Henry blinked once. Twice. His shoes scuffed on the gasoline-soaked concrete as he made his way closer to the truck. The vehicle was on its side. The driver had been yelling, but he stopped a minute ago. Henry wondered why. “Hello,” he called. “Mr. Driver?” He’d always been taught to use manners, but how did one have manners in this case?

He put a foot on the truck before pulling himself up. Once on top, he crawled over to the door to look through the window. The driver was a peach skinned man with brown hair. He had blood all over him and his eyes were peacefully closed. Was he sleeping? His chest stuttered like a one year old walking.

Henry turned around when he heard his name being called. His mom stood on the path, closer to the large house than the street. His older brother pointed at him with worry. He smiled and waved. Sirens rang down the street. “The paramedics are coming to get you,” Henry told the man reassuringly before climbing down.

He went back over to his mom. She hugged him tightly. He pulled away, attempting to escape her grip to see the ambulance and police car better. The blue car owned by his father pulled up right behind them. The tall, thick man pointed to the house. “Inside,” he ordered.

They obeyed. The family of four piling back into the home.

An minute later, when his parents had left for the sitting room, Henry went back out. There was a fire truck here now. They were trying to get the driver out. He found himself drifting closer and closer each moment. He’d almost touched the fire engine when large, calloused hands yanked him away.

He looked up to see a man about his father’s age. This man was taller though, taller and buffer. “You can’t hang around here, kid. It’s dangerous. D’you live around here?” His voice was weird. It sounded like a drawl. Henry remembers a voice similar to the man’s on a TV show. He sounded like a yankee. “Kid, you live around here?”

Henry pointed to his house. The man carried him there and set him on the welcome mat before ringing the doorbell.

His mother was there to answer soon after. “Henry! Why’re you out here? I’m so sorry!”

“No need, ma’am. Just make sure to keep him out of the way while we’re working. Be sure to let Mr. Paul we’re sorry for the disturbance.”

Henry twisted his head to watch them get the driver out. The man was whiter than his great-grandma, and she looked like a ghost. She slept like one too. He was there when they sat around and watched her nap.

“You may wanna get him a bath. He stepped in the gas.”

Henry’s mom nodded as she yanked him into the house.

“We told you to stay in the house,” his father said. The man stood in the center of the foyer, fists clenched.

“Phil,” his mom said quietly.

“No, Margie. He doesn’t listen.”

Henry shrunk. “Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“He needs a bath, Phil.”

“I got it.” The man gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before snagging Henry’s hand. “C’mon.”