Crying Wolf

And then there was the time Fredericka's neighbor died.  The neighbor was a stress case named Gabby who would babysit but only if Fred's mom was in a pinch and Fred's mom's life was series of bruises caused by pinches.  "Never enough," she would say if anyone asked her about money or love.  Gabby agreed to babysit but she had a quick errand to run.  "She's six now.  Fred won't be a problem." Gabby took Fred with her inside her car, across five large streets, then to a house with a cinematic display of desert plants instead of a lawn.  It was a modern building.  The gray cement walls told you so.  Fred was very interested in the security monitors.  "Were we out there?" she asked noticing the view of the front.  "Yes," the man answered.  "Why do you watch people at your front door?"  "So I can see the wolves coming," he said.  Fredericka had heard all the fairy tales.  She knew that wolves came for little girls and grandmas, not shirtless men with long gray hair.  On the monitors, she could see the front door, the plants, the street, and Gabby's car.  The grown ups were in a room.  Their voices were far away and uninteresting.  Fred saw a boy go by on a skateboard.  Fred saw a plastic bag tumble by then float and get caught on a cactus.  In front of her building, bottle caps and bags dotted the view like clouds do a sky.  Here, that wasn't the case.  Had there been tracks, where she stood would have been the other side of them.  Gabby returned, more relaxed.  "Come on," she pawed at Fred's shoulder, her gesture neither guiding nor helpful.  They climbed into the car and that's Gabby's mouth turned white.  That's when Gabby's head hit the steering wheel.  That's when Fredericka screamed, cried, stared right into that camera.   For a good twenty minutes, maybe even more.  Now, when Fred's mind travels to the dark side of her heart, she thinks she is despised.  A wolf.  Not the sort worth saving.