It was one of those days when everything felt off. I arrived at the optometrist’s office a whole three hours early, only to be met with a sigh from the receptionist. “Didn’t you get the memo? Your appointment was rescheduled,” she said, but honestly, I was too distracted to care. Outside, the chaos was evident. A flurry of flashing lights caught my attention. A police officer stepped inside and informed us that we couldn’t leave due to an “ongoing incident.” The receptionist shrugged, seemingly unfazed, and reassured me that the eye doctor would be with us shortly. What a twist of fate!
Now, here we were, stuck waiting. “Mom, what’s a ne-go-tee-ah-tor?” my 9-year-old, Jake, asked, pointing at a black vest worn by an officer outside. The ponytail of the negotiator covered the “I” in “negotiator.” I glanced around the room, noting the exit on the far side, away from the chaos. Outside, police cruisers lined the streets, and it was clear we were in for a long wait.
Jake and I settled into the waiting area, the only child amidst a sea of adults. The television droned on about distant events while two elderly women nearby engaged in a conversation about a recent church fire in South Carolina. They hadn’t even noticed what was happening outside. I took a seat by the window, where I could see officers unloading gear from a SWAT van and preparing for something serious.
Jake had brought along his favorite Far Side collection. While he flipped through the pages, I could tell his eyes occasionally darted toward the window, curious about the scene unfolding outside. He pointed to a comic about sheep with steel wool, and I chuckled, encouraging him to move further from the windows for his own safety.
A couple of men ventured out to the porch, snapping pictures with their phones. The police quickly ushered them back inside, and they returned laughing as if it were just another day. I couldn’t help but smile back, but my anxiety was creeping in. We decided to explore the eyeglass display, and I tried on a few frames, asking Jake for his opinion—he laughed when I tried on a pair that looked suspiciously like my own.
As I was trying on frames, I noticed an officer without body armor stroll past. It resembled the friendly cop who had once helped us with our neighborhood watch back when I was pregnant. Maybe things were calming down? But then, two heavily armed officers bolted past the window, guns drawn, and my sense of ease evaporated.
I picked another display and handed Jake a pair of bright Hello Kitty glasses. He laughed at his reflection, remarking on how huge his head looked in them. I spun him in the chair, and he asked what was happening outside. I explained it was likely a man threatening to hurt himself, and we talked about mental illness and guns in America. I couldn’t help but think about the assumptions I was making—an educated guess, perhaps. I reassured him everything was under control, even though I wasn’t entirely sure if it was true.
I texted my husband about the situation, but when I called, he didn’t pick up. I tried again until he finally answered. “We’re okay,” I told him, hoping I wasn’t lying.
After a few minutes, my optometrist, Dr. Smith, arrived, greeting us like old friends. We chatted about how fast time flies and what grade Jake would be starting. As I sat in the examination room, I scanned the space, mentally noting the layout. I hadn’t taken a reconnaissance class, but I’d learned well from Jake’s active shooter drills at school.
Dr. Smith examined my eyes, discussing my concerns about blurred vision and dryness. “Just a part of getting older,” he said, suggesting some drops. “Better or worse?” he asked, and I hesitated.
Once we finished, I returned to the reception area to collect my prescription. The receptionist was visibly shaken, so I tried to lighten the mood by chatting about anything and everything—appointments, eye exams, even colonoscopies.
Suddenly, a cop burst through the front door, startling us. He asked to use the restroom, and I joked, “Sure, we all just peed our pants!” We shared a brief laugh, but my mind raced with darker thoughts. I wondered what would happen if someone inside the office decided to act out. I thought about how the police might have to use tear gas, and I chastised myself for overthinking. I needed to focus on Jake, who was surprisingly silent.
Feeling a surge of determination, I approached an officer at the door. “Can I leave quickly with my son?” I asked, holding his small hand. “He’s the only child here.” The officer hesitated but then instructed us to hurry out between the police cars.
“Go, go, go…” I urged Jake, and we ran, the cop trailing behind us. My husband was waiting at the end of the street, waving cheerfully. I felt a rush of relief until I remembered where we were. A shot rang out from the building, but I didn’t hear it.
Once we reached the car, I quickly explained we were fine, even though I didn’t feel entirely sure. I dropped my husband off a few blocks away and drove home past historical sites, a stark reminder of the battles fought in our town.
I glanced back at Jake in the rearview mirror. His silence worried me. I asked if he buckled in, shivering despite the warm weather. We parked behind our house, surrounded by overgrown flowers and buzzing hummingbirds.
“Well, that was another summer adventure,” he said, sounding completely unfazed.
“I think I should be in school during the day. They keep us safe,” he added. And I knew better. I was aware of the world around us—the prevalence of guns, the close calls. While we munched on baby carrots and inflated pool toys at home, the police were negotiating for hours. The man inside the office would eventually take his own life.
I hid behind my sunglasses, pretending it was just my dilated eyes that hurt from the bright light. I turned off the engine, pulled some weeds in the garden, and wondered why we called this place home.
As I entered the house, Jake asked, “Is there a hostage?”
There might be.
Conclusion
In summary, what began as a routine optometrist appointment turned into a tense standoff, highlighting the unpredictability of life and the prevalence of gun violence. The experience was a stark reminder of how quickly things can change, especially when it comes to the safety of our children.