The receptionist let out a heavy sigh. I realized I was three hours early for my appointment, unaware it had been rescheduled. Glancing out the window, I noticed an overwhelming presence of flashing lights. A police officer entered the office, informing us we couldn’t leave because of an “ongoing situation.” The receptionist casually shrugged, stating that the eye doctor would likely be able to see us now. I couldn’t help but think about my luck.
We settled in for what turned into an unexpected wait. “What’s a ne-go-tee-ah-tor?” my nine-year-old son asked, pointing to the back of a black vest outside. The negotiator’s ponytail obscured the “I.” I eyed the exit across the room, pondering the possibility of leaving, but with cruisers and officers everywhere, it was clear we were stuck until things calmed down.
In the waiting room, my son was the only child present. The television blared news from a distant location while two elderly women discussed a recent church fire in South Carolina, wondering why it hadn’t received more media attention. They hadn’t yet glanced outside. I chose a seat away from the TV and caught sight of a cop removing a high-powered rifle from his trunk, while another officer loaded a handgun just inches from the glass. SWAT team members were unloading an array of gear from their vehicle.
My son had brought a Far Side collection to read. He appeared engrossed in the book, though I suspected he was sneaking glances at the commotion outside whenever I turned my back. He pointed out a comic about sheep with steel wool, and I feigned a chuckle, suggesting we move to the other side of the room, away from the windows.
Two men stepped out onto the porch with their phones to snap pictures. The officers swiftly instructed them to return inside. They re-entered, laughing loudly as if they were at a social gathering. I shared a smile with them and stood up with my son.
The showroom, filled with eye glasses and transition lens advertisements, was eerily empty. I tried on various pairs, jokingly asking my son which ones he liked best. When I donned a pair of my own glasses, he declared them the best and laughed at the coincidence.
I noticed an officer without body armor pass by the window—someone who had helped us establish a neighborhood watch when I was pregnant. A sense of relief washed over me, thinking that perhaps things had settled down. But then, two heavily armed officers rushed by, weapons drawn.
Moving to a different display, I handed my son a pair of Hello Kitty glasses for fun. He peered into the mirror, chuckling at how exaggerated his reflection appeared. As I spun him around in a swivel chair, he inquired about the situation outside. I explained that it likely involved someone in distress, and the police were attempting to manage it. I touched on the topic of mental health and firearms in the U.S.
Why did I assume it was a man? Perhaps it was a hasty assumption, but I always pay attention to the news. In the end, I would learn I was correct on both counts. I reassured him that everything was under control, though I couldn’t be sure if I was lying.
We chatted about The Far Side, and he dove back into the book. I scanned the room for potential hiding spots: a staircase to my right, another concealed to the left, a stainless steel sink with no space to hide beneath, and a desk with a closed front but room below.
I sent a text to my husband about the SWAT team. I called him, but there was no answer. After several attempts, he finally picked up. I told him we were okay. I hoped I wasn’t being dishonest.
My optometrist of sixteen years welcomed me as he always had. He asked my son about his upcoming school grade, and we shared a brief conversation about life’s relentless passage of time.
As my eye doctor examined my vision, I mentioned my struggles with blurred eyesight and dry eyes. He discussed the inevitable changes that come with age and suggested some drops while adjusting my prescription. It was difficult to discern what felt better.
We returned to the reception area, where I received my prescription for future contact purchases at Costco. I noticed the receptionist’s hands trembling and tried to ease her anxiety by discussing mundane topics like appointments and dilated eyes.
Suddenly, the front door swung open, startling us. A police officer sheepishly asked to use the restroom, and I joked, “Sure, we all just peed our pants.” We shared a laugh, albeit briefly.
A flood of sarcastic thoughts invaded my mind; I mused about how I wouldn’t want a “carrying” patient in an eye doctor’s office to act rashly. I considered how tear gas could keep us here for hours. I reminded myself to focus and not dwell on those thoughts. My son remained quiet.
I ventured to the door and cautiously opened it. “Hey,” I called to an officer stationed at the porch rail. “Can I leave quickly with my son? He’s the only child here.” I gestured to my Honda CRV parked just beyond the barricades. The officer gestured for me to wait as an armored officer approached.
“Go, go, go…” he urged. My son and I took off, with the cop right behind us. My husband appeared up the road, smiling and waving. I lost track of the urgency.
“Get in your car. Drive. Drive. Drive…” I recalled the gravity of the situation. Just then, a shot rang out from a second-story window aimed at the police. Strangely, I didn’t hear it.
A few blocks later, I pulled over to let my husband in. I assured him we were alright, not wanting to discuss it further. After dropping him off at his car, I drove home, passing historical sites and reminders of past conflicts that echoed through our town.
I checked the rearview mirror to see my son’s silent face, which sent a chill down my spine. “Did you buckle in?” I asked, feeling goosebumps despite the warm weather. We parked in the alley behind our Victorian. The flowers, supposed to stand at hip height, towered over us at five and a half feet. I spotted a hummingbird sipping from a vibrant bee balm flower.
“Well, that was another summer adventure,” my son remarked matter-of-factly.
“I think school is safer,” he added, and I couldn’t disagree. I reflected on the world we lived in, uneasy about guns, the fortunate escape we had, and our children’s safety. While officers negotiated for hours, my son and I would be at home enjoying baby carrots and preparing for a pool day. Ultimately, the police would evacuate the office, releasing tear gas and dealing with a tragic conclusion.
I concealed my tears behind my sunglasses, claiming my dilated eyes were sore from the bright light. I turned off the engine and pulled some weeds before heading to the back door. As I unlocked it, I heard my son ask, “Is there a hostage?”
There might be.
Summary
This narrative recounts a harrowing visit to the optometrist with a young son amidst a police standoff. The mother navigates a tense situation, blending moments of humor and concern while trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for her son. Ultimately, it reflects on the pervasive issues of mental health and gun violence that affect families today.