handgun mere inches from the glass. SWAT team members poured out of their van, donning gear that made the situation all the more real.
My son had brought along a collection of Far Side comics. He seemed engrossed, though I suspected he was stealing glances at the window when I wasn’t looking. He pointed out a comic about sheep made of steel wool, and I faked a laugh, urging him to move with me to the far side of the room, away from the windows.
Two men wandered outside to capture the scene on their phones, only to be ushered back inside by the police. They returned, laughing as if they were at a festive event, and I smiled at their obliviousness. I stood with my son, moving into the eyeglass display area, where I tried on frames and asked for his opinion on a variety of styles. He found humor in one pair that happened to be mine, exclaiming, “Those are the best!”
I spotted an officer without any protective gear who resembled the friendly cop who had helped initiate our neighborhood watch when I was pregnant. It gave me a momentary sense of calm. But just then, two fully armed officers dashed past, guns drawn, and my heart raced again.
I led my son to another display and handed him a pair of Hello Kitty glasses, eliciting a laugh as he marveled at his reflection. He inquired about the situation, and I explained that it likely involved someone threatening to harm themselves, with the police attempting to manage the crisis. I touched on the topic of mental illness and firearms in America, reflecting on the uncertainty of the situation.
Why did I assume it was a man? Because he’s someone’s child. I stay informed and engaged with the news. I assured my son that everything was under control, though I questioned my own honesty.
As he returned to his comic, I scanned the room for potential hiding spots—there were staircases and a desk with a closed front. I texted my husband about the situation, but he didn’t answer. After multiple attempts, he finally picked up, and I reassured him we were safe. I hoped I was being truthful.
My optometrist, whom I had known for years, greeted us warmly. We chatted about time and change, while I took in the examination room, noting potential escape routes—a skill I hadn’t learned in school, yet my son was familiar with from active shooter drills.
As the doctor examined my eyes, I mentioned my blurred vision and the dryness I occasionally felt. He suggested drops and adjusted the lenses, asking if the changes were better or worse. I found it hard to decide.
After our appointment, I collected my prescription with plans to visit Costco for affordable contacts. I noticed the receptionist trembling, so I chatted about mundane matters to ease her nerves. Suddenly, the front door swung open, startling us as a cop dashed in, blushing and requesting to use the restroom. I couldn’t resist muttering something about how we were all feeling a bit anxious, and we shared a brief laugh.
As my mind raced with sarcastic thoughts about how I wouldn’t want a legally armed patient at an eye doctor’s office, I caught myself. I needed to focus and not let my worries spiral. My son remained silent, and I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on us.
Gathering my courage, I approached an officer stationed by the porch railing. “Can my son and I leave quickly?” I pleaded, holding his small hand tightly. “He’s the only child here.” I pointed to my car parked just beyond the barricades. After a moment’s hesitation, the officer instructed me to move quickly between the SWAT vehicle and the police cars.
“Go, go, go…” The urgency was palpable as we ran. The officer stayed close behind us. My husband was up the road, smiling and waving, and for a brief moment, I forgot the gravity of our situation.
“Drive. Drive. Drive…” The panic set in again as the reality of our circumstances hit. Just as we pulled a few blocks away, a shot rang out from above, but somehow, I didn’t hear it.
We drove a short distance before my husband hopped into the car. I reassured him that we were okay but felt an overwhelming urge to remain silent. I dropped him off at his car before heading home, passing historical sites that reminded me of the struggles of the past.
Once parked, I glanced in the rearview mirror to check on my son, whose silence sent a chill down my spine. “Did you buckle in?” I asked, feeling goosebumps despite the warm weather. We parked behind our Victorian home, where the garden was thriving, and I spotted a hummingbird sipping nectar from a vibrant bloom.
“Well, that was quite the summer adventure,” my son declared matter-of-factly.
“I think I should be in school during the day. They keep us safe,” he added, his innocent logic piercing through my thoughts. I knew better. As I reflected on the situation, I felt a wave of frustration wash over me—about guns, about safety, about everything.
The police would spend hours managing this incident while my son and I enjoyed simple moments at home. Eventually, they would evacuate the office, and the man inside would take his own life.
I tucked away my emotions behind dark sunglasses, claiming my dilated eyes were sore from the bright lights, hoping my son wouldn’t see the tears. Turning off the engine, I pulled some weeds from the garden on my way to the back door, wondering why I called this gunlandia my home.
As I unlocked the door, my son’s voice drifted from behind me, “Is there a hostage?”
There might be.
In Summary
This harrowing experience at the optometrist’s office serves as a poignant reminder of the unpredictability of life and the inherent dangers that lurk in everyday situations. The narrative captures the tension between a seemingly mundane visit and the chaotic reality of an ongoing crisis, all while highlighting the innocence of childhood and the complexities of parental protection.
Keyphrase: Optometrist visit during crisis
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