The Chase

How often does a helicopter signal a chase?

I'd heard it all day, that fluttering of giant wings. Louder and quieter, off in the distance and not too far away. I looked out the windows and saw nothing. I looked to the news and heard no mention. I stood on my front steps. For a moment I thought that it was getting closer. But then I stepped inside, and again the sound was faint.

I went about my day, which was going to consist of few and simple things. All I wanted to accomplish was a book and music, Bach. To give some time back to myself after giving so much to others. It was the least I could do. I put on the record and sat down with my pages, filling between the lines with soft strains of Baroque. My mind could focus on each and enjoy them together. I was content, inside.

And then the pulsating overhead beat. It started low, barely noticeable at first, but it was there. And for the first time it was not only there, but it was growing, only growing, moving decidedly forward. The helicopter had quit its searching circles and found the place it needed to go. But where was that?

The needle played white noise and my book fell to the ground. I stood, again going to the window, hoping to see whatever was connected to this propeller. But I saw only the darkness of the street and myself in the glass, peering in at my own eyes. And before I knew to run the propelled air pushed away the trees and the light of the helicopter shone into me.

How often does a helicopter signal a chase? We hear them, see them, gathering traffic information, looking out over the water, carrying a victim safely to a hospital. The convict, the criminal, being hunted with a spotlight through the forest; it is an image at home on the silver screen. It is not something you are likely to see. It is not something of which you are likely to be the subject.

And so I stood there. Frozen. Wanting desperately to blink but knowing that I never could. The helicopter hovered slowly through the parted trees, there in the air as if being dangled by a child on a wire. A giant toy for some unseen amusement. But this feeling lasted briefly, as the light was steady on me, never moving, never once. And so, best I could, I gave the helicopter a small nod, walked out my front door, and went to see what I had done.