Friday Fictioneers – April 4, 2018 – photo by Dale Rogerson
“Don’t let go of my hand or you may get lost.”
My hands were so little and the crowd of holiday shoppers were pushing against us like the crashing of waves. It should have been no surprise that I couldn’t hold on. I was pushed down current, further and further away from my mother. She couldn’t see which direction I went in, but I could see the panic look in her eyes.
Later a nice woman found me crying on the outskirts of the madness. Thinking she was taking me to my mother, I followed her to her car.