Her hands cup my face as we rock back and forth in the brown chair that sits comfortably in the corner of the living room.
We snuggle closely every afternoon talking about her day while I try to pry information from her with questions, songs, guesses, and rhymes.
She likes to be a close as possible and has since she was a baby.
After each question or comment her answer is always the same, “I forget.”
“Tell me one thing you remember.”
“We had a lockdown today, for practice.”
My heart raced.
What in the sweet hell?
I knew it was coming because they had sent a note home but I had forgotten and I didn’t expect her to come out with the exact word for it.
“What did you do?”
“We locked the door, went to our safe spot by the purple bear, and were very quiet. We weren’t allowed to open the door until our principal said we could.”
I looked at her and squeezed her tight, not believing the words she was using.
“How did it make you feel?”
“Excited, I loved it, it was fun.”
I wanted to help her to understand the severity of the situation, to get her prepared in case something was to seriously happen, but I couldn’t get my brain to put the words together.
“Do you know why we might need a lockdown?”
She held my hand and caressed the back of it gently, looking at me seriously.
“In case a cheetah is outside and wants to bust in and eat us.”
And that will do for now.