Today is my birthday and while it began on a relatively benign note (comfy robe and slippers on, daughter on hip, milk and toast percolating in the kitchen), it soon took a bizarre turn.
Having satiated ourselves on a birthday breakfast of Mighty Bites kashi cereal, whole-wheat bagel with a shmear of peanut butter, boiled egg, pear slices and the juice of a tangerine (yes our little munchkin eats a variation of this feast this every morning plus a teaspoon each of organic blackstrap molassas and flaxseed oil and has the body of a baby gymnast) Sweetpea and I were driving along Sunset on the way to daycare and all was well with the world.
Up ahead I saw that there was a lane closure with temporary markers and as we all slowed down to squeeze into one lane I saw a knot of police cars, lights flashing, and then an ambulance, pulled to the side of the road. As I drove by (we were all going slowly) I saw something out of the corner of my eye that made me break my "no rubbernecking under any circumstances" rule and to my horror I caught a glimpse of a young, black, teenage girl lying motionless on the sidewalk. Since no-one was trying to revive her I realized with a awful, sinking feeling that she was dead. The police were milling about and the EMT guys looked like they were waiting for the Coroner to show up.
She was in my sight for only a couple of seconds but in that time I took it all in: she was lying on her side, as if sleeping, one arm under her head, one leg pulled up. She was wearing a denim skirt, a white blouse, and tennis shoes with ankle socks. There was a small pool of blood near her head. She looked like an innocent schoolgirl, all alone now on the sidewalk. I felt sick and lightheaded.
Oh, Lord, I thought. It's my birthday and this child is.....I was in shock but we kept on driving up to daycare a few blocks away. The nice sunny street where Sweetpea spends much of her day playing in the gated front yard with her buddies.
Sweetpea seemed reluctant to let me go when we got there and I felt the same way. Later when I was alone I called my husband, voice shaking. "I can't believe it," I stammered. "I just saw someone who had been murdered...." We talked about friends living near that location who had complained about hearing gunshots at night and the constant drone of chase helicopters until they'd fled to Denver.
I was headed back along Sunset and as the cars approached the crime scene, once again everyone slowed down. "Gotta go," I said, and hung up. Even from a distance I could see the young girl was still on the sidewalk, and now there were even more police cars. One officer was directing traffic. Everyone was staring. I took a better look and as I drove by the girl lifted her head, blood matting her shoulder. Huh? I looked further down, three guys lying on the sidewalk in handcuffs, a light stand. What the.....? Then I saw it....a grip cart and a reflector board. Shit! It was a stinking film shoot! Why I'd missed it going the other way I don't know except there wasn't the usual riff-raff of blue-jeaned guys with walkie-talkies milling about with clipboards or assorted trailers. I can only assume they'd kept the equipment to a minimum to allow for the kind of reality, steady-cam look now big on CSI and Law and Order.
I was really pissed as I sped away. And really embarrassed. I mean I'd cried on my husband's shoulder, traumatized as I was about seeing death so close to our home. And on my birthday. I didn't even want to call him back, I felt like such an idiot. Damn Hollywood!!
I don't even know Ashton but I'd been punked.
