Second time this week

Here I am again. Turning down the canned good isle of my local grocery. The light gives a little flicker above me and my shoes make a little squeak against the yellowish shine of the plastic like, supermarket flooring. The shelves are sparse. Not many cans left, and those that are probably aren't any good. I sigh, "great". I slowing examine the cans to the left and right. There in front of me is the "caution: wet floor" sign, while traces of water reflect all around it. The same sign as always. I think I've seen it in the same place at least one hundred times now. The same bits of water, surrounded by the same cans, on the same shelves. Its the same everything around here. The same walk inside and the same walk out. The same town, with the same repetitive walk and talk for fifteen long years. It was storming outside now though, and pretty badly at that. We've all known the blizzard would be passing through, I've had plenty of time to get my things, I'm just under prepared for everything it seems. Blame it on the constant depression of being, well, here for fifteen years. On my behalf though, when I stepped out the door to come here I honestly didn't think that the weather would be this bad. It's looking pretty nasty out there now though and I still have to drive ten miles home. 'Dinggg'. The little bell went off at the front door and the deep whistle of cold, brisk air moved throughout the store. I came to this town with my mother when I was ten. My father wasn't always the best to us. He never hit me, no. He never wanted to hurt me. My mom though? Yeah, well, it was a different story for her. We "escaped", as she would say, coming here those fifteen years ago. We kept our noses down and to ourselves mostly. She always said to be "careful of the kind you keep", but that's really just her way of staying the same antisocial and over predictively protective mother she's always been. What about me, you may ask? Well if you can't tell, I want to get the heck out of here. It's not that the people aren't nice, but they aren't emotional I guess. They don't want to thrive, to live. They have no ambition to experience the world. I just want to get out there. I want to move on, past this little sensitive town. These same cold mannered people in the same cold city. I want to live for once. The slight smile I was keeping at the thought faded as the wind beat against the window outside. I look over to see the damage. It's getting pretty bad out there. I guess I'd better grab what I came for and get going. I throw some beans in my cart and head for the check out. It's Mrs. Lucy, as usual. She smiles through her oversized glasses and begins scanning my items. I pull my money from my purse while little Joe, Mrs. Andrew's boy, bags my groceries. I pay for my things and Joe begins handing me my bags. "Be careful out there," says Mrs. Lucy, "that's a strong storm!". "Sure is," I grimace, "I'd better get home while I can." I nod to the parking lot, "You all stay safe." Together, we exchange a smile, I pick up my last bag and prepare for the large gust of cold as I head towards the exit. The door opens automatically where I'm met by the stinging cold. I wince, moving quickly as the door closes behind me. Right as I begin to start towards my car though, I hear it. The innocent cry of a baby. I stop in my tracks, and there is was once again. It came from the right. The stinging cry of a frightened child letting out, over and over again. I sprint towards the noise and and come to it. There, behind a pillar at the grocery store, is a young baby, left abandoned, mid-blizzard. It was nearly bare, screaming in a basket at my feet. "Oh my gosh!" I scream and quickly leaning down for the child. I pick it up and draw it towards my chest trying to comfort the icy cold body. It has that baby cry. The kind of cry that young babies carry, the desperate high pitched one that makes you frantic to help it. "Help!" I scream, "Help! There's a child!" I jump towards the front door, but as I try to enter it doesn't open. "There's a child here!" I scream, pounding on the glass. Finally one of the attendants notices me. She runs towards me to open the door. I look down to check on the baby but suddenly the crying has stopped. The baby is no longer crying but still, unmoving. I fall to the floor, trying to remember the CPR that I learned before graduation. The door opens. "Help!" I scream again, "Please! He isn't breathing." "How did you get out here?" The woman asked, panicked. She hit a button on the wall and an alarm sounded. It was that painful alarm sound, the loud circular one that make your head hurt. "Please ma'am!" I scream again frantically, "The baby! He's dying!" Suddenly the clingy echo of feet hastening up steps clambered below me. "Here she is." Said a voice, "Our escapee." An arm grabs my shoulder from behind. "Please sir," I scream, "the baby is going to die if we don't help it." Suddenly, all at once I'm surrounded by a group of bodies and hands. They work together and lift me onto a flat bed, tying me down at the hands and feet. "When's the last time you took your medicine?" Asked a voice. I feel a slight sting as someone injects my arm with a syringe filled needle. "There you go." Says another voice, and a rubbery hand pats my shoulder. Above me the ceiling is bright, with endless square, white tiles. "Just take her back to her room." One of the voices called. "I can't believe she got out again." A voice breathed sarcastically, "I'll never know how she gets past that door." " I know, agreed another voice, "Second time this week!"