When I woke up, I was lying in the grass with a man in a black uniform leaning over me. He was touching my neck and talking to me, but I couldn’t hear anything. He squeezed a box on his shoulder and talked into it. I looked around, but it hurt my neck to move.
Back where the man and his truck were, there was only fire and burning black ruins.
The next thing I knew, I was on a bed being carried into the back of another truck. More people in uniforms were leaning over me and putting tubes in my nose and touching me. I still could not hear anything, but The people seemed nice to me, just like Mr. White was.
Mr. White had brought me in because no one wanted me because my tears hurt them. He said he would put me away where I wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore, and he would take care of me. And he did, until he died.
Ten years later, I began to understand what had happened that day.
Mr. White had kept me in the Steam and Soak to keep me safe and keep everyone else safe. But the day I escaped, I had accidentally done something else. I had stopped potentially the largest domestic terrorist attack in American history.
The angry man in the truck was on his way to the Federal Building in Oklahoma City and those barrels would have blown up the entire building. Instead, it blew up on the side of the road near a park and killed the angry man and three others, injuring 14 other people nearby.
Eventually my hearing came back, but I wear a hearing aid on my right ear and sometimes get dizzy.
They found the angry man’s friend who was supposed to blow up another truck at the same building. But when my tears blew up the first truck, he started driving away from the city. The police caught him and arrested him and put him in jail for life.
They found a lot of books and papers in the mens’ homes about words I don’t know what they mean: anarchy and neat-chee and restoring the power to the people. They also like to read inLatin a lot, but I don’t know why they don’t just read in one language.
Speaking of reading, I have been in school and learning to read, even though everyone my age is way ahead of me.
I haven’t cried for ten years though, because I don’t want to be put in the basement of another Steam and Soak.