"Honeeeeey ... ummmm ... ???
4 cars have stopped and parked between us and Terabithia (the field right next to our house).
One woman with a clipboard is taking notes.
Oh shiiit ... there's two trucks, an unmarked police SUV, and a car... the car says State of Oklahoma Medical Examiner. I got a pic of it. THIS CAN'T BE GOOD!
Another car. Guy in a suit. Sunglasses. Maybe Shield?
A sixth car, a big ass police car.
Aaaaand now a fire truck! Seven vehicles.
And a smaller red fire chief suv. Eight.
They're all putting on rubber gloves. Maybe they're picking up dog poop, he says, knowing fully well it's probably something worse.
I maaaay have seen a body bag. Fire guys got jackets and gloves on and got a long yellow gurney. I think I know what's up here.
Yup! Body bag. Big blue one. The really messed up part is that the body bag will still be there when bela comes home from the bus.
Amberdad says some druggie probly stayed the night there n froze to death.
Thank gawd I'm not paranoid and dealing with ptsd or else this would reeeeeeeeeeally fuk me up.
I'll try and sneak a pic on my way to the bus stop ..."
THAT all happened!
And here's the result:
I've spend the last year explaining to the kids that I do NOT want them playing over in that field, which I have perfectly nicknamed "Ghetto Terabithia."
NOW I have a perfect reason why they shouldn't play over there.
So, in a perverse sort of way, I win.