I thought red, white, and blue were colors of freedom.

Duncan's childhood has been chasing him forever.

My little frame lingered in the restaurant. I was coated up to the brim with winter garments, wearing a narrow blanket around my neck nearly as tall as I was. I could easily trip on it with my clumsy underdeveloped feet.

“Come on, Duncan.” My mother called out to me, holding the door open and letting in air that made me shake like a wet dog. “We’re leaving.” 

I acknowledged what she said by moving more inward. 

My mother let the door close. I was still in her range of vision, but she came after me anyway. There seems to be a number of feet allowed for mothers to be away from their children. She followed me everywhere but always kept a distance.

I began reaching for the tables where no one was sitting but were nonetheless set with triangularly folded napkins and utensils reflecting the colors of the restaurant. I managed to grab one with four spikes. Throughout dinner, I saw my mother using it while she made me use the one that resembled a round shovel. 

My mother successfully unlatched it from my weak grasp, grabbed my hand and led me toward the door. I began to cry, so she gave me an incentive to stop, to be obedient. 

“We have to go, Duncan. We have to go.” She urged. “The police are coming.” She made an ugly sounding noise. It sounded like the part from the farmer’s song where you have to sing all the vowels except it was compressed and certainly not meant to be sung by humans. Maybe she was singing the version for animals. I imagine a pig oinking it and giggled. This only encouraged my mother. “Weewooweewoo. They’re coming to get you.” She continued feeding my ears this noise and this line until I slightly understood it. 

The lowest part of my head fell, and my tongue stuck out. “The pohweese?” 

“Yes, so we have to go!” We stopped in front of the door, so she could lift my hood. Too big for me, it blocked my eyes, and I couldn’t see.

I felt the cold air pierce the unshielded parts of my face and knew we were outside. My ears caught a similar unnatural sound to the one my mother was making. I lifted my hood in time to watch it fly past me, a white car with blue and red lights topping its head.

“See, it’s the police. We have to go.”

My mother, with her free hand, beeped open the car doors. She struggled to buckle me into my car seat because of all the winter armor she had forced upon me. 

As we drove through the night, I paid extra attention to the cars zipping by. I was looking for that red, white, and blue one, fearful. 

My ears perk and my eyes widen each time I see that red, white, and blue. My feet always tug me toward the exit a little more quickly when I hear that unnatural song that crescendoes as it comes nearer. It trails behind me, the allotted number of feet, because I still wear a hood too big for me, and my color does not reflect their own. I don’t linger.