What Lurks Beneath

The forecast called for dark clouds and rain on the long weekend, but miraculously, the clouds parted, allowing the bright sun to shine through, warming the land beneath it's glow.  Unfortunately, dad had to work this weekend, leaving mom at home with their three young kids.  Sara, the eldest, Jeremy the middle child and little Zack.  Opting for some fun, mom agrees to the pleas of the children to go outside to play.  "Let's go down to the park." she suggests, to the kids, referring to the park located near downtown.

There's lots to do at the park to occupy the creative imaginations of children.  There's the swings, a large slide, shaped like a castle.  There are zip lines and a massive fort made of wood and plastic, surrounded by drifts of silky sand.  It's everything to tucker out three rambunctious children.

The fact that it's a long weekend, coupled with it being early in the morning, no crowds have grown, yet.  The park is virtually empty, allowing the kids to run and chase one another, playing tag and other fun tasks.  Mom relaxes on a nearby bench with a book in hand, occasionally glancing up at her kids and smiling, as she turns the page.

"Mommy?" Jeremy asks, "What's this?"  She looks up to respond to her middle child, laying her eyes on the cylindrical object being held between his fingers.  A mask of panic shrouds her face as she instantly transforms into protective mama bear mode, leaping towards the child, dropping her book in the sand.

Located nearby, I was sweeping leaves out of a drainage grate, a task that normally only takes a couple of minutes, this day, I found myself extending my presence collecting up an overabundance of leaves and sand.  I could hear the kids laughing in the distance, which is always a welcomed sound.  The laughter and glee was momentarily interrupted by a concerned mother, who approached me with a small item clenched between her thumb and forefinger.

"Do you have anything for sharps?" she called out.  I turned my attention to her and was mortified by what she had in her possession.

During my orientation, there was mention of syringes and how they're often found on the playgrounds of our city.  It vexed me that there was now a danger where, if due care and attention was not exacted, there was a chance I could die.  The process of treatment was described in great detail and it was not for the faint of heart.  It really drove home the importance and immediacy of the dangers that lurk out in the world.

So far, I'd been lucky, having not crossed paths with anything as heinous as a syringe, but as I stared at the object in this young mother's hand, I have to admit I was horrified.  The needle appeared clean, as if it just came out of a box, but the end of the needle point was stained with dried blood.  I couldn't help but think how something that appears so small and insignificant could harness a disease powerful enough to kill whomever was unlucky enough to come into direct contact with it.

She handed it off to me, dropping it into the dust bin I had on my person.  She thanked me and returned to her children, who were still laughing and playing nearby, oblivious to the dangers that were lurking about.

The fear I felt now turned into rage.  I couldn't believe that some f*ckin' junkie piece of shit would [willingly] endanger the safety of others, more specifically, children, by hiding their spent syringes in the sand pit, rather than walking them the couple dozen yards down to the receptacle provided nearby.  Granted, whatever shit they just pumped into their vein, probably hindered their actions immediately following, but why the need to do it in the sand pit, to begin with?  Why not go be a f*ckin' loser junkie down by the receptacle bin?  There's nice trees and shit there, to engage their imaginations.

I was told by my co-worker that the city provides a service whereby they provide needles to junkies, free of charge, with hopes that they'll ply their nasty habits, responsibly.  This idea only infuriated me further.  I couldn't believe that this city, where I was born and raised, where I'm proud to call my home, supports the drug habits of these junkies, rather than getting them the assistance they so desperately need.  That's horse shit!

I'm sure this won't be my last encounter with an addicts discarded syringe.  This really opened my eyes and made the problem real.  I always knew it was a factor, but there's something about coming face-to-face with the evil that makes the danger more three-dimensional.

Jeremy got off lucky, as did his siblings and his mom.  No one was poked with the dirty needle, so no one will have to visit the hospital and be on the receiving end of a plethora of painful needles for the next six months.  The drug epidemic in our city, nay, our country, is getting bad.  And those participating are exercising poor judgement.  Why they choose to hide their dirty needles in the sand pit of a children's playground, far exceeds my imagination or logic.  I'll never understand it, just like I'll never understand why these fools turn to illicit drugs in the first place.

Hopefully, with fingers crossed, none of the children who come to any of our fair city's parks will get stuck by a delinquent needle.  But be warned, it's a real danger lurking out there, somewhere.

**While the family described above, was real, some artistic license was
made leading up to their visit to the park.  The names are all fabricated.**