The Bear Trap

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We had been driving through country baked hard by summer. At about three in the afternoon I stopped at an isolated gas station. We were tired and I thought a gas-and-coke stop would freshen us up.

The gas station was a cluttered affair, with frayed and faded pennants, a souvenir stall bright with cheap dusty pottery, a fat owner who served us with condescending joviality. Cars thrust by at high speed and fading Doppler whine, whipping up dust circles. I drank half my coke and looked around for the children. They were examining something in a cage.

I walked toward them, the sound of my approach lost in the oncoming roar of a truck. I saw Janet cautiously extending her fingers toward the cage bars. An old fear came strongly into my mind, vivid and shocking. I pulled her back roughly and without warning. It hurt her a little and startled her a great deal. She began to cry. And so, of course, did Janice, her twin. Buddy, their younger brother, moved back with feigned indifference when I ordered them harshly not to touch the cage.

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