hazard lights

The full moon glowed in the sky above.
A hazy radiant ring spiraled from its edges,
making it appear larger than it was.

The clouds had cleared
and white speckles permeated the sky
as if they were etched from a painting.

They seemed majestic in their quiet beauty
as I raised my head to take it all in.

I watched plumes of smoke rise up
from the rooftops too,
seeming to crystallize
in the brutal cold stillness
of this starry night.

I shoved my hands deeper
into my coat’s pockets
to try to get warm.

How had I forgotten my gloves?

I sighed.

Work had been stressful.
And my finances were even tighter.
Some days I felt like I was just getting by.

On days like these it was all I could do
to prevent the waterworks from spilling over.

So when I felt panic rising up in my chest,
ready to trickle out then pour,
I chose to grab my coat, my hat
and take a walk around the block
in the pitch dark.

It was midnight
but I couldn’t sleep.

My body was too restless from the day.
My mind even more so.

I took a deep breath and let it out—
watching the foggy air
that escaped from my mouth
float in the hollow of the street,
dancing, collapsing and wandering all at once.

I felt like a wanderer—
flitting across the street
with no place to go.

I turned my attention to my feet
and the sidewalk
to regain my bearings.

One foot in front of the other,
I told myself.
That’s all I can do.

I continued staring at the concrete sidewalk
a few seconds more
until out of the corner of my eye
I saw flashing amber lights.

I stopped at the corner of the block,
at the residential intersection
that had a stop sign.

I looked to my right
and saw parked by the curb
a charcoal four-door sedan
with its orangey pulses.

Its hazard lights were on.

There wasn’t a single person on this block,
on this street.

The only sounds were of the wind
and of the occasional airplane engine
roaring overhead.

I stared at the lights for a few seconds,
almost hypnotized
by the repetitive, glaring strobe.

My hand went to my chest
to calm my beating heart.

Without another second thought,
I jogged over to the car,
my boots crunching on the ice.

The sounds of my steps echoed down the street.

As I got closer,
a glimmer caught my eye,
shimmering in the moon’s beam.

I realized it wasn’t just snow or ice
I was stepping on
but shards of glass—
hundreds of them scattered across the street
right by the driver’s side door.

I glanced up to see
that the driver’s window was shattered.

I jogged a bit faster
until I was right next to the door.

The car was empty.

A pair of cracked sunglasses
lay on the passenger’s side.

A white envelope
with “Mom” handwritten on it
in big, child-like sprawling letters.

A small stuffed penguin
with a ratty, matted coat
lay on the dash.

A smashed looking granola bar
and another candy wrapper
were in the open console.

A child’s car seat
was in the backseat.

In the glow of the moonlight,
I could see fingerprints
on the windshield.

I looked at the ignition—
the keys were gone.

Then I saw it—
a white piece of paper
under one of the windshield wipers.

I lifted it and read the words.

“Occupant taken by ICE at 10:45 p.m.
Trying to reach the family on social media.
– Reed’s Towing”

Even a towing company
didn’t have the heart
to take the car away.

It wasn’t just an object
you could throw out.

It was somebody’s.

Someone sat there.
Someone struggled.

Under the weight of this realization,
my legs felt weak.

I slowly slumped down
on the snow,
on the ice,
on top of the shards of glass
in the middle of the street.

I could feel the jagged edge of glass
poking at my coat.

I didn’t care.

The lights continued
to pulsate as my eyelids closed.