When I was about 7 years old, I got into a car with a stranger.

I’m not sure exactly what happened. It all started when the bus didn’t stop at my daycare. This was normally the first stop, but I had just started school and wasn’t very accustomed to the bus route just yet. I more than likely wasn’t paying attention when the bus stopped, so I kept waiting and waiting, wondering why it was taking so much longer than normal to get to my daycare.

Towards the end of the route, the bus stopped in front of my house. This was at least familiar territory, so I got off; however, even though there was actually a car in the driveway, I was afraid that if I went in I’d get in trouble, since I was supposed to be at daycare.

So I decided to start walking.

My daycare was not that far from my house, perhaps a 20-minute walk. It was, however, across a busy multi-lane highway with no crosswalks. My plan was to run across the highway to get to my daycare.

I walked along the side of the road with no incident until I reached one of the last houses before the highway. At this point a man stops me and wants to know where I’m going. I tried to be noncommittal, not wanting to talk to the strange man. However, he pressed the issue, not letting me pass until I told him I was trying to get to my daycare.

“…You’re going to try and cross the highway?”

“Yup.”

“And how are you planning to do that?”

I shrug and try to keep walking. I try to convince him I’ll be okay, that my big girl, 7-year-old self can handle it. I didn’t want this strange man to keep talking to me.

He tells me, however, that he cannot let me pass. At this point his wife has come home. He tells me I can either ride with him or with her, but that I absolutely cannot go across the highway by myself.

I didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t leave me alone.

After trying (and failing) to get past him a couple more times, I decide to ride with him. At this point he’s not as much of a stranger as his wife is, since I’ve at least been speaking with him.

I get into his car. Right there, right in front of me on the floorboard, is a handgun. I’m terrified. I’m positive that I’m going to be killed, but what could I do? He wouldn’t let me pass. To my young mind, this seemed to be the only way.

He takes me across the highway to my daycare without incident. He escorts me inside the building and speaks with my teachers.

The man was a cop.

I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but I look back now and see how badly the situation could have turned out. I was so afraid of getting in trouble that I was willing to risk my life, though of course at so young an age I couldn’t quite comprehend the risk I was taking. What if I had gotten hit while I walked along the side of the road? What if the man hadn’t been there, and I tried to cross the highway? What if the man hadn’t been a cop, but a Bad Man?

It’s almost paralyzing to think of how things COULD have turned out. Just about every possible ending to that story is tragic.

The man saved my life.

I wish I knew who he was, so that, nearly 20 years later, I could thank him. I’m grateful he didn’t let me pass.

On that note, I hope that neither Tommy nor Athena take such a big risk with their own lives. I was lucky. There are no guarantees that they would be.